#i am getting the hang of this real time combat thing. i am doing it

[revvethasmythh]

everyone be proud of me, i graduated (turned my difficulty settings up to normal)

[yo9urt]

started playing ball dur's gait 3

[redsrooftopprincess]

Monster

Raphael x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Happy Monsterfucker Pride Month you fucking deviants. 😈 Here's a present.

There are a lot of words that come to mind to the average person upon meeting the Hamato clan. "Thing" is pretty popular, and "Freak" is always a classic, but by far Raphael's least favorite is "Monster."

That one tends to stick around, like a "Hello My Name Is" sticker, even after first meeting. The others have an easier time. Leo's the calm, cool one, Mikey doesn't need any help making friends, and Don's got that cute nerd thing going on, but Raphael is big, quiet, and Close Quarter Combat has left him with more scars than clear skin, making an already ugly situation worse.

So when he was sitting at your desk while you were hanging out one night and a notification popped up on your computer, the word caught his attention.

"What is a... 'Monsterfucker?'"

You're not sure sure if anyone has ever died from asphyxiating Dr. Pepper, but you wonder for a moment if you'll be the first.

When you can once again breathe, you look up at him raising a brow at you, "You good?"

"Yup," you croak out with a nod and a thumbs up, clearing your throat, "good."

He gives you a moment to catch your breath, "So... You gonna answer my question, or...?"

Damn. You were hoping he'd suddenly magically forget that he asked.

You've been holding off on coming clean to the guys about this particular personality quirk. You're conflicted because, while it would do wonders for their self esteem, it would more or less be the equivalent of wearing a big sign around your neck that says "HEY RAPH! I'M INTO YOU!" You're still trying to figure out how to approach him about it, and whether or not doing so would ruin an already amazing friendship.

Apparently, you aren't going to get a choice.

You clear your throat, procrastinating, and looking down at the Halloween coloring book you've been working on so you don't have to meet his eyes, "Well..." You clear your throat again, "... a Teratosexual... or... 'Monsterfucker'... is someone with more... exotic... preferences," you cringe internally.

"Exotic as in...?"

"Exotic as in... non-human." You say, making an attempt at sounding casual, suddenly very focused on the cat you're coloring.

That was not the answer he was expecting.

The longer he's quiet, the louder the heartbeat in your ears.

"So you're... not... into humans." He ventures hesitantly.

"Not generally, no..." You say, still not looking at him. Your face is burning.

"Oh..." He says, sitting back and attempting to process, "So what kind of, uh... monsters, I guess... are you, um..." He can't believe he's actually asking this question.

"Depends," you say, thankfully without your voice squeaking.

"On..."

"On... who they are as a person," you say, "just like anyone."

He's quiet again, and you resist the urge to look up at him. He's running through moment after moment with you in his head. The looks, the touches, the gentle words, all those times he kicked himself for reading too much into things...

You tense as you hear him get up and walk over to your side of the bed. the mattress dips as he sits down beside you, and a hand comes up to still the hand coloring. You look up at him, heart thundering in your ears as his thumb brushes over your wrist.

"Now, I could be way off base," he says softly, "and if I am feel free to tell me and I swear I'll never bring it up again... but sometimes I feel like you and me, we..." He takes a breath, "What are we? Friends? I mean, Donnie's your best friend, but you spend all your time with me, and... um..." He trails off.

"Is that what you want...? Friends...?" You ask, hesitantly. You're talking about it. Everything the two of you have both very purposely avoided talking about. The time, the touches. You're talking about it, making whatever the hell this is real. Which means the next words out of his mouth could either build or break you.

"Honestly, at the risk of possibly ruining the best thing that's ever happened to me... No."

"Honestly," you say, breathless, your heart doing backflips, "me either."

"So... If not friends, then... what do you want?" He asks, holding your gaze.

He watches every one of your reactions closely. Any sign of unease or discomfort and he's going to bail. But there aren't any. He's pulled to you, and he closes what little distance there is, a blush blooms across your cheeks and chest.

"Honestly..." You whisper, "you."

He inhales sharply, and looks down at you in awe for a moment, heart pounding behind his armored chest. Exhaling, he cups your face with his other hand, brushing his thumb over your jaw before sliding it back slightly and tilting your head up to him.

"You sure that this... that I'm... what you want...?" He's vibrating. Everything in him is screaming out to take you. Claim you. You're right here. You're giving yourself to him. Anyone else would have just kissed you by now. But he isn't anyone else, and this isn't exactly a normal situation. He has to be sure.

His soft caress is sending sensations rippling down your arm, and you can barely breathe for the ache in your chest. The night they met, Mikey had been injured. Badly. So badly, that they had to drop in at April and Casey's even knowing there was a stranger there.

He stood in the corner and watched you like a hawk. You were new, and new was dangerous. He watched you jump in to help Donnie with whatever he needed, eyes clear and calculating.

In the moment, you were too focused on making sure D had what he needed to save his brother's life, but the memory set your skin on fire.

"Pretty much since the beginning." You whisper, nodding.

He wastes no more time. You've wanted this as long as he has and that thought sends a surge of heat through his bloodstream. He releases your hand and slides his around your waist, pressing his lips to yours, pulling you into his lap, and as flush against him as he can. He's been dreaming of this since the moment you met.

It feels right. Natural. Like you should have been doing this all along, but the moment the hand against your cheek slides into your hair, gripping it gently, and you can feel the rumble in his chest within your own, any whispers of regret are forgotten.

All too soon, he pulls back, both of you needing a moment to catch your breath.

His forehead pressed to yours, you look up at him curiously when he starts laughing softly.

He beams down at you, "You know, on the list of shit I though was gonna happen... ever..." You smile up at him, laughing gently as well. He looks at you with elated, if not confused, eyes, "You got any idea what you're signing up for."

"Pretty sure, yeah," you grin.

They all tried so hard to be human, but it was the hardest for Raphael. Whether it was a result of his mutation, his wildly inconsistent emotional states, or some combination of the two, he was the closest of the four of them to their primal nature.

That night, and the hulking figure in the corner, like some kind of ancient sentinel watching over his charges, was a memory you had come back to so many times you're pretty sure you could recreate it perfectly, not that you would want to.

You pull back slightly to look at him, and bring your hand up to his face, cupping his cheek. You look down at his lips, brushing your thumb over his scar, you've always wondered what it felt like, "... and I think I've been handling it pretty well, so far." Your eyes meets his like the period at the end of a sentence.

Looking at you as if you were the only thing he's ever really wanted, he presses his lips to yours far less tentatively this time, growling into the kiss.

You rest your hand on the back of his head as he kisses down the curve of your throat, nuzzling against it and leaving traces of himself on you. You don't miss the significance of being marked as His and something warm and grateful fills your chest.

He works his way back to your mouth, kissing you deeply before pulling back. He looks down at you, still in almost disbelief.

"I want to see you..." He says, breathless, running a finger just under the hem of your tank top. He looks down before meeting your eyes once again, and you would shudder if you weren't pinned down by his gaze.

You smile, pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the ground. You had no idea what you thought his reaction would be to finding out everything, but this was way better than you could have hoped. Gooseflesh scatters across your skin, though you're not sure if it's from the change in temperature, or the way his eyes laser focus on on every inch of you. They light your skin on fire, but he doesn't move.

"You're allowed to touch me, Raphael..." you whisper. His eyes shoot up to yours, "I want you to." He inhales sharply, fingers already tingling, he hesitates for just a moment before a calloused hand brushes tentatively over an already hardened nub, making you shiver.

His hand covers your breast and he squeezes gently, the sigh that ghosts from your lips emboldening him.

When he dips his head and captures the other in his mouth, circling with his tongue, the whimper that escapes you as your eyes fall closed is nearly his undoing.

One of your hands rests on the back of his neck, while the other guides his hand lower. As he caresses your waist, his mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same treatment and leaving your pulse racing.

You can feel the dampness between your legs, and from the way his churr has deepened, it's evident he can smell your arousal. His fingers play at the waistband of your shorts, but no further.

"This doesn't have to go any farther than your comfortable with," you reassure him.

"It's not that, it's just..." His cheeks darken, "I'm not... um..."

"Human?" You venture, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah..." He says before laughing softly, still not entirely able to process that this is happening, "But, I guess... that's not really a problem for you, is it?"

"Nope," you say, offering him a wicked smile which leaves him swallowing hard.

You smirk and reach up to tug at his paldron. "Feeling a little one-sided here, Red," you say looking over all the clothing and equipment he still has on.

He exhales, a permanent smile of disbelief resting in the corner of his mouth. Him. You want him. You climb off of him, laying back on the bed, and he stands. He sheds his gear and clothing as you look on hungrily, reclined on the bed like a God damn empress. His tail twitches. You aren't just letting him have you, you want him right back, and that is doing amazing things for his ego.

As he's removing the last of his clothing, he glances down at your shorts before meeting your gaze with a brow raised in expectation.

You narrow your eyes and smirk, pushing yourself up and standing beside the bed, before pushing your shorts from your hips and letting them slide to the floor. Now it's your turn to look at him expectantly as he tosses his red mask on top of his gear and takes the few steps towards you.

He looks down at you as if you're the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, and if you ask him, you are. With fabric no longer impeding, he is glutting himself on your scent and his head is swimming as it takes everything in him not to drop right there.

Your eyes roam over his body greedily, drinking him in, something you previously could only ever do in secret, and he shivers. You can't help it, you reach up a hand and hesitate for only a moment before placing it on his chest, following the labyrinthine whorls and channels in his plastron. He's cool and hard under your fingertips, and rough in many places where the keratin has been damaged.

"You know what kills me?" You ask softly, fingers tracing a particularly deep scar, "You have absolutely no idea how beautiful you are," you step forward, pressing your lips to the deep groove. You're rewarded with a sharp inhale and the rumble in his chest against your bare skin.

His hand slides around your waist and he pulls you into him as you kiss upward along the length of the scar. Your softness caresses him, and warmth pours through his shell, filling all the parts of him starved for sunlight. A deep hum reverberates inside of him when you reach the divot in the top of his pectoral scute, and kiss the scarred skin just above.

You look up at him, whispering, "Will you let me show you?"

He looks down at you, and he looks terrified. But he nods. He trusts you.

You take his hand and walk to the end of the bed. You close the door to your room, the light flashing in the full length mirror on the back of the door.

"Sit," you say with a gentle squeeze of his hand, leading him to the side of the bed facing the mirror. He does as he's told, and you climb into his lap, also facing the mirror.

You take his large hands in yours and guide him, showing him how you like to be touched. He watches your reactions to every movement closely, and it isn't long before he's confident enough to explore on his own. His fingers trail lightly down your side, following the line of your hip slowly inward. He stills, waiting to see if you're going to stop him from moving forward.

You don't.

He holds your gaze, watching your features change as his fingers slip into your folds. You gasp as he teases you slowly, and it isn't long before you're near trembling.

You're eyes fall closed, and your mouth falls open as one finger finally pushes into your soaked center. You lean back against him, whimpering as his finger curls, brushing against the soft part inside of you, before pulling out and pushing back in. He repeats the action, slowly, and again, slowly. He feels you clench around him, writhing impatiently, and looks up at the mirror.

Flush and trembling in his arms, one hand nearly covers your abdomen, the contrast of your smooth skin and his pebbled scales looking almost intentional, color and texture complimenting each other perfectly. The other continues disappearing inside of you and drawing from you the most exquisitely frustrated sounds. And it's him. He's doing all of it. His oversized, inhuman hands are creating this moment.

There is no other word for it than "beautiful..."

Your lust blown eyes open to meet his as you whimper and twist in his lap. "f-fuck..." he shudders as he drops, gripping you tighter.

The corner of your mouth turns up slightly as you meet his reflection's eyes. Trembling, he angles himself to rub against your sex, coating himself in your slick, pulling a small sound from your throat. You're already so wet and ready, and when you tilt your hips and capture his spade-tipped head, you are very grateful for that.

The burn as you stretch around him is glorious. He's bigger than you were expecting (and you were expecting), and a deep moan is pulled from you as you sink down on him slowly, your eyes falling closed.

You still once he's buried to the hilt, both of you needing a moment to adjust. When you open your eyes, his are still closed. His arms hold you tightly around the waist, and measured, trembling breaths ghost over your shoulder.

He needs a minute. This is new for him and the worst thing he can imagine right now is for this to be over before it starts. You are so soft and warm and tight, and he can feel your heartbeat pulsing in the walls around him, and if he doesn't get some kind of control, he's going to bust right here.

After a few moments, he opens his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror. His fingers find your clit again, and he strokes it slowly, groaning, his head falling back, when you clench around him.

In an involuntary search for friction, your hips rock against his and he gasps, his other hand tightening around your waist, and he's never been more grateful for years of training in meditation.

He breathes heavily for a few moments, and once he feels like he has his bearings, he holds your gaze and tightens his grip on your hips, pulling out of you slowly before pushing back in. You can feel his churr inside you and you shudder as he sheathes himself again, feeling the vibrations of his desire scatter outward from your center, leaving your fingers and toes tingling.

You move together in a slow rhythm, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He's going to remember every single second of this for the rest of his life. Whatever happens next, this is his. This moment. This feeling. He's wanted a lot of things in his life - peace, acceptance, love -, and for this one shining moment, he has all of them. For this once shining moment, he has you.

This beautiful, brilliant goddess of light and mercy is with him, wants him. You are watching him in the mirror as if he is something sacred. Divine. This broken deformation of something that isn't even a man, held in reverence, and he is filled with something indescribable.

His head falls to your shoulder with a deep moan, as a fire ignites inside of him. Not the one he's used to, there is no burning rage. No barely contained fury. This is not the fire of battle, but the fire of a forge.

Red hot iron burns in his veins as years of doubt and insecurity are boiled away. They didn't matter anymore. Every weird, unacceptable mutated turtle thing he had to deal with. Every scream of horror at his terrible visage. Your light. Your heat, is burning it away. Allowing him to make something new. He leans back, lifting you and bucking up into your harder as that heat fills him, and with every thrust, something in him is reshaping itself.

You could see it in his eyes. That fire of creation. And if you thought he was beautiful before... He holds your gaze with open purpose, unsure but ready for anything, pouring that fire into you. The catalyst of his recreation. And for the first time in his life, he feels like maybe he deserves something good.

And, Gods, you felt SO good.

He's transfixed, his hand reaching around to find your clit again, moaning as his mouth descends to your neck and shoulders. Needing to pull more of those exquisite sounds from you. Every one of them ringing through him like a struck anvil.

A smirk turns his lip as he stands, growling, and you brace against the door as he shows no signs of slowing. His large hand comes to cover yours on the door, wrapping around it. Eyes no longer fixed to the mirror, gaze downward, watching the way you stretch around him as he disappears into you, he can feel his release building as your body flexes around him.

The fire roars under your skin as his speed and strength increases, capturing every sight, sound, and scent, and tossing them back into the flames.

You're beyond language at this point, grunting and whimpering with every thrust. You can feel him in every part of you, until there is nothing left in the world but him and the burn of him filling you completely.

You can feel the pressure building as he growls low and sparks shoot up your spine, his hot breath crashing over your shoulders in waves as he is lost to you. He wraps his arm around you, leaning back and pulling you flush against him as his eyes fall shut.

You are consumed by the flames, arching against him with a cry as white fire streaks through you, the pressure breaks, and you are undone. Raphael follows with a roar, gripping you tightly as he buries himself in you. A second wave crashes over you when you feel him spill himself inside of you, your body milking him dry.

Trembling and breathing hard, you sit back and hold each other as you come down together. You meet his eyes in the mirror, and he's looking at you in reverence and gratitude, like you're his own personal miracle.

Because you are.

He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head in your shoulder and breathes deep, pulling your scent into his lungs as he pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty. Glancing up, he watches himself drip out of you, staining the rug below. You are flush and exhausted, but smiling as your heart rate and breathing slow.

After taking a few moments to clean up. You crawl back into bed together. He slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

You smile up at him, happy, truly, actually happy, for the first time in... ever? That can't be right. It feels right. All you know is you've never been happy like this.

It won't last. It can't. He's too special. And now he knows he has options. "Just think, when you get bored with me, there's a whole community of people that will also find you hot." you chuckle softly. It was only a matter of time, right? You were nothing special.

His smile disappears.

How could you think...

"Y/N, I don't want anybody else." He says softly, sure.

"Raph, you haven't met anybody else." You counter.

"Fuck anybody else. Everybody else. I got it in one, and I ain't about to question that." He presses his forehead to yours.

You smile at him in patient, loving, disbelief. "Okay, Red."

He raises his head to look at you. "Want me to prove it? Fine. Give me a few years, I'll have you convinced."

This gets him a laugh. "Years?" you really like the sound of that.

You grin up at him. You really, really like the sound of that. But moments later, you cringe hard and start giggling, a clear sign that your brain has interrupted with something ridiculous. "Okay okay okay, I'm gonna say it. I have to say it... I've created a monster."

"If I'm lucky," he says. You look into his eyes as he smiles down at you, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. "You better be prepared for me not to be able to keep my hands off you," he says with a smirk.

"Y/N..." He groans and covers his face with a pillow while you cackle.

"No wait, see? Now you can't hate that word anymore because it will remind you of sex!" You chirp delightedly.

"You can't possibly be fucking serious right now..." He says, muffled by the pillow.

The next several minutes are spent with you vehemently defending your joke, while, delightfully annoyed, he quietly admits to himself that being a Monster might not be all that bad.

...

Happy Pride Month, my Monster. I love you. ♥️

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[mangostarjam]

fuji!! hope you've been doing ok lately :)) make sure to give yourself breaks when needed! treat urself with kindness and grace pls, remember you deserve it even when you think you don't <33

i came by to share my most recent 3am smutty brain rot hehe ;)))

key word: tenting. i'd imagine the kaiju suits have some sort of compressive technology to combat this issue, but yknow what probably doesn't?

(answer: vice captain's hoshina's sweatpants. its something you take unfortunate --or fortunate lmao-- notice of during one of ur training sessions when he decides to shed that half-jumper of his. WHICH BTW!! i fully believe he cut the bottom half off bc he likes taking it off when training, but cant be bothered to remove the whole thing LOL)

pre-relationship!hoshina is watching shortie!reader train and give guidance to the recruits and yknow, watching you fight gets him going and really, he didn't mean to pop one then and there but could anyone blame him when you look absolutely stunning beating the sht outa the recruits?? (i'm 5'1". this is self-indulgence hehe)

okieee love u stay hydrated, make sure to at least eat snackies if not meals, byee <33

- 🧸

hiiiiii friend thank you for thinking of me!! i am trying to take care of myself and thankfully august is almost over so i should be better soon!

i'm ngl this did make me wonder about their suits and uniforms HAHA but i am very pro self indulgence with writing!! gray sweatpants and tenting can absolutely be the death of me and while the uniform pants aren't the same thing, they're close enough imo!! or maybe i just think soshiro's hot in anything (also true let's be real)

this is like 900ish words and not smutty (sorry) but i did have fun thinking about a shortie!reader kicking ass!! love u teddy bear anon thank you for dropping by and i hope you still like this!

You're having the time of your life.

A strange thought to have, maybe, while you're busy dodging strikes and dipping and twirling around your opponents. Being much smaller than most members of the Defense Force means you're used to being underestimated, though your platoon has had enough time with you by now that they should be used to training against you.

They aren't.

You laugh as you swoop past the fists aimed in your direction, caught up in the giddy adrenaline of being good.

Everything moves in slow motion. The rise of your opponent's chest, strands of hair catching the light, muscles tensing for a blow. The sharp red gaze watching your every move from by the fence. You take it all in and blow past your teammates, emerging unscathed from the manned obstacle course and grinning, breathless.

Hoshina Soshiro grins back.

"Laps," he says, glancing past you. The rest of the platoon grumbles good naturedly, but they take off jogging around the track. You bounce on the balls of your feet as your Vice Captain stalks over towards you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

"How did I do, sir?" you ask.

"Pretty sure Minase almost caught ya," Soshiro says. "And your form got sloppy at the end. But not bad, I guess."

"Minase did not," you splutter, but Soshiro just laughs. "I swear I'll get a real compliment from you someday, sir."

Soshiro shifts on his feet and you blink, distracted by the awkward way he's keeping his hands in his pockets. He's wearing his typical super-distracting skintight shirt — his jacket is hanging on the fence post — and your gaze pauses on the bunch of his shoulders and the strain of his biceps. Not wanting to be caught staring, you blink and move on. His pants are cinched tight at his hips, but as your confused stare drifts lower, he coughs.

"You get enough of that from the rest of the platoon leaders," he says lightly. "And 'sides, ya still ain't fast enough to get past me."

Sparks fill your veins. You glare up at him. "Oh yeah? Let's go, then!"

"Not now."

You nearly stumble in shock. In all your time under his command, the Vice Captain has never denied one of your training requests. It's led to many late nights in the practice rooms, joking and working together, bits of advice tossed out as he threw you around the room with a strength that made you dizzy. It's surprisingly easy to suppress your silly little crush when Soshiro is busy kicking your ass, but you enjoy the time spent with him all the same.

"Huh? Why not?"

Soshiro shrugs. The movement draws your attention to his shoulders, but that only sends your gaze down his arms to his hands stuffed into his pant pockets. Why is he standing like this, anyway? It's like he's trying to — oh.

Your mouth opens slightly in awe. Your eyes widen. The front of your Vice Captain's pants...

Well, it's safe to say Izumo Tech has some impressive compression technology for the anti kaiju suits. Those things are skintight, molded to your bodies for better kaiju cell synchronization and ease of movement. You've often wondered if it's uncomfortable for people with dicks, since the material sticks so closely. But none of you are wearing the suits right now — you're in uniform, and while the uniform is a bit looser, you've never noticed anything... like this.

Like the thick, unyielding bulge straining against the front of Soshiro's uniform pants.

You snap up to meet his enigmatic gaze as soon as you recognize what you're looking at, but Soshiro merely hums a little. "Ya looked pretty good during that obstacle run," he says.

"But you said my form got sloppy."

Soshiro grins. "Ya still looked good."

Does that mean...? You glance at his pants again and — yup, it's unmistakable. His hands may be in his pockets but there's nothing else that bulge could be, unless he's hiding some kind of secret weapon down there.

"Are you always like this?" you ask. Insubordination be damned — there's no way you can let this go now. Your heart pounds into focus, the lightning quick beat of your pulse drowning out your thoughts as Soshiro snorts.

"Do I get in trouble with HR a lot, y'mean?"

Oops. You're blushing. You're blushing and he's just laughing quietly to himself like your reaction pleases him. "I won't — I don't, um... I don't mind, I was just... wondering?"

Soshiro raises an eyebrow. You gulp as you meet his red eyes. "Am I always turned on while I'm watchin' ya take on guys two times your size?"

You nod. Your Vice Captain tilts his head up, watching birds flit across the sky for a moment as he processes this. "Guess it depends," he says, "this only happens with you, y'know. So d'you want me to be?"

"Do I want you to be...?"

"Interested?"

Your platoon is finishing up their laps, and soon you'll need to take your place among the obstacle course to attack as the next person has their turn. You're running out of time to respond. Your brain is buzzing. The both of you turn to watch as your platoon jogs closer.

"I do want you to be interested, Vice Captain, sir," you say firmly, staring straight ahead but glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. The tips of his ears are pink. "I would be honored."

"It's Hoshina," Soshiro says. He tilts his head slightly towards you and grins at your noise of confusion. "You can use my name while we're datin'."

[rocknroll7575]

Gardian ghost

Jaune: MAY YOU TIED WITH PYRRHA GREAT JOB

Weiss: OH please she only won because of her semblance it's not a real tie Pyrrha should never have tied with anyone let alone her

Jaune : Oh but when Pyrrha uses her semblance to make her opponents weapons just miss or Yang hit her opponent harder the more she's hurt or yours it's a fair and square victory but with my teams it's not a real win

Weiss: It's different

Jaune: HOW explain to mine and your teams how it's different

(You think May tied!? NO SHE FUCKING WON!)

Weiss: Zedong only won simply because of her semblance, she would have lost if the fight was pure physical combat.

Jaune: *Glares* You're right, but a fight isn't always physical combat, Schnee, it only matters if you win, who cares how? After all, do you think people like Roman Torchwick or Raven Branwen are going to fight fair?

Weiss: of course not-!

Jaune: Then why should we? Ms. Rose tells us every time that when it's a fight to the death, winning is all that matters, we have to use whatever we have! Just admit it... you're just a sore loser!

Weiss: A Schnee does not lose!!! I nor my team will ever lose to the likes of you!

Pyrrha: Weiss, perhaps you should stop-!

Weiss: WHY!? Arc and his team are nothing compared to us! Why take this loss so easily Pyrrha!? You were beaten by the likes of a sand eater!

May: Whoa! What the fuck did you call me!?

Cardin: *Grips mace* You better watch what you say next Schnee!

Weiss: Or what Winchester? Gonna defend her like that faunus mother of yours!?

Cardin: *Furious* DON'T YOU SAY A WORD ABOUT MY MOTHER!

Pyrrha: *Steps between Weiss and ARCZ* Hang on! Let's not escalate this more than we already have!

Jaune: *Glares at Pyrrha* You really gonna defend her after all the shit she just said!?

Pyrrha: N-No! I-I'm not trying to defend-!

Reese: *Steps forward* Then what are you gonna do about what she said, Nikos!? You're the damn leader! Talk some sense into her!

Pyrrha: I... I don't...

Reese: *rolls eyes* Whatever, be a pushover... but just to let you know, she's the reason you're entire team is disliked

Jaune: *Sighs* Let's go guys

*ARCZ leaves*

*Yang & Arslan walk up next to Pyrrha and Weiss*

Yang: You know, Reese's has a point

Weiss: You can't be serious!?

Arslan: You just called May a Sand Eater and called out Cardin for having a Faunus mom, what next? Gonna make fun of me for where I came from or who my parents were?

Weiss: I would never do such a thing!

Yang: Why? Because we're of use to you?

Weiss: because... your my friends...

Arslan: *Scoffs* friends, riiight! Don't fool yourself, you're a Schnee, all you see are assets and tools... you don't see us for us *Walks away*

Yang: *Looks at Pyrrha* should have let her get punched in the face, might have made her realize something *follows Arslan*

Pyrrha: *looks at the floor ashamed*

Weiss: *Huffs* Those two are... are just being dolts! I am not being-

Pyrrha: *Mutters* Shut up...

Weiss: Pyrrha...?

Pyrrha: *Looks up at Weiss with tears* J-Just... shut up... please...! *Walks away*

*Weiss looks in shock as she stands alone in the hallway feeling alone and looks down at the ground*

XXX

Not a Weiss Hater, just making her a total bitch before she gets her character development!

Also, the reason she's a bit more of a terrible person is because, unlike her canon self, Jacques wanted a mini-him, and with Winter out of the picture and Willow taking Whitely, he completely molded Weiss into his own image.

[avaelangel]

I am sad.

For unrelated reasons, but I am also concerned about what The Boys universe has in store for us. So here you go some random LiMoreou headcanons, because I want to feel something.

Warnings: cheese and no real time restraints.

They for sure do that couple hand-over-the-shoulders thing. Jordan does it while in male form, and Marie sort of adopts it when they're in the girl form. Jordan might be a bit startled about it at first, maybe even will change back just to be annoying. Marie will do one better and try to tackle them into bending down.

Jordan will probably try and teach Marie combat. She would be reluctant about it, but will come to a conclusion (maybe with Emma's help) that it's just a way for them to spend time together. It would be hard not to get distracted, though.

Marie at some point will try and get in between Jordan and something that threatens them in any way, regardless of what form they are in or who is the threat. This might happen when Jordan's parents come again.

They both would adopt each other's behaviors which would include being protective over Emma. Emma would be weirded out that Jordan cares, but will find it funny how them and Marie glare at any guy or girl that looks at her wrong.

Oh, there's no spooning rules for Marie and Jordan. Every night is different. Sometimes one of them can't really breath from the intensity of an embrace.

Jordan and Marie didn't have a shoulder to cry on growing up. After some time they both will realise that they have each other. I think, in both cases they will be good in soothing a crying love, but Jordan will think about solving the problem first and will need a moment to reaccess.

For sure would try to be the clingiest of couples if someone calls them gross.

Totally would have video game nights. Marie never had a console! Jordan has soooo much to show her.

First date in an arcade. Junk food, photobooth pictures and the most cursed plushies they could win for each other.

Jordan wears a lot of staples (t-shirts, tanks, turtlenecks of one color) which will find their way into Marie's closet. Maybe fun pants will immigrate too. Jordan will come stomping to raid Marie's closet then when that black sweatshirt with a skull disappears.

They are for sure going thrifting together. A million percent.

(this is a weird one, but) Jordan knows an abysmal amount of poetry from the days of chasing wrong people. When they start randomly reciting some Shakespear sonnet to Marie, she's so scared. But when Jordan does it to startle her again, Marie actually enjoys it. Jordan isn't bummed for long, because it starts a long conversation about literature.

Marie does indulge in Property Brothes marathons. She didn't get it first, but didn't say anything. Around season 6 she would actually understand the appeal.

That would spawn an idea to just hang out in paint stores and hardware stores.

Jordan for sure can put up a shelf and stuff. Once, they pulled out a fancy drill with a battery and Marie almost swoons for real.

[enaelyork]

This is all we are, a product of war I [Part I]

[PreWar Cooper Howard x F! War photographer reader]

Prompt

After her dramatic photo which won the World Photography Award, Y/N is propelled to the rank of essential war photographer. What could be more normal, then, than that the New York Times sent her to the Alaskan front to cover a decisive turning point in the war? If she is ready to face the hostility of the battlefield, she is much less prepared to fight Cooper Howard and his hostility, as well as everything that this meet will provoke.

Discl: Fallout fanfic in 2 volume : During the Sion War (I) and one year before the Great war(II). Eight years between the volume I & II.

Tw & others: 18+ / Angst / Violence / Slow burn / Before and after Barbs ('cause i like her) / Fluff / English not my native speak

Words : 1.9 k

Chapters navigation : 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Tag list : @ghcstvibess , @thebumbqueen

You can ask for tag in comment ;)

She is dead.

I made her immortal.

Her face hanging above mine, the thin smile playing on her lips as her eyes close for good. An angel. That's what I thought as I held up the lens under her blank gaze. An angel who flew through the bullets and the screams. Her body collapsed on top of mine just after catching that last glimmer inside her.

Then nothing. Silence, nothingness.

Me, alive. She, dead.

Maybe because I made the wrong choice at the wrong time.

I don't think about it, I don't think about it anymore. At least, I try. The world looks at me as the one who symbolized in a single photo the horror of war. Others - most - believe that I took death as an opportunity to rise above the world.

But they don't know anything. They will never know.

-So, are you the photographer?

I raise my head towards my colleague. Inside a military truck that agreed to take us with them, there is a mortuary silence, almost as cold as the environment in which we have been operating for weeks. I guess from his accent that he is not American and that he crossed the Atlantic to follow the last decisive round of the conflict. As we all.

-You and I are the same.

-I can't believe you're here, next to me.

- I'm James Ford, The Telegraph. Your photo has gone around the world, my dear. Are you here to repeat your success?

He offers me a hand that I don't want to take, out of politeness I return his greeting before avoiding his gaze. Around us, the soldiers give us glances, sometimes bad, sometimes intrigued, often revolted.

There is nothing worse for them than hearing us talk about our business. Because that's the real problem.

War is our livelihood.

Each of us feeds off their misfortunes and perhaps most of them despise us for that very reason.

-It seems that things are completely in shambles on this part of the front, that your country is on the verge of losing the war, do you know more? I shake my head.

Of course I know more than I want to tell him. But our job is not to pass information on to a rival. It's about doing something with what you have, producing a report that holds up without needing anyone's help.

He thinks he is going to the decisive stage of the conflict, but I know that I am going to the place of our perdition.

The Bible was wrong. Hell is not just made of flames and demons. It is sometimes wet, windy and freezing. Full of humans ready to kill each other for a cause whose source they have forgotten.

-We stop here, terminus.

The marines barely glance at us when we get out of the truck, entering the polar atmosphere of the camp for good. It only takes a few seconds for a discerning eye to understand that nothing is at stake here, except the little pride these soldiers have left. Wrapped up in my anorak emblazoned with the word press, I take the risk of taking off my gloves to capture a few photos of these men consumed by despair.

Then I saw him.

He was getting out of a truck coming from the combat zones, carrying at point blank range one of his comrades who was visibly in poor condition. The desolation with which he tried to keep him alive gripped me to the core of my being, because that is exactly what I felt that day.

So, after taking a few steps, without greeting my colleague who was already moving away to the other side of the camp, I caught my reflex.

And I took a photo of him. Several times.

First I took an overview. Him and his makeshift companion, on the ground. Him, his hand outstretched towards a group of soldiers running with a stretcher. Him again, a zoom on his features carved in rock, his helmet held firmly on his head by a strap which dug into his skin. Him. His eyes of a color that the zoom could not define perfectly. A strange mixture of caramel and hazelnut. A warmth emanating from his gaze contrasting violently with the ambient cold.

Jostled by a soldier, I interrupt my session considering the chaos reigning around me. My journalistic gear immunizes me against the violence and animosity of the fighters; better still, they must guarantee my safety while some dream of killing me. It is therefore like a ghost that I advance towards the tent into which the soldiers have entered, haunting a place where everyone is unaware of my presence.

-I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do.

The soldier's shoulders slump when a doctor walks towards him, not even bothering to take off his gloves to give him a futile hug. Everyone here knows that one gesture won't replace any deaths, but they're trying hard to keep things warm.

One more photo.

That's what I'm for. Not just to show the horror, but to make people feel all the emotions that result from it. The sadness freezes on the memory card forever while the event floats away in a flood of torment that only peace can dry up.

It was at this precise moment that he became aware of my presence.

He gave me that look in the face like a slap.

A look that had, for a brief moment, bypassed all the barriers I had erected around me to feel nothing other than indifference. I was screwed, but I didn't know it yet.

-Are you okay, did ya get your pic?

Much more fascinating with your mouth closed.

- Would you have started again if that wasn't the case?

I realize I'm going too far. Sometimes I forget that my defenses are not those of others and that it still happens here that someone has feelings.

-Sorry, I shouldn't have. I am…

-No need to make introductions. I know exactly who you are.

Amazing. He knows who I am AND he hates me.

-Nice to meet you, Captain Howard. You and your obvious sympathy.

He didn't want to argue, that was understandable, but something pushed me to follow him when he turned his back on me to go to another compartment of the tent. He knew my name and hadn't even introduced himself, reason enough to convince me that I had scented the right target.

Like a snake, I had slipped into a corner of the room, ignoring the looks that instinctively turned towards me before returning to their main point of interest: a large makeshift table where a map of the region was placed. I have no military training, but what I saw there was not a shadow of a doubt.

We were going to lose.

It was there, between the pawns strictly aligned to the north of our position. The reds were going to get us and it was only a matter of time. It was for this reason that I was here, to see my country fall to its knees in front of it stronger than it for the first time in its history.

-We have to hold on until the new armor prototypes arrive. said a visibly exhausted general. So they have to be there within a week, maximum.

Howard remained profoundly silent, his gaze fixed on the table. Strange attitude for someone I thought was rather angry and nervous. He clung to this map as if persisting would allow him to detect the flaw, where no hope remains.

-I suggest we try for a breakthrough here. Continued a visibly confident captain.

This suggestion drew immediate ire from the main protagonist of my report.

-A breakthrough ? he replied, acidly.

-If we manage to progress this far, it will take us little time to act after delivery of the prototypes. We will take the reds by surprise and turn the tide.

-We still need to have the necessary soldiers for this. I lost half of my men in the last attempt.

The observation plunged the room into silence. It was just a polite way of telling him that a man here was just gunpowder. He understood it perfectly because I saw his eyes clouded with bitterness. His helmet removed, I discovered a man of war-worn beauty.

-We can provide you with men, Howard. Captain Brendol puts forward an idea that should not be overlooked.

It had darkened, again, I could see the depth of his distress from where I stood and it was sucking me in, literally.

-Cooper. I can hear that the situation is confusing you, but you're going to have to go back.

-So are we there? Bet on a hypothetical prototype whose real delivery date is unknown ?

-It's an order, Captain Howard. Gather what's left of your corp and we'll provide you with what you're missing. You leave tomorrow.

The discussion was over. The general packs up his things and Captain Brendol gives Howard a triumphant smile. He's the kind of man who likes to show off by proposing suicidal ideas, but not courageous enough to carry them through to the end. There was now only me left in the room.

And him, too, him and his hazel eyes that pinned me to the wall.

-You want to come with us, right? He had swept everything away. His resentment, his fears too, all of that had waltzed away the very moment the order was pronounced. Yet he didn't follow the others, content to stand there and consider me a negligible garbage.

-That's the idea, indeed.

-And it's bad. I'm not going to explain to you wha' you might see there, your mouth will water.

-Too late for that. You already make me dream.

His hand lands on the table next to us and his eyes focus on me like two knives trying to tear me apart. I jumped in spite of myself at the violence of his gesture and his intact will despite the fatigue that stretched his features. He still believes in it, I thought, and if I wasn't so captivated by his will, I would have taken a photo of him

-I think there are things the world shouldn't see.

-And I think just the opposite. I don't think they'll miss a thing.

I stayed there, clinging to my reflex with the firm intention of not giving up any piece of land to this man. It made me wonder which of us was more accustomed to war and who was going to win the one we had just declared. I probably exaggerated my initial intention a little to provoke him a bit more, which was not the idea of ​​the century when you had to find a place among soldiers at the end of their nerves.

But I feared nothing: he could not forbid me from following them. And he knew that just as much as I did.

-Do what you want. But I don't babysit. Me and my men will have other fish to fry to save your skin. But scavengers like you, people who take photos of those who die to win trophies, know that, don't they?

It was in this way, by literally sticking a knife in my heart, that he permanently sealed our lives. Because I will never forget Cooper Howard again, and not just for the meanness he showed towards me from the moment he laid eyes on me.

[legokingfisher]

Here to collect Riyu headcanons and maybe baby hippo videos

Hello hiii Riyu hcs be upon ye

He’s overly conscious of his surroundings (since he’s pretty big) to the point it affects his relationships with people. If that makes any goddamn sense. Like. He knows his size and strength have the potential to be physically dangerous on complete accident, so the fact he’s thinking about that 24/7 permeates deep into his brain and he ends up wondering if he’s being annoying or rude or attention-hogging during social interactions too. 90% of the time, he’s not— he’s an absolute sweetheart and is considerate as hell. But it causes him to put the wants and needs of others above himself all the time, unfortunately. It also makes him pretty hesitant to ask for help. (“Am I bothering them? Is this a bad time? Shouldn’t I already know this?”) So instead his main coping mechanism is escapism <- just like me for real

He’s been trying to learn to speak Common (…english??) physically/out loud, bc speaking it telepathically is Really Hard and bc he spends so much time amongst Common-speakers who don’t know Dragon (these people being… pretty much anyone outside the monastery) and would like to go out and about without having to always bring someone to translate or having to like… play fuckin charades just to order takeout or w/e.

Out of the other dragons at the monastery, he is most close with Heatwave since they happen to spend so much time together (Heatwave is usually around Wyldfyre, and Riyu/Wyldfyre hangout a lot; Heatwave also basks on the roof, which is something Riyu enjoys too). He sees Heatwave as a sort of older brother or uncle yk?

Aside from Lloyd’s ninja training, Riyu also gets combat training from Zanth, since in some ways it’s easier to learn that from someone who is Also huge and quadrupedal. Plus, Zanth is a pretty seasoned fighter (she traveled/adventured for a long ass time in my mind) so there’s not always overlap between what Zanth and Lloyd can teach him

He loves physical affection!!! He loves it when the others lean on him, sleep near/with him, hug him, etc. Feels nice plus it reassures him that he’s not some Big And Scary Thing to non-dragons. He certainly doesn’t mind when the others ride on his back— they’re pretty light to him.

Once he gets the hang of spinjitsu, his tornado is a bright blue with streaks of dark blue as well as gold

Once he gets the hang of Rising Dragon, it makes his eyes and wings glow the same colors as his spinjitsu, as opposed to him having some larger spectral dragon behind him like the other ninja do when they use Rising Dragon

He is definitely not a picky eater and doesn’t have any sensitivities/texture/smell issues either— bro was literally eating garbage in Cinder’s debut episode in s2p1 he literally doesn’t care

His favorite color is dark green bc it’s the color of his matriarch’s scales :)) he’s also pretty fond of orange, pink, and red bc of Arin, Sora, and Wyldfyre

He has a one-of-a-kind pair of headphones that work with his crazy ass head shape that Sora custom-built for him, and he loves just flying around the mountains near the monastery whilst listening to music

Yes this means he has a tablet to play said music off of. Yes Sora has also made alterations to it so it’s easier for him to use it (i would say phone but it would be way too small for him to comfortably use)

And baby hippo video for u as requested i fucking love that thing:

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

Note: this one is a bit longer than I anticipated!

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You have everything neatly tucked into a box for your delivery. You're anxious, more so to get it done and over with, than to meet the demanding buyer. Your mother finishes up and hurries you to get ready. You can’t help but take your time.

You bring another box, this one full of parcels to be sent out. After dropping those off, you’re back in the car hug the last order in your lap. Your mother pulls into the lot, just behind the garden center outside, now selling wreaths and pine trees in lieu of the season bulbs and petals.

You get out and check your phone. Your mom comes around to read over your shoulder. You keep an arm around the box as you lean it against the car. You bring up your Etsy messages.

‘Think I got here early. In the garden center checking out the garlands.’ 

“Oh, great,” your mother says, “we won’t have to waste too much time.”

“Mhmm,” you agree and bring your other arm around the box, pressing your phone to it as you follow her. 

She doesn’t wait as she walks along the wall of the garden centre and dips through the door. You catch up inside, nearly bouncing off of her as you hold the box ahead of you. She squeals and points out a shelf of ornaments made of pine cones. You humour her with a smile and hum.

“Those are cute, mom, but we’re not here to shop,” you huff as you peer around.

That woman in the patchwork jacket looks like a farmer. She has the square jaw of a real hard lady. You know she’d probably best you in any physical combat. You meet her eye, tilting her head in question, ‘are these your crochet goods? Huh? Did you make me come all the way down here?’

She frowns and quickly turns away. Alright, not her but you’ve definitely creeped her out. You glance back at your mom as she ogles the ornaments. You wonder how she manages to work from home effectively.

“Excuse me, uh, SashayCrochet? Um, I think that’s for me?” A voice draws you back to face the rows of trees and hanging wreaths. You almost fall over as you recognize the man approaching you. No flipping way. “Hey,” he points at you in a similar epiphany.

“Uh, Farmer’s Delight?” You grimace.

“That’d be me,” he smiles. He’s wearing the same tan jacket, you note the stain by the pocket, “thanks for meeting me here.”

“Uh huh,” you squint at him. What a gosh dang diddly darn coincidence this is. “Here, everything’s there. Have a good day.”

“Oh, wow,” he sputters as you push the box against his stomach, slowly placing his hands on the corners. “Do you mind if I check to make sure or–”

You hold back a sneer. You can’t believe this. You had a bad feeling all along. You somehow don’t think this is fate. You think this guy has a problem. Why would he needs a lady’s magenta cap and matching mitts?

“Honey,” your mom finally catches on to the scene behind her, “oh, is this him?”

“Um, hello,” the weirdo smiles at her, “yeah, uh, it’s me. Cole.”

He offers his hand as he shifts the box under his arm. Your mother shakes his hand and nearly vibrates in excitement. She loves finding a new mark for her unending small talk. They deserve each other.

“Cole, that’s such a cute name,” she rescinds her hand, holding it over her chest coyly, “matches you well.”

“Mom,” you growl, raising your chin defiantly at Cole the creep, “I included an invoice so you can see everything’s there. Go ahead and check, we have things to do.”

“Honey, don’t be so rude,” your mother chides, “so, Cole, you live on a farm?”

He sets the box down on the corner of a table and shuffles through the contents. You stay where you are as your mom steps closer. You wonder if she sees the silver in his beard and just thinks that’s some festive touch. He’s ancient.

“Yeah, my parents’ place. I help out. As much as I can.”

“Oh, wow, I always dreamt of living out in the country but I’m too much of a busy body. The city is where I belong,” she preens, “but my daughter, she’s loves being at home. Don’t you, honey?” She beckons to you but you don’t move. “Spends all her time making this stuff,” she motions to the box.

“It’s very nice,” he says as he admires the beret style cap, “good handiwork. Talented.”

“Yes, a good hobby,” your mom insists, “not so useful as working the field, I’m sure.”

He chuckles, “yeah, I guess, but it takes all sorts.” He lifts the box up again, “my mother is going to love all this. Her birthday’s just around the corner and I didn’t really wanna walk in with another gift store teddy bear.”

“Too sweet,” your mom chimes, “any mother would be so lucky. Honey, get over here.” She reaches back blindly and grabs your arm, forcing you up next to her, “she always makes me something pretty for the holidays but you can only really have so many socks and scarfs.”

“Mom,” you snarl again, glowering at Cole as amusement dimples in his cheek.

“Actually, uh, I was just coming from the market. I have a booth there. I sell plants, so, uh, I have some in my car. If you wanna have a look. You can have one for free… some probably won’t last that much longer,” he suggests.

“Oh, plants! I love plants. And with this weather, everything’s so grey,” your mother trills. “We’d love to have a look.”

You almost hiss at her again but you don’t want to argue, not in front of this man. He smiles and leads her out of the garden center. You trail behind reluctantly. Your mother glances over her shoulder and snaps her fingers at you. You come up behind her and lean in close.

“Mom,” you whisper, “do you really think we should follow this stranger to his car?”

“Stranger? He’s so nice.”

“You said two words to each other.”

“Don’t be so cynical,” she snaps back, lowering her voice as she talks out the side of her mouth, "he's gorgeous."

He takes her to a pale blue truck and opens the back door, he tucks the box on the floor and steps back, gesturing to the back seat. You furrow your brow at your mom. She is easy pickings.

“You can have a look. Mostly cacti,” he shrugs.

“Don’t mind if I do,” your mom steps up and peeks into the back seat.

You can see the edge of a cardboard tray as she moves around the small pots. You stay a few feet back and cross your arms. Cole edges towards you.

“I guess… we’re running into each other so I can apologise,” he says, keeping his voice notably low, “about the bookstore.”

“Huh, bookstore? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m being nice. I just wanna make it up for you. Why don’t you take a plant too?”

“I don’t have much of a green thumb. I’d rather knit my plants,” you sneer.

“You mean crochet,” he corrects you. You look at him sharply and he lifts his brows plaintively, “I’m learning, see?”

“Mom,” you put your hand up as if to say ‘talk to the hand’ and block him out, “hurry up. We gotta grab that thing for dad. Remember?”

“Great, I’m heading inside too,” Cole says, “they have some sod in stock and I need some chicken wire.”

“I like this one,” you mother shows a prickly cactus with a little red cushion on top, “and wonderful, you might know what this is,” she fishes out her phone with her free hand, “something for the sink. My husband sent me a link…”

You die a little as your mother shows him the web page. Of course she can’t just let him go. She can’t let you get out of this. She thinks this guy with his dumb blue eyes and sandy brown hair is some sort of Prince Charming.

“Maybe I’ll just wait in the car,” you say.

“Oh, honey, don’t be silly, it’s too cold for that.”

Cole looks at her phone, “oh, I know exactly where those are. One sec.”

He shuffles past her to shut his truck door. You glare at your mom but she doesn’t notice, she’s completely enamored with this tall hunk of weirdo. Whatever, you’ll have to sneak away and hide in the pet section and daydream about the puppy you never got.

[mercurygray]

Mission Reports

Interrogation Hut, June 25th, 1943.

The first time was always the hardest.

Just once, Marion would have liked to have the CO, or the Air Exec, or someone with a modicum of authority sit down with the new fellows before they went out on their first mission and actually tell them what would happen when they got back - that they’d get out of their plane, and pack silently into the back of a deuce and a half, and file into the Interrogation hut, and then, once they’d all sat down, someone would start asking questions and they’d start talking.

But no one ever did.

And so Marion and her girls were faced with a room full of anxious, terrified men who’d just had their first taste of combat, men who’d just seen their friends shot and their planes wrecked and who had rushed along to they knew not where and shouted at to keep quiet and then asked, in unsparing terms, to tell the good lieutenant just what had happened when they were still trying to figure it out themselves.

(The fact that the people taking notes were a team of women was a different problem, but that too would pass, with time.)

John Egan was hanging around the room like a kicked puppy, superintending the proceedings with enough of his own anxiety to start a house on fire. Marion almost wanted to ask him to leave, but that would have been too much, and too soon - these were his men, and his mission, and whatever Hughlin might have thought about his leadership, this was what leaders did. They saw things through.

Still, when the last of the men had finally given his reports, and the whole group had trooped off to barracks so that each man could shower and shave and peel himself out of his flight suit, Egan remained, pent up and pacing.

She liked the young Air Exec, if the truth were told. A little enthusiastic some days, and his singing voice certainly left a lot to be desired, but he was truthful, John Egan was - no artifice, no hidden meaning. Either he said what he meant to, or he didn’t speak at all, and it was a rare day indeed when Bucky Egan didn’t have a single thing to say. And he cared deeply about people - she’d seen him steal oranges out of the mess hall for the village children, and empty his pockets at the sweet shop so that he’d have candy to pass around. He’d even brought her flowers, once - swiped from the roadside, and presented, with very little fanfare, before a staff meeting, a little boy handing his teacher his ill-gotten gains. Hughlin had scowled at him for it, but Marion didn’t much mind, and she’d thanked Egan for them and asked the kitchen for a jam jar to display them in. He deserved some credit, even when Hughlin didn’t think much of his command potential. Everyone deserved a little beauty, even in the middle of a war - and a little patience, too.

Marion collected a spare pencil from underneath one of the chairs and took a chance on a question she already knew the answer to. “I take it you're not a man who likes being left on the bench, Major.”

Egan practically snarled. “You ever met a guy who was? I'm not doing anything down here! I ought to be up there with them, where the real work is!”

Oh, there it was. Marion took a breath and looked him square in the eye to deliver her punch – “Are you saying that what I do here isn't real work, Major?”

That pulled him up short enough - just like she’d known it would. Maybe he didn’t respect Hughlin, but he’d never had an argument with her in the two months they’d known each other, even if he was technically her superior. (The edge added by five extra years of age helped a lot.) “No, I - just…”

“There are many reasons why I'm not up in a plane right now, and the fact that I'm not a pilot, or a man, is only one of them,” Marion said, her voice as non judgemental as she could manage. “Even if I were, the best place for me is here, where I am, doing what I am doing. Because what we do here, on the ground, is valuable and necessary. It means telegrams get sent to worrying parents. It means the Red Cross knows to look for names. It means men get the medical care they need. It means the next time we send the wing up, we know where the flak is, we know that the guns work, we know that we have done everything we can to bring them home.” She continued to hold his eye, though he looked very much like he wanted to look away. “And when you say things like that, Major Egan, like real work, it denigrates all the very real work it takes to get those planes up in the air every morning.”

He looked away, down at his shoes, and sank down into a chair, trying to make his tall frame a less easy target. Insult me all you like, John. I can take it. But not the cooks, or the mechanics, or the clerks in the mail room. Because every single of them thinks they’re not doing real work, either, and they’re all wrong.

She took another breath, tried to smile. “None of this is glamorous. None of this will get you a medal. But it will bring your friends home, and that is noble and right, and good. That is what a good leader does. That is part of caring, too.” And you care so much, John Egan, that that big heart of yours is going to burst with it some day. Don’t let anyone take that truth from you. You care, and that’s a hell of a lot more than some officers I’ve seen.

“Just feels wrong, is all,” He admitted, finally, drawing his shoulders up to his ears like he was suddenly cold. “Them getting shot at while I'm down here. Was easier when it was just me getting into it, but now that it’s them…” He left the sentence to hang in the air.

Marion nodded. “I feel that every single day. I can tell you that it does not get easier. But doing the work helps.”

“Doing the work?” He sounded lost.

“You have crew in the hospital. Go visit them and see they're not forgotten. You have supply requisitions to sign. Go make sure your mechanics have the parts they need. You have a bed. You need to sleep in it.”

He snorted. “Sleep in it?”

“So you can do the work tomorrow, too,” Marion said, unflinchingly. “And the next day, and the day after that. And it will not get easier, and you will not like it more. But the work will be done, and you will have done what you can do here to help them up there.”

He rose from the chair he’d been slouching into, taking all of this in with the same quiet consideration he gave many things when people weren’t looking. “Why doesn't anyone tell you?”

Why doesn’t anyone tell you what it’s like to watch your friends go out to die? “Because they can't,” Marion admitted. “Not until you've seen it.” Then you understand it too well.

He nodded again. “Thanks, Captain Brennan.”

“Any time, Major.” She paused and added something. “You know, you're welcome in here too, you know. I'm sure the Air Executive needs an after-action report of his own, some days.”

“Sure.” He glanced at the door for a moment and turned back with a sudden thought. “Who listens to you, Captain? When you’ve gotta get something off your chest?”

Marion tried hard not to beam at him. See what I said about caring? “Don’t you worry about me,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I believe your friend Cleven went with the Doctor to the hospital wing. I think you can catch him there.” I’m sure he’s got something he’d like to say to a friend, rather than a fellow officer. That's part of your work, too.

[calciumdeficientt]

hi if i dm you my oc for bully can u do the headcanons thing? also for characters how would you feel about doing hal from the greasers? he’s my favourite and i think he’s pretty underrated

Feel free to send your oc over! I’m am genuinely obsessed with other people’s ocs everyone puts so much thought into them, in the meantime please enjoy my Hal hcs :3333

If Hal has no fans I’m dead. They could never make me hate you Hal Esposito

Hal Esposito hcs

- one thing i alway hate hate HATED about Hal’s voice lines was how rockstar trivialised his fatness and made it the crux of his personality because haha fat = funny but i like to think what it actually stems from is an overbearing mother trying to make up for lost time

-the greasers canonically live in and around the most underdeveloped and deprived areas of bullworth, so its not a particularly bad shout to assume Hal grew up poor, maybe with very little to eat, hence now… its all he can really think about

- also in the voice lines from when jimmy has to fight to earn the greaser’s hideout, Hal offhandedly critiques lucky for not enjoying his preferred channels “what, natural disasters and war footage doesn’t do it for you?” So i also like to imagine Hal is kind of a big history buff, and in true boy fashion he’s particularly fixated on the history of war and combat

-secretly, i reckon he enjoys building model planes and tanks, its basically what he does in the shop but way cooler (at least to him) and the fumes are just minorly different. He knows everything there is to know about the models too, including their life size counterparts. He can tell you everything trom the caliber of the fixed guns, the length of the wheel tracks, the wingspans, even down to the serial numbers and the dates they were patented and discontinued. Shit’s majorly impressive.

- his jacket was his dad’s, him and his mum split when he was pretty young, right after his little sister was born but Hal didn’t really take it so badly, at least not as badly as his parents had initially expected. He was old enough to know what divorce was, and somewhat wise enough to see that it would be better for both parents if they cut ties. The jacket is very very vintage and is falling apart from dry rot. Hal used leather softener stuff on it and re-lined it countless times but it still looks freshly plucked from a dumpster. Not that he minds, he thinks it makes him look rugged

- speaking of his little sister, he really loves that little girl. It’s where most of his money goes, he’s so incredibly soft for her. If he could have it his way shed have every single penny out of his pocket to spend on whatever she liked. She’s only little, barely in grade school but its still all but confirmed she’s going to bullworth when she gets old enough(based on the little kids I’m assuming is a mixed middle school/high school but that’s a an entirely different can of worms) , and god help everyone then. If he’s not already graduated, Hal will literally knock his grades down low enough to not graduate if it means he can hang around and protect his sister for just a smidge longer.

-this kid is so fucking smooth, it comes in the greaser gauntlet, you’ve gotta woo the ladies (or gents, they’re delinquents, not bigots) to get in or you’ll make them look bad. Hal’s a real Casanova but he gets the piss taken out of him because his taste is a little… unconventional. He’s just ahead of the curve, and heavy on the curve. It’s all but confirmed he likes bigger ladies and honestly who are we to take that away from him?

- he does that dude thing where he’ll slap you on the back when he hugs you and he is STRONG. He’s got big calloused hands with crazy surface area that wind you for a good 20 minutes after a pat on the back. Best to avoid him on your birthday too, his birthday digs are LETHAL (is that a thing in the US its a thing inthe UK?)

[agathathevelvetlady]

Late Night Thoughts on Metaphor: ReFantazio

Probably going to periodically post thoughts on Metaphor. I'm currently at 6/16(?), so I'm still in the first real dungeon. Lots of points (and spoilers) below the read more; you have been warned.

-Storywise, this game seems made for me. Immediately differentiating the player from the protagonist is a very interesting move coming from ATLUS of all people, and I love me some metaplot. Seeing my own name on the end of the Royal Magic Scroll sent an actual chill down my spine. -Hell, the fact that the protagonist actually speaks is so jarring. I don't know if we've EVER had a speaking ATLUS protagonist. -The whole idea of fantasy being not just a form of escapism, but a form of idealism is a very interesting response to how Megaten handles Alignments; it feels like a much more hopeful version of that basic idea. -Speaking of which, I absolutely love that the protagonists book is clearly about our world but is absolutely an idealized version of it. The idea that our world is in some way aspirational to these fantasy characters? Cool as hell! -Any worries I had about the game having it's edge removed because of the T rating are also gone. Hell, I would argue there's more edge to it than some of Atlus' M rated titles. Seriously, how'd they get away with all this blood and people getting hanged without an M. -On a personal note, I think it's incredibly funny that ATLUS released a semi-meta JRPG where the main characters powers come from "Archetypes" at the same time I was working on a semi-meta TTRPG wherein characters get their powers from "Archetypes". Utterly hilarious coincidence. -I love the fact that there's a bit of nearly every ATLUS game in here. You got DDS mantras, Etrian Odyssey resource management (we even have ariande threads!), Persona social stats/links/time management, Megaten Press Turn combat, FUSION SPELLS (but actually balanced this time), not to mention nearly all of the classes being from some ATLUS game or another. Hell, we've got the Etrian Odyssey Brawler and Gunner in here. This is awesome. -The time mechanics feel a lot less grindy than something like P5; it seems like we'll be restrained to a much shorter chunk of time but it makes each action matter a lot more. -Coming off of P5 Royal being so piss easy that I could do most dungeons in a single day without even trying even on merciless, I am so glad that Hard mode is actually like, Hard. I've already wiped a few times, and it is SO refreshing to have to actually leave the damn dungeon. Does wonders for the game's pacing. -Being able to engage in a bit of real time combat to wipe out fodder enemies or weaken stronger ones is a wonderful system (I believe it's taken from Trails but don't quote me on that). It lets us skip past most of the "fodder" fights and really cuts down on the combat being too repetitive since the times when you will fight will always be against things which actually challenge you. It's not as brain dead as just running up and hitting the attack button, or Persona 5's stealth ambush system. There's times when I legitimately have decided to just engage a fight then and there because I thought it would be too risky to try and go for a break attack. I love making decisions like that. The fact that you have different move sets based on class weapon similar to SMT IV makes it feel fresh enough to keep doing. Character wise, I'm pretty happy with the core trio. I would die for Strohl and that is not a joke. Plot wise, it keeps pulling out things that really just amaze me. That fucking stone head in the sky man. What a great idea. Overall, I'm really happy with the game so far. Cautiously optimistic and with some minor nitpicks (I think some of the VFX need to be toned down tbh). If it follows through on the ideas it's setting up? I could genuinely see this becoming my favorite ATLUS game. I feel like I'm playing Vanilla P5 for the first time again, and it's a beautiful feeling.

[karespocketboyfriends]

𝙶𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 2024 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎

Sylus X Evie (OC)

Warnings -> 18+ NSFW (Guided masturbation, phone sex, mutual masturbation, penetration of fingers, use of ‘sir/sweetie/kitten), situationship dynamic

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

My boss has ruined me. And he’s done so in a way a boss never should.

Now, in the privacy of my bedroom in the early hours of dusk, I face the consequences of being unable to keep my hands off my boss. For almost half an hour, I’ve been trying to release some pent up frustration that’s gone ignored for hours, but nothing I do is getting me to where I need to be. Nothing is working, and to make it worse, my body isn’t accepting failure. The pressure in the pit of my stomach is just getting more and more annoying.

“Dammit!” I hiss, then immediately flinch and clasp a hand over my mouth. My panic quickly fades when I remember that I’m the only one home right now.

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to steady myself, try to slip into a fantasy that will do the trick. Though, in hindsight, maybe that’s the problem. Thinking of his voice makes me crave it in real time. Recalling the feel of his hands makes my own thin fingers feel pathetic.

I try again, and I fail again.

I sit up, ready to throw in the towel and just suffer, when my phone starts to ring. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or call.

An annoyed huff escapes me seconds before I answer the call. “What is it, Sylus?”

I can picture the man on the other end lifting an eyebrow. “Is that any way to greet your boss when he calls?”

“It’s how I greet my boss when he calls on my night off. Unless the base burned down and there’s no need for me to come in Sunday night, is whatever you’re calling about necessary to discuss right now?”

“You’re preoccupied.”

“Yes.” I exasperate.

A chuckle. “That wasn’t a question, sweetie.”

A very long pause follows as realization slowly starts to sink in. If he isn’t asking, then that suggests…

“I sent Mephisto to retrieve the hard drive I asked you to hold onto for me, but called him back when I realized that you’re… busy.”

That stupid fucking crow.

I yank the blanket up to cover my naked lower half, my cheeks burning so hot I don’t even need a mirror to show me how red they are. “You…!”

“You seem frustrated, kitten. Is playing on your own not fun?”

“Shut. Up.” I hiss, pulling the blanket up higher to hide my face. “This is your fault to begin with!”

“It is? In that case, would you like me to come over and make up for what I’ve done?”

“No. Absolutely not, and before you ask, no. I’m not coming all the way down there, either.”

We may hook up regularly, but I am not about to become a booty call. Is there really a difference? Maybe not, but it’s one thing to seek each other out when we’re physically occupying the same space. It’s another to invite the other over just for sex.

“You’re really limiting your options.”

I roll my eyes. “I always have the option to hang up on you.”

Another chuckle on his end. “You could, or you could be a good girl and follow my directions.”

My next breath gets caught in my throat. Surely, I imagined those words. “You aren’t serious?”

“I’m very serious, sweetie. Go on, make yourself comfortable.”

I sink my teeth into my lower lip, an attempt to combat the heat starting to simmer beneath my skin. For the sake of my modesty, I shouldn’t-

Wait, modesty? I have none left, not since starting this smutty book worthy relationship with my boss. What am I suddenly worrying about modesty for?

Peeling the blanket away, I settle on my back once more and lift my knees until they’re bent at a comfortable angle. “Now what?”

“Now, I want you to tell me what dirty thoughts are running through that head of yours.”

I almost moan at the subtle shift in his voice. He sounds focused, a touch deeper than usual, and it already has me closer to the release I crave than I ever got on my own. My free hand itches to travel south, and I let it, swallowing a sigh as the pad of my middle finger comes into contact with my clit.

Sylus wants to know what’s got me so worked up? I’ll make sure he knows exactly what the cause it.

“The night before, when you were teaching me self defence?” I ask, and he hums in response. “I wouldn’t have minded if you kept me pinned.”

“Is that where your mind kept disappearing to?” He sounds vaguely amused. “Did you want me to fuck you on that mat, Evie?”

This time, I can’t hide my moan. “Yes, Sir.”

Sylus hums again. “A shame you didn’t say so, sweetie. If I had known, I wouldn’t have let you up until you soaked that mat.”

“Fuck.” I whimper, making smaller, faster circles with my finger.

“I adore how easily you get worked up for me, sweetie. I haven’t even told you to touch yourself yet.”

A weak, breathy laugh escaped me. “About that…”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Taking advantage of the fact that I’m not there to punish you, are you? What’s to stop me from hanging up right now and leaving you to fend for yourself?”

“You won’t.” I reply, more confident than I probably should be. It occurs to me that I should elaborate, and after taking a pause to think, I lick my lips. “You don’t like picking on the weak.”

His answering chuckle both makes my heart flutter and my core throb. “Is that your way of saying you’re weak for me? I’m very happy to hear that.”

Faint noises slip in from the background on his end, almost like he’s shuffling around or moving something aside. There isn’t much time to pick it apart, not when his voice returns a moment later with a new set of instructions.

“How wet are you right now for me, Evie?”

I dip a finger between my folds, moaning at how slick I feel. “Very wet, Sir.”

He groans softly. “Do you think you can fit two fingers without hurting yourself?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do it, then.”

My fingers feel nothing like his, but I try to imagine that they are. It’s difficult, though, as they aren’t as long and can’t reach the places he seems to find to easily.

“That’s a good girl.” Sylus praises. I assume the noises I’m making are confirmation enough that I’m doing as told. “Slow. You know how I do it.”

It doesn’t take long to replicate the pace he usually takes with me, the frustratingly slow, painfully patient pumping of my fingers starting to trick my senses.

“It feels good, Sir.” I tell him with a sigh, eyes closing as I start to slip into a fantasy. One where he’s here, in my room, whispering into my ear while playing my body like an instrument.

“I know it does, sweetie. You always enjoy everything I do to you, don’t you?”

Even though he can’t see it, I bite my lip and nod with a whimper. “Yes, Sir. You’re always so good to me.”

“You do well to earn it. I can’t resist spoiling you when you behave so nicely for me.” His next exhale comes out sharp, voice turning a little huskier. “Curl your fingers. You know what spot to look for.”

A whine of protest escapes me. “I’m not gonna be able to reach-”

“Try.”

It’s a clear command. It feels futile, but sink my fingers in deeper and curl them the way Sylus does. I can feel how close I am to victory, it’s right there, but my fingers are just out of reach.

A lightbulb goes off in my head. I tuck my legs in closer, bringing my calves against the backs of my thighs, and lift my lower back until my hips tilt and-

I moan, long and loud, giving away what I’ve accomplished. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Why are you thanking me? I’m not finished with you, yet.”

I’m definitely not imagining things. If the audio clues on his end mean anything, he’s getting off on this just as much as I am. The image that floods my brain, of him in a chair with a hand wrapped around himself, makes my walls squeeze around my fingers.

“When I finish counting, I want you to come. Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

It was a struggle to get myself to this point before. Now, it’s going to be a struggle to hold myself back. “Y-Yes, Sir.”

“Five.”

My entire body, head to toe, starts to tingle.

“Four.”

Every inhale hits my lungs like a punch.

“Three.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip.

“Two.”

My eyes squeeze shut.

“One.”

The string in the pit of my stomach snaps.

I come with a sharp cry, the phone falling from my hand in a desperate attempt to grab something. My thighs close, trapping my arm between them as my back bends, body trying to curl in on itself. All the orgasms I ruined earlier seem to come back all at once, sending shockwave after shockwave through my system.

It takes me a while to settle, and when I finally do, I remember who I was just speaking to.

“Evie?” Sylus’ voice floods my ear when I pick up the phone again. “Breathe, sweetie.”

“I’m here.” I choke out, followed by a strained laugh. “I’m okay.”

I can’t tell if he sighs in relief or is just exhaling. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Very.” I trail a hand up and down my sternum, soothing myself the way Sylus often does. “So, how was your orgasm?”

A laugh. “It did its job.” He pauses, and it almost sounds like he’s gotten closer. “Sunday night, I want you back in the boxing ring for more practice. If you do well, we’ll see about ruining that mat.”

A delightful shiver runs through my body, but I do not have the energy for another round. “I’ll see you Sunday night, Sir.”

SFW Masterlist || NSFW Masterlist || Kinktober

[mxmaneater]

How do you see Gortash as queer coded?

Oh, it would be my genuine delight to explain.

Alright, so I have several lines of reasoning, so I’ll start with the low-hanging fruit first.  

Gortash’s obsession with his appearance

Okay, so we all know about Gortash’s eccentricities when it comes to the way he looks.  He wears an ostentatious villain coat, bedecked with golden bits and bobs, matching pants, and a matching shirt (that he wears provocatively low and can’t seem to ever lace properly).  He also clearly styles his hair, which given its length, takes a non-significant amount of time each morning. 

Now.  Am I saying these things on their own make him queer?  No, of course not.  The assumption that gay men take more care with their appearance is a stereotype, though I would argue that there is a subset of people for which this is true.  However, stereotypes also form the context for which we interpret characters and situations, and that social context is very real (even in cases when a stereotype is not), which is why I don’t discount these details either.  

Additionally, when it comes to the Netherstone, Gortash could have easily stuck it in the middle of a suit of armor like Ketheric and called it a day.  But as a politician (and someone who likely doesn’t see a lot of combat), I get that a suit of armor wouldn’t be his first choice.  Nonetheless, the option he goes with (and presumably takes the time and effort to craft and construct himself) is the pair of gauntlets, which are essentially ornate jewelry.  Jewelry that’s functional and dangerous, yes - but also needlessly beautiful.  And he really only needed one of them, but - again - his attention to detail with appearances drove him to build a matching set to become part of his Signature Look. 

Cool.  So let’s move on to:

Gortash’s political career

Alright, so I like to view Faerun as a fairly equitable place in terms of gender distribution in positions of power (at least compared to reality).  From what I can find on forgotten realms sources, it seems like the Council of Four was composed of 2 men and 2 women (at least until Stelmane is murdered); therefore, I think it’s not a stretch to assume that power is pretty evenly divided.  Great - love that for Baldur’s Gate.  Which it was true out here as well.

Even still, that means that 50% of the high-ranking government officials and patriars that Gortash is charming and manipulating as part of his rise to power are men.  As a devout follower of the God of Tyranny, I find it hard to believe that he would just pass up on the opportunity to use sex as a form of manipulation with men, when we have canon evidence that he uses this tactic to gain power with women (hello Lady Jannath).  Why would he - someone who views ascending in power as a holy mission - suddenly be squeamish when it comes to seducing (both literally and metaphorically) the other 50% of his targets?  

Also, like I mentioned earlier, although Faerun may be a veritable gender utopia, the social contexts that influence us in reality don’t suddenly go away when we boot up bg3.  The writers of the game as well as the consumers - us - are very much bound by the social contexts within which we operate, meaning that certain character traits can be queer-coded for us, even if they wouldn’t necessarily look that way to someone who lives in the world of the game (if they suddenly became sentient and engaged in discourse).  

What does that mean?  Okay, so we live in a society that is highly patriarchal and run by men (read: politicians as well as all other highly influential positions of power).  Within these circles, men are forced into “compulsory relationships” with other men (because remember, women don’t hold the clout they desire, and therefore don’t matter) in order to exert and obtain power; relationships such as “male friendship, mentorship, admiring identification, bureaucratic subordination, and heterosexual rivalry” (Sedgwick, Epistemology of the Closet) characterize these spaces.  Now, as Sedgwick - one of the mainstays of queer literary theory - explains, men enter into these “male homosocial” relationships because they must if they wish to gain power and ascend the ranks; however, the very necessity of these close, male relationships (to the exclusion of, or in superiority to relationships with women) also puts men in the dangerous social position of making it easy to become too close with other men and therefore jeopardizing their access to the very power they sought.  This is the foundation of her argument about forces that keep men in the proverbial “closet.” 

Okay.  So back to Gortash.  Gortash is not driven by fear of stepping over that line - he seems utterly unbothered by professing his connections to whoever he views as influential, regardless of gender (see: default Durge, which I’ll get to later).  He is not scared of stepping beyond this larger, societal “closet” that most men get defensive about in order to protect their relative power.  Sure Faerun is less homophobic than our reality, but again, the coding of these characters doesn’t change drastically based on the in-game setting, because it is ultimately people in our reality who are interpreting and interacting with the game and its characters.  

Also, I make a distinction between Gortash being “queer-coded” and not “gay-coded”; if anything, examples from the game would have me characterize Gortash as bisexual - if he even conceives of sex as an identity factor and not just a means of gaining power over someone, which is a big assumption.  I definitely view him as someone who thinks more along the lines of the latter - and wouldn’t it benefit him, in that case, to be an equal-opportunity manipulator?

This is getting long, so I’ll jump to my final point: 

Gortash’s devotion to the Dark Urge

Whether you read the past relationship between Gortash and the Dark Urge as sexual/romantic or purely a business dealing, the fact remains that Durge is the one character Gortash views as his equal.  And yes, you can customize Durge’s appearance and gender, etc, but the default origin character is male, so a certain amount of “canon”, I believe, can assume at least the possibility of a male Durge.  Gortash - the Chosen of Bane, who loves nothing more than domineering over others - wants to willingly share his Empire with Durge, once he’s conquered the city; that is not a level of devotion that you could expect Gortash to hold for anyone but his “nearest and dearest.”  

And from the letters you can find, it’s apparent that Gortash specifically sought Durge out - tempting him with information about Bhaalist artifacts that had been “stolen” and displayed in a museum in order to form a connection.  This, combined with his desperation to regain Durge as a partner in Act 3 (to the point he’s weirdly forgiving of insult and refusal), offer queer subtext, if not text-text, confirming his particular interest in Durge as a person.  After all, he only “tolerates” Orin, who, despite her own eccentricities, is only trying to accomplish the will of Bhaal, just like Durge presumably was as well.  In fact, most of the characters dismiss Orin as just some “crazy bitch”, which I find hard to believe isn’t rooted, at least partially, in sexism - especially since people forgive Durge very easily for similar crimes.  (I could write my own dissertation about Orin, but I’ll save that for another time).  

In conclusion, there is enough queer-coding between Gortash’s appearance, habits, career, known manipulation tactics, and special relationship with the Dark Urge to at least make the case that he isn’t super straight.  Even without the letter in which he wrote his penpal Franc that he loved him for bringing “wet, slithering malice” into the world.

[breakfastassociation]

I dont think death is a cheater

*big ol text for something very teeny*

one of puss' lives introduces the idea that death is cheating because he's coming after puss even though hes totally alive. which sure sounds like cheating to me!

but as many have noted(1), we do not see death hanging around all the time

he wasnt at mama lunas

he wasnt on the road part of the roadtrip to the star

he wasnt with puss in the safety of the woods and perrito

etc

we only see death when puss is risking his life

over consuming milk(2)

slaying the giant (this one is an easter egg)

getting shot at after stealing the map from horner

facing the bakers dozen

getting stuck in the cave of lost souls a la narcissus (this is my own pet theory, see prev post)

so it looks like death cant nab him at any old time, there is a set of boundaries that death has to operate in, ie puss has to be in real danger of losing his life to see death

which brings us to the Puss V Death sword fights that bookend this movie.

The First: death comes really close to getting puss (blood is drawn) and eventually disarms him. it would have been really easy to get this cat when hes down but he kicks the rapier over and tells him to pick it up (and continue the fight)

The Second: death appears right after puss finally has his hands on the map and is ready to make his 9 life wish. horner was stuck in his bag(3) as far as we knew and goldi + co were reconciled; there seemed to be no immediate threat to puss' life. but death rolls up nonetheless. is this the last chance, last ditch effort of death to finally get him?!

Puss got encircled in the arena of flames but like, the first thing death does after introductions is kick that rapier back over to puss and challenge him to the duel

So. in regards to cheating. i don't think death was cheating by coming after puss in person. i think if he was really cheating, he would have axed puss the first chance he got. that would line up with this whole 'vengeance' idea.

i think the writers upheld death's mythos of being an unstoppable, altho rule-bound force, of nature. taking puss' life without cause, executioner style, would have been cheating(4)

i think death kept egging puss to pick up his sword so that

puss had the opportunity to live or die in fair, armed combat

death had the opportunity to take puss' life without stepping outside the bounds of 'only taking lives in danger of being lost'

But puss earning his life back by kicking the scythe back over to death instead of running.. and acknowledging that hes fighting a losing battle but staying anyways..

idk if any of this was intentional but if it, was i think its a great job on part of the writers of showing how such a complex system of balances could be depicted without outright showing the rule book to the audience. and to give death (the plot device, not the character) such an elaborate code to adhere to...ugh ive said it before and ill say it again the writers are so good at recycling

1 - another interesting thing is that death is waiting until puss' ninth life to come for him. hes had this grudge against cats for a while and never got to short them(1.1) if hes a cheater, youd think hed take more than just one the one life of one very ungrateful cat

altho, they might value their lives more and be less deserving of getting cheated

1.1 - for the sake of this post im ignoring this bc its pure speculation + off topic #justgirlytings

2 - unconfirmed but a fun idea

3 - was this the writers telling us that the real villain will always be a white man whos getting the bag ($) ?

4 - while it may not be standard protocol for death to show up and start fights, i think we can excuse this due to the extenuating circumstances (puss legit wasted 8 lives already, fucking cats am i right fellas?)

[zahri-melitor]

New(ish) Comics (this is the best week of the month, no lie)

Batman – Santa Claus: Silent Knight #1: this is fun. I like the way Bruce and Damian are written together. I am annoyed Babs is out as Batgirl. I'm amused that Tim is very specifically excluded from the story that involves real Santa given he'd not be wondering 'ooh oooh is Santa real' like Dick is here.

Someone had better give Darkseid some coal, is all I can say.

Batman #139: …so we really are running Batman and Batman & Robin with contradictory plots right now. Cmon. There was even a way to finagle this so that Damian could be living with Bruce and have Zdarsky’s plot still work! Grump.

“I’m coming for you, Joker. I’m coming for all three of you. For the last time.” (actually there’s a printing error in this line and the letterer has ‘For the the last time’) I disbelieve this Zdarsky, sorry, though if you could figure out a way to get Joker out of the Bat books for a few years I think everyone would enjoy that.

Now that aside, I do want to note that apparently my decision to (re)read all of Henri Ducard’s appearances seems to have been prescient, given Zdarsky has just referred to ‘manhunting’, ‘training when I was young’ and ‘Paris’ all together. That’s Ducard. That trio is 100% Ducard. Sounds like I need to finish Henri Ducard’s post-2016 appearances, which I was delaying. So Batman: The Detective and Batman: The Knight are jumping up my reading list. (And a quick look at ‘Lucie Chesson’ says she’s from Batman: The Knight, so yep, gotta read)

Joker + dolls always makes me think of NML Endgame, personally.

Birds of Prey #3: Damn this continues to just be a solid read. Thompson keeps hitting yet another 'look I can be trusted' target every issue.

I could do with at least 30% less Harley commentary in this book, but I do acknowledge that at least half the team are unlikely to talk much in a combat situation. Future!Maps is cute and as I slowly approach Maps content I’m excited to meet her more. Also… SIN MY SWEETHEART. I have been waiting for this hug for SIXTEEN YEARS. (Literally. I was in DC fandom in 2007 when they were torn apart). Also loooooooooool Ollie got curbstomped by Diana, sucks to be you Ollie.

Blue Beetle #3: Oh I couldn’t help myself (in terms of how many panels I already posted), but Blue Beetle is doing such interesting things right now. Victoria’s finally being acknowledged on page as being super sus and villainous (rather than just slinking around being sus and concerning me deeply). I’m getting more and more worried about the identity of the Red Beetle. We got Traci back! Which from what I hear means that Trujillo is glossing over some of Traci’s recent characterisation, but we’ll see how this tracks (and in any case, re-establishing Jaime’s connections to the magic/dark side of DC via Traci is helpful if we’re about to do a Dan Garrett story).

Free my girl Dani Garrett if we’re doing a Dan Garrett storyline, she’s an autistic mildly amoral archaeologist and I desperately, DESPERATELY want to see her arguing with Victoria Kord over who ‘owns’ the scarab while Jaime’s standing in the middle going ‘excuse me nobody owns Khaji Da, it’s its own being! And my friend!’

Fire & Ice: Welcome to Smallville #3: hello Jimmy Olsen! Hello Turtle Jimmy lore! (I love how silly this book is. I do enjoy JLI stuff that doesn’t take itself seriously) I’m getting attached to a few of the new villains, particularly Linka Grodd.

Shazam! #5: MARY SIGHTING. Darla remains tiny and adorable and I love her too. This comic remains committed to ridiculous fun villains (and Waid and Mora have apparently been off raiding the ‘underused weird Silver Age villains’ list). Mr Dinosaur is an amazing addition to the canon. (And yes. Billy rebuilt the moon. Oh Shazam!) Also I see we are still back firmly in the ‘jealous Freddie’ plot that’s been hanging around for a while.

Warlord #25: this week we check back in with Tara, Mariah and Machiste. Grell’s done some fabulous art for the splash page that I really really like.

Travis is fighting *checks notes* snow giants as he's still too ashamed to come hang out with his friends and partner after the whole 'I killed Joshua' incident a few issues back. He's also cutting all sort of things with his Damascus Steel sword which I have to remind everyone and note is highly suspicious damascus steel, because it's made from a RIFLE and there is no way the type of steel used was able to be worked as damascene, given it likely was alloyed wrong.

I love Ashir here (the guy actually wearing clothes) as firstly, look! A rare appearance of someone with most of their skin covered! Secondly, Travis' burn of "I didn't know you had character".

Anyway, Travis is moping a bit here about being a lone warrior. You could go and hang out with your friends any time you want, Travis. You're the one who left, not them.