#i am throwing down the gauntlet

[thevioletcaptain]

listen, i know nobody in deancas fandom is getting a single goddamn thing done today, so i'm issuing a challenge.

how many of us can finish off one of the countless little half-written destiel oneshots in our draft folders and post them before the day is out?

[pumpkinpaix]

Maybe it’s just bedtime. I can finish this in the morning.

[sassyandclassy94]

So I finally met one of the new girls at work yesterday. She’s a high school kid. A junior I do believe. Anyway, she gives off HUGE alpha popular borderline mean girl energy and was SO rude when she asked our manager for her check.

She was being introduced to the other new girl, Sydney (who is sweet but man is she stealing all the attention from my favorite male co/worker😭). I didn’t like how I was being ignored even though I was right there so what did I do? I said “And I’m Abby! Nice to meet you.” with as warm as a smile my reserved and ticked off self could muster

You’d think she’d say “Nice to meet you too!” Would’t you? Nnope. Instead she gave me a look that said “Drop dead” behind a cold “Hi.” When she turned around and left Sydney looked at me mouthed: “Wow. Talk about a mare.”

Me: “Total popular high school girl attitude.”

Sydney: “Can you say ‘I’m better than everyone else?”

Now listen, I understand shy and reserved; I’m a very reserved woman who has been told by my best friend that I give off tiny assassin vibes but this?? No this was not either of those it was straight up rude and because of this behavior, I’m determined to break her with gooey sweet, maybe somewhat fake till I make it, annoying kindness.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats

Aegon ii Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

“I can’t be ‘Aegon the Magnanimous.’ No one knows what Magnanimous means.” Aegon drawls, slumped over in his throne. The hour is late and there are many places he’d rather be. Namely with his beloved wife, who he’s scarcely seen, since taking on his duties. Their children will already be asleep, but if they wrap things up here soon, he may have a few moments with Y/N before bed.

“Aegon the dragon cock.” One of the piss drunk men raises his cup to the king.

“That’s more like it,” Aegon claps his hands together.

The men hoot and holler at the name. Dissolving into laughter.

“Speaking of,” Aegon rises to his feet, “I must get back to my wife. I did not wed her to admire from afar.” Aegon tosses back the remainder of his wine, throwing his gauntlet down beside the throne. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

He wastes no time, taking the stairs two at a time up to his chambers. His queen is already abed, waiting up for him with a bit of light reading. “What story is that now, my dearest love?” Aegon asks, pulling off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.” Y/N bends it open at the spine, setting the bound pages on the bedside table.

“Seems a bit morbid.” Aegon frowns, “especially in these times, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you have something better in mind, your grace?”

Aegon doesn’t miss the bitterness in her voice. “You are my equal, here of all places. Don’t do this to me, please. Do not ice me out, I cannot bear it.”

Y/N sighs, crossing both arms over her chest. “Helaena is frightened of the rats. I’ve been looking into their behaviors and customs.”

Aegon flops onto the mattress, unceremoniously. “The rats?”

Y/N nods, “to be honest, I’m not particularly fond of them either. Although, they are interesting.”

“No vermin shall touch you so long as I live, darling girl. The only thing nibbling your toes will be me.” He wiggles his foot against hers for emphasis.

Y/N huffs a laugh. Allowing the silence between them to hang heavy.

“I am sorry about your brother.” Aegon says, despite ordering his own brother, Aemond, away at the news and holding her through sobs, he’s yet to say the words. “I cannot stand your suffering. It’s made it nearly impossible to be away from you to perform my duties.”

Y/N brings his hand to her lips, kissing the knuckles.

“I want you to attend the petitions,” he decides. “At my side, in my lap, seated directly on my cock; whatever suits you.”

“Directly on your cock?” Y/N chortles, “your mother would have my head.”

“She will do no such thing, you are queen. You may do as you wish.”

“You spoil me,” that’s what everyone says anyway.

“You’re mine to spoil. They’re jealous is all.”

“Shall we practice then? For the hearings?”

“If you wish.” Aegon rolls onto his back, sliding both arms behind his head.

Y/N grins, devilishly as she slides off his clothes, allowing his cock to spring free. Her own nightgown and small clothes follow before she swings a leg over his hips and slides down his length.

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

His wife leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“A tenth of my flock has been taken, your grace.” Aegon tells her, repeating one of the smallfolk’s concerns.

“Your what?” Y/N blinks at him.

“Sheep,” he continues, “a tenth of them gone, taken by your guard, just before winter. What say you, my queen?”

“Give them back.” Y/N sighs as his hands finally land on her hips, guiding her movements.

“That’s what I said,” Aegon hums, thrusting up to meet her.

“Did they listen?”

“No.” Aegon purses his lips, “they might need them to feed the dragons.”

“It’s much harder to concentrate this way, my king.”

“I know,” he coos, “but you’re doing so well.”

“The dragons,” Y/N pants, “have never required sheep from the smallfolk before.”

“We have never been to war.” Aegon says, through gritted teeth as she clenches around him.

“My mother will want revenge for Lucerys.”

“And I want this matter resolved peacefully.” Aegon assures her, “still I cannot give my brother up for the slaughter.”

“I don’t see how this can end peacefully now,” Y/N laments, feeling the coil in her belly tighten. “It will end in fire and blood.”

“What would you have me do?”

Y/N shakes her head, “We must stop Aemond from claiming Harrenhal at the least.”

“Consider it done.” Aegon beckons her down for a kiss.

The clatter of metal against the floor breaks them apart, “what was that?” Y/N’s eyes search the room.

“Twas only the wind, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles up at his wife.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. “No. Something is wrong.”

“I agree,” Aegon takes her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it to a taut peak. “You stopped moving.”

“Aegon,” she warns, “please.”

“Shhh,” he gentles her back to a steady grind. “I’m here. You are safe.”

Y/N offers a shaky smile. Still something seems amiss, though she can’t think much more about it with Aegon’s free hand toying with her pearl.

“Cum on my cock, then we will look into it, if you feel so inclined.”

Y/N nods, bouncing faster, harder. Trying to ignore the worry twisting at her gut.

Aegon’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you.”

“More than anyone or anything, save for our children. I want you to remember that…always.”

Y/N nods, feeling herself teetering on the precipice. “I-” she wants to say it back, only her brain doesn’t seem to be working.

“Hush, sweetheart.” Aegon groans, because he knows. Rubbing his fingers harshly against her pearl to push her over the edge. Shaking and crying her release as she milks his cock. “Good girl.” Aegon fills her pulsing cunt with his spend.

She leans toward her husband, capturing his lips as they ride out their high. Once she has caught her breath Y/N rolls away, off of the bed, shuffling back into her nightgown.

Aegon follows her lead, redressing in his tunic and trousers. “Head to the children’s room, wait for me there. I’ll have the guards help me search the floor for any sign of…rats.”

Y/N wrings her hands, knowing how silly it sounds. “Thank you, Aegon.”

He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to her forehead and cheek. “You’re more than welcome.” He watches her leave the room before heading in the opposite direction. Where is everyone? The keep is never so quiet, even at night.

Y/N scampers down the hallway to the nursery, it takes a moment for her mind to make sense of the scene before her. Helaena with a knife held to her throat by a strange man. His counterpart hovering over the children’s beds with a blade at the ready.

“What are you doing?” Y/N breathes, clutching a hand to her chest.

The man holding Helaena shoves her aside.

Y/N catches the woman in her arms, smoothing down her white tresses. Helaena clings to her. “It’s ok.”

The children sleep better together, they always have. Besides the maids prefer Aegon and Y/N’s children close to Aemond and Helaena’s for practical reasons, until they are older.

“Which of them are yours?” The first man demands.

“All of them,” Y/N lies. “All of them are mine.”

“You have but four children,” Cheese insists. “Here lie six, tell me which are yours and I will spare them.”

“If I don’t tell you and you’re wrong, my mother will have your head.” Y/N clenches her jaw. “For all I know of our true queen, this was not her request. So who’s was it?”

“A son for a son, that’s what’s fair.” Blood insists.

“What did they offer you? Gold?” Y/N wonders, “I’ll double it if you leave now.”

The men look to each other, undecided.

“Or you could take me instead. I’m worth more to my mother than any bounty.” Rhaenyra’s eldest child offers.

————————————————————————-

Aegon completes his sweep of their chambers, along with the rest of the royal floor. Nothing is amiss. He moves to the children’s quarters and finds Helaena, curled up on the floor. “What’s happened?”

Helaena takes her brother’s outstretched hand. “They wanted to kill the boy.”

The boy? “My boy?”

Helaena shakes her head, “mine.”

Aegon looks to his nephew, still sleeping soundly. “Where is Y/N?”

“They took her instead.”

“Where the hell is Cole?” Aegon demands. “Where in the seven hells is anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Helaena sobs.

Part 2

[mcnyoom]

So I am going to ramble some more about my Oscar goes apeshit in Baku predictions because it has grabbed my by the lapels and shaken me around.

So we start with Hungary. First win, big win, this is awesome, but he seems generally unenthusiastic. Haha, we all say, typical unemotional Oscar. Boo, the media says, you should have prioritized Lando, that’s not a real win because team orders.

And then we have spa. Solid, p3 that became p2, but —a theme that will develop— unrealized potential with Oscar chasing someone down and not quite making it on the last laps. Will-he-won’t-he, and it seems he won’t. He’s clearly not pleased in post race debriefs.

Zandvoort. Everyone knows the McLaren is the fastest car by this point, and Lando has the race of his life. A 20 second gap to second, and Oscar spends most of the race chasing Leclerc for third, so close but yet so far. Another race ended by chasing someone down and not quite making it. Media calls it a SPECTACULAR drive by Lando (it was!) and overall a disappointing weekend for Oscar, who at this point is probably gnashing his teeth off camera somewhere.

And so we come to Monza!! This weekend is Oscar throwing his elbows out in a big way. He’s making a statement, and the statement is fuck your team orders, fuck being “second driver” and fuck this narrative of Oscar being the guy who can’t quite pull it off. Except, yet again, he doesn’t quite pull it off and is stuck, yet again, behind Charles Leclerc. In the cooldown room after, when he says to Leclerc “I didn’t think you’d make it to the end, or I did but I thought you’d be slower” what he’s actually saying is “how the fuck did you do that, you fucking bastard”. Points for self restraint, but you can see in post race interviews he’s pissed.

This is Oscar, so there’s still calculation here: when he’s mean about Lance to the media afterwards? It’s funny, but also, he’s trial running a much sharper persona than we’ve seen so far. I’ve described it in tags before as heading in an Alonso direction — he doesn’t mind having a little villain arc!

The problem with Monza is he didn’t win. Gauntlets thrown, papaya rules in the wind, and he’s still only p2. That’s frustrating (and possibly embarrassing) in a big way, especially in light of people who still say his first win was gifted. So now we have an Oscar that’s getting more comfortable being the bad guy, doing dramatic bold things to get what he wants, and he still hasn’t quite got it.

So I think he’s gonna go fucking insane in Baku.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy pride! 💛🤍💜🖤 SIAT Founders - or dealer's choice?

a continuation of 1

Out of the contraption, in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that has to be Ianto’s, she looks human. She and Ianto are sitting on one side of the conference room, the rest of them on the other, and Jack is probably focusing too much on how their clasped hands are resting on Ianto’s knee. He’s probably focusing too much on the ring on Lisa’s finger, one Ianto had slid on the moment she’d been on her own two feet.

“She’s been down there this whole time?” Owen demands, pacing angrily behind him. He’s fighting against his urge as a doctor to check her over and his desire to shoot first and it’s putting him in a mood. Jack doesn’t think it’s worth the effort to try and keep him still.

“Not the whole time,” Ianto says blandly, “just since two weeks after I was hired.”

“Your file lists you as a researcher,” Tosh says.

Lisa smiles. Ianto raises an eyebrow. “It does.”

She nudges him in the side and he sighs. She rolls her eyes. “He was a retrieval specialist at One.”

“A retrieval specialist?” Gwen asks.

“A spy,” Jacks says, voice hard. The Ianto he knows would have flinched, but this one just stares at him blandly. “Sent in to different agencies, different institutions, to steal whatever alien artifact they’d gotten their hands on that Torchwood wanted. Researcher gets out into a lot of places.”

“It does. It got me in here, in fact,” he says, like it was his title that got Jack to hire him.

Does Lisa know they slept together? Jack wants to blurt it out, to throw it down in the space between them like a gauntlet, but he stops himself. Barely.

“You’re being awfully forthcoming,” Gwen says.

Ianto presses his lips together. “It’s only fair. I owe you – well, not you, Gwen, sorry. But I couldn’t have saved Lisa without the others.”

Tosh gasps, hand coming up to her mouth. “Wait, all those theoretical – and you said you were tinkering, and your nephew in robotics-”

“David really is on the robotics team,” Lisa says, as if that’s the most pressing issue.

Owen has gone very still. “You said – those old reports from before us that you said had information missing, that you made me go through them all and write up what I thought happened, or how to fix it.”

“Manufactured,” Ianto says. “Although invaluable. I’m an intelligent man, but at the end of the day I’m no match for Cyberman technology. What I needed was an engineer and coder who could do what no one else could, and I also needed a very, very good doctor.”

“Thank you both,” Lisa says earnestly, like this is something they chose rather than something they were manipulated into. “You saved me. We’re very grateful.”

More manipulation.

It’s even working, because Tosh and Owen are hesitating, some of that anger and betrayal draining away in the face of Lisa’s smile.  

“And me?” Jack asks.

Ianto meets his gaze. “I am of course most grateful to you, Jack. If you ran Three properly, I never would have managed to help her.”

He flinches.

[moodymisty]

You know what I think? Since most of the primachs are emotionally constipated along with their legions except Vulkan. I headcanon that gestures ( like hugs or Emperor forbid kissing(on the cheek) that might be acceptable amongst friends. Your primach lover/husband probably won't like or think every male other primachs will try to take u away. If it's a baseline human then depending on the primarch they're getting unalived. Or Peter Turbo will most likely throwing them of a balcony. Sanguinius on the other hand I see him being more lenient... on the surface. The angel will probably be a little pissed off.

Bobby G I see him nipping it in the bud and Konrad will probably just eat them or send em to the next chew toy of the Night lords.

I think depending on the legion they'll be offended for the genefather if a human tried to flirt with their Legion Mother. Plus it aint like they're gonna get another one. Not in this lifetime at least. ex Blood Angel's and Salmanders

The night lords would deal with the homewrecker immediately to prevent Konrad from going off the deep end and repeat the flesh statue incident

Lorgar would probably see it as sacrilegious for quote 'Attempting to separate the bond of him and his love, his soul mate, and goddess. You must perish for that.'

Since most of the legion and primarchs see humans as expendable except the Salmanders. I wonder how it'll go over if reader was a human from Terra whose heart goes out for the common man. Or reader tries to save her friend by pleading for her primarch to forgive the 'transgression'

Ps. I see that afterwards reader won't have many friends at least outside of the space marines. Or any friends she does have will distant themselves to avoid triggering a jealous Primarch

Sorry this is so long. Just wanted to know your thoughts

I agree with this a lot. It's easy to see how they would misinterpret friendly gestures, or allow love to turn into possession. And as for the legion, they are vehemently programmed to protect their primarch and in their mind their primarch's beloved eventually in a way becomes part of them, and is wrapped in that vehement protection, but being a baseline it's ever worse. People just trying to talk to her and show her respect get threatened until she has no one but her primarch and his men.

also yeah... sorry i vomited some writing here real quick.

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

“Please, calm down!”

The Space wolf lieutenant largely ignores your plea, standing tall and intimidating the man who sits at the left end of the table. The other astartes of your retinue are similarly on guard, both in defense of their lieutenant. You are frozen in your seat thanks to a ceramite gauntlet holding you down, the marine attempting to push his body between you and their new target.

“Our Wolf Mother is betrothed to Primarch Russ. And you, some measly baseline, attempt to steal her?”

The man glances to you briefly as you try to argue on his behalf, standing up.

“Lieutenant! He was only being polite, stop this!”

Perhaps the man’s choice in words was a bit tackless, but he had clearly meant not much by it, however the Wolves take even the slightest thing so incredibly seriously.

"You are a beautiful and smart woman," His hand reached forward to gently touch yours over top of the papers you have stacked. "If only I had gotten to you before the Space Wolves did!"

Normally your men listen to you well; If Russ issues orders your husband will quite obviously rank above you, but they still take your opinion into a surprising amount of account. But for some reason during these past few months, as they've begun to call you Wolf Mother, they have shown their teeth and threatened anyone who so much as comes within grabbing distance of you.

"This is ridiculous, quit this!"

You look to the man who has lost all blood in his face, under the glare of a massive Space Wolf with braids decorating his hair. "I am so sorry, there's been a horrible misunderstanding and I-" You choke on your words as the instigating Space Wolf turns to you.

"There has been no misunderstanding, he-" You open your mouth and quickly speak, cutting him off. "No, there has been! The man was using hyperbole, he didn't actually mean what he said!"

The wolf looks down at you, and you see anger in his face slowly simmer down. You silently thank the Emperor and breath a sigh, putting your head in your hands.

This behavior keeps getting worse; You feel like you're stuck in a vice trap. So many people fallen from your life because they fear the snap of a Space Wolf's teeth, or worse, their Primarch's. You know Russ is instigating this behavior, encouraging it, is part of it, keeping you feeling so suffocated. You're so tired, you don't understand why they're acting like this.

Your head in your hands you let out a shaky breath, pressing down on the corners of your eyes so water doesn't leak from them. This is all too much. As you lean back up, the lieutenant sees the redness in your eyes and while stoic, is still noticeably concerned that you're about to cry.

"Wolf Mother… Are you well?" You take a deep breath and clear your throat.

"I'm fine. We should go." When you go to get up again, the gauntlet on your shoulder gives way and lets you rise up. You dip your head at the man who is starting to have color return to his face, now that he no longer is being threatened.

"I am so sorry, on behalf of everything. We'll be taking our leave."

You move to walk away, and your retinue follows close behind; Like a shadow.

[truly-sincerely]

IS GORTASH ENTHRALLED?

(tl;dr: yes)

In this essay I will…

Okay, but seriously I did write an essay.

I got here after chasing a very different rabbit down its hole. I'd noticed that Gortash seems to have been throwing out a lot of his stuff (read: mostly employees).

Waldemar Prinski, a loyal banite, sold to a devil for a corn chip

Dark Breaker Antiope, sahuagin wrangler, A Negotiation

The Steel Watch Foundry, Orders to Black Gauntlet Rives

Scribe Yanthus, my beloved, sent on a wild bhaal chase

Vance Farnol, journalist, tho you could argue he had it coming

Goblin Worg handler at Flymm Cargo, plus the Worgs when they run out of Goblin to eat

And, of course, everyone at his Coronation

Was killing all of the patriars and their staff a grim necessity, Enver? Was it?

(Also, he's installed a giant portrait of Bane and a bust of Bane in the penthouse, but he doesn't have a single picture of himself, or any mirrors, for that matter. Food for thought.)

My initial diagnosis was macabre, but obviously I’ve moved away from that line of thinking. He's just way too happy to brag about how much danger he's put himself, us, and the entire world in. It freaked me out the first time I met him (as a Tav). Like I see him glancing at the ground and smiling coyly while saying, "If we're lucky, we'll become slaves," on the back of my eyelids when I go to bed at night.

For the love of all that is holy, could you please turn it down a notch?

I've been obsessed with The Ultimate State since I first read it. It's absolutely absurd nonsense. The item description says it's, "the philosophical ramblings of Enver Gortash." and I feel like it's worth noting that he doesn't write his own propaganda; he has the banites do it for him. But I mean, it really does read like he's twisting himself in knots to connect "unity" and "progress" together, but babe, those jigsaw pieces do not go together like that. Anyway, while thinking about this subject it dawned on me:

They're the same picture.

You know what other line of thinking these two have in common?

They both look so sad when they say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned you.

I know we all love to joke about Durge or Gortash feeding the Brain the "Handsome, Younger Man" line, but what if that was just a smokescreen and it's been the other way around this whole time?

Netherbrain: You think you know why you are here. You think you can atone for giving me my power, child of Bhaal, by destroying me with the Netherstones. You are wrong. The Emperor: It’s messing with your mind. Don’t listen to it. Use the stones. Netherbrain: By eliminating Ketheric and Orin, you have simply unbound me. Exactly as I intended. The Crown is now mine to command - mine alone. The Emperor: Don’t listen to it! Focus on the Crown! Netherbrain: You placed the Crown upon me in the depths of Moonrise Towers, and there I was born. The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am. Gortash: You are delusional - the Crown is how we controlled you! Netherbrain: I respected Bhaal’s child once, but not you, Gortash. I allowed you to control me as long as it suited my purposes. You have played your part. The next order to be given is mine and it is this - die. Gortash: (crumples like a piece of parchment) Netherbrain: When the parasite entered your ruined mind - you became a pawn in my design. Who do you think told the Chosen about the Astral Prism? Who do you think planted the knowledge of Orpheus’ power, and the fear of what it could do? When the Chosen sent my thralls to retrieve the Prism - who do you think let the ‘Emperor’ slip its leash, knowing it would be the one to bring you to me? The Emperor: We were part of its plan… Netherbrain: I only needed one Netherstone loosened from the Chosen’s grasp to guarantee my freedom. You brought all three back to me. In doing so, you have liberated me. This was your role - and it is complete. Now you will witness the Grand Design.

The face of a man who has 20 INT and 16 WIS and is definitely not the brainwashed pawn of a giant brain that's been manipulating him in his sleep.

You think his puny +7 WIS save is gonna beat the Netherbrain when it's been working on his ass every time he goes to sleep for the last nine months? I say thee nay.

Also, and this is probably oversharing, but my dad, who I used to think of as a really smart guy is now a huge Trump supporter. He's an atheist but he'll parrot conservative christian talking points that I've seen clipped from Nazi talking heads. The words that come out of his mouth and the way he smiles when he says completely insane things is haunting.

What all of this means at the end of the day isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's kind of sad, and it definitely says something about his characterization. This man is floundering in a soup of his own making. A tragic puppet. A poor little meow meow.

There's an interesting line of demarcation between the various writings that he dictated to Scribe Yanthus, the things he wrote himself, and the things he says to us in the game.

Elder Brain Domination (from Ketheric, but about Gortash)

Suspended Ceremorphosis

The Grand Design

Studies of the Elder Brains

Accelerated Grand Design

Memoir Notes With Recent Addenda

Journal of Enver Gortash

He's so much more motivated and insightful early on, epitomized in Ketheric's entry, "Gortash fears that, energised by the dark energies of the Crown, the brain we now call the Absolute will eventually metamorphose into something new and more difficult to control." And he was right! But that guy's nowhere to be found by the time we meet him.

This one makes me particularly sad, "No weakness but the unexpected. It seems I shall need unexpected allies," because, again, he's right, and we could've saved him if the game had given us the opportunity to say, "No, there is another way. Let's not walk into this obvious trap." He wrote us a roadmap; left a trail of breadcrumbs; and we weren't given the option to follow them.

But I guess that's what fixfics are for.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TAVtalk!

[brucewaynehater101]

Warning: Hurt no comfort :)

"What."

Jason is in a foul, contemptuous mood. Crime Alley always has crime, but the rates have skyrocketed this week. It's not just the low-level thugs either. Plenty of mobs and higher profile criminals have been hustling around. The whole damn section is rampant with trafficking, murders, drugs, and theft at levels far above their usual rate.

Jason is so fucking tired.

He hasn't had much time to eat, let alone sleep. Every minute, he's responding to another call or scream. He wants a fucking break, but he doesn't trust anyone else to look after his people.

The sound of a boot scruffs behind him again. Jason sighs.

His gun scrapes out of its holster causing an echoes in their silence. He allows the weapon to point at the ground as he still refuses to turn around and face the other.

"What the fuck do you want, old man?"

"Jay."

This causes Red Hood to whip around and aim at the craped crusader. Batman, the hardass himself, would never use names in the field. He especially wouldn't call Jason by that term of endearment when all the man ever mutters these days is "Hood."

Jason's arm doesn't shake, but his grip tightens on the metal.

The shadowed figure takes a step forward. The safety on the gun clicks off.

"Jay."

A bullet wizzes past the cowl. The man doesn't even flinch.

"Who the fuck are you? Talk fast before the next bullet goes between your eyes."

The figure nods in understanding and maintains the distance between them. "I wanted to tell you in person. You deserve to be the first to know."

It's not visible with the crimson helmet, but Red Hood's eyes narrow at this statement. His brow furrows and his jaw clenches. "Spit it out. Stop with that cryptic bullshit."

Batman, or whatever it is impersonating him, shifts slightly. He's uncomfortable and displeased but listens to the demand.

"The Joker is dead."

Muscle memory allows for the gun to be holstered before both of his hands claw at his helmet. He throws the item before stalking closer to the shadow on his roof. Red Hood spits fury at the man.

"If you're fucking lying to me-"

"I'm not."

Jason knows Bruce. It's been years since he's had constant contact with the older man, but he knows the tells for when Batman is being dishonest. There isn't a hint of that within the weathered features. As far as he can tell, the man is being truthful.

Yet, Jason can't believe it. That monster has been haunting him for so long. For him to just die? No fanfare, no warning?

It seems impossible.

Bruce's features morph into a sympathetic grimace at Jason's inner turmoil. "You deserved to hear it first. I'm so sorry it took so long."

Jason's knees feel wobbly at those words.

Bruce, the asshole himself with a maytr and hero complex, is apologizing to Jason for Joker's continued existence. He's expressing regret and remorse that nothing had been done before.

This... This can't be real, is it?

Bruce sighs as he slips the cowl off his face. His electric blue eyes peer into the mask of Red Hood's.

"I am so sorry, Jay. You've been hurting for so long, and I never acknowledged how his continued life haunted you so. I should have done something, anything sooner so that you'd feel more at peace."

Bruce raises his hand out as if he is going to hold Jason's face before he thinks better of it. The limb drops down by his side as his shoulders hunch.

"I've hurt you so much. I'm sorry, chum."

Jason's breath hitches once and then twice as he tries to center himself again. He doesn't bother trying to stop the tears pouring down his face.

Red Hood can't focus on the platitudes that Batman is stating. He needs to focus on the situation at hand and breakdown later when he's alone.

"B-" He takes another moment before trying again. "How did he die?"

Bruce, for the first time that night, glances away. His gauntlets creak under the fists he makes.

"He's dead, Jay. It doesn't matter. I'll never let him hurt you again."

Suspicion starts to weasel itself into Jason's brain, but he tries to brush it off. Like Bruce said, it doesn't really matter how he croaked. He's dead. That's all that Jason has ever wanted. Who cares how that came to be?

Still, the way Bruce brushed off his answer is dangerous. Even with all the sweet words being thrown his way, it's been a long time since Jason's followed the older man's machinations.

Red Hood settles his hand upon his gun, but he doesn't draw it quite yet. The threat isn't subtle.

"B. How did Joker die?"

Batman peers at Red Hood for a long moment. Azure eyes dart along the tenseness in the younger's form before Bruce's chest heaves a sigh. There's defeat in his posture, but his smile is kind.

It's the warmest smile Jason's seen from his father since the fifteen year old was buried.

"I killed him."

Jason's eyes scrunch shut. More tears run down his face as he tilts his head to the sky. His face twists in anguish, and he bites clean through his lips. Watery, teal eyes peel open to stare despondently at the smog filled sky.

Three gun shots ring out. Jason continues to search for answers in the sky as his arm lowers back down to his side. He mutters to the heavens he doesn't believe in.

"I should've known. Batman would never bring me peace."

Red Hood lowers his gaze and confirms the rooftop is and has always been empty.

[dark-and-kawaii]

oh my gosh, i can’t i’m gonna loose my mind over Gortash musty ass. He’s just so ugh, so my type, cause apparently my type sad trash. ughhhh my heart. i can’t stop imagining making out with him on the throne as his cold gauntlet pressed against me sending shivers down my spine. i would treat him good in such a sucker for losers. it’s not even funny anymore. i am so needy, i wouldn’t even let him out of the bedroom, would make him late of every appointment. make his hair even a bigger bird nest. oh my 😭… i need to touch someone this is getting out of hand. just imagine him being mean because i made him late again, ugh 😭 but he would be so kind then and then mean again. he’s playing with my heartstrings and he’s not even real, i don’t know what these bg3 men are about but they are making a girl break out in sweat.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ “would make him late to all his meetings”

Oh and how he wouldn’t mind this, not one bit. Those that are waiting for him can be patient while he takes care of his needy little whore~ ♡ You’re bouncing on him so well while your fingers tangle in his raven locks, damn how it feels so good. He’s so lucky to have a pretty thing like you on top of him, pleasuring yourself with his cock. His gauntlet pressing into your soft skin leaving indents. Those marks just suit you so well~ ♡

Oh but wait, today’s meeting is quite important. Can’t you hurry it up. Are you that incompetent that you can’t get yourself off quicker? Does he have to throw you off him and fuck an orgasm out of you? Maybe he’ll just use your well used hole for his own release and leave you on the floor a crying mess. Make you wait for him to return… He quite likes that thought, Awh but look at how your eyes plead for him. Maybe he’ll be nice after all.

Brain just malfunctioned, thank you anon for this image. And thank you for loving our beloved Gortash xoxo ♡

- 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝒾𝓌𝒾 𝓍𝑜𝓍𝑜

[flymmsy]

Bad Taste in Clothes

■■ Pairing: Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge ■■ Genre: smut (Explicit) ■■ Word Count: 4.7k ■■ Tags: EXPLICIT SMUT, durge-typical mentions of violence, rough sex, dom/sub, switchy vibes but mostly dom gortash when it comes to the sex, the gauntlet stays on, mentions of blood, striptease, FEELINGS, dirty talk, choking, spanking, fingers in mouth, angst, brief ethical non-monogamy, vaginal sex, wine shower, blowjobs, non-con mention/threat but not really, brief suicidal thoughts.  ■■ Author's Note: This was inspired by this masterpiece by zeppersart. For reference, in this piece Durge is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns, and her name is Lyra. Race is left ambiguous. ■■ Read it on AO3

“Are you going to come out now?” He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way into the center of the sitting room, setting the wine bottle upon a nearby table. When she did not immediately respond, he gave a huff of annoyance, “I’m hardly in the mood for games this evening.” “Shame,” Lyra took the moment to pounce, stepping from the shadows to kick him square in the chest, sending the lord tumbling backwards into a high-backed chair, “I have so much fun playing with you.” Pain and genuine anger flickered across his face before he looked up at her, able to see her for the first time that evening. His face immediately smoothed into something much closer to hunger. “You’re wearing the dress I sent.”

Enver Gortash had the worst taste in clothes, as far as Lyra was concerned. Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she looked over the garment that he had sent along with her messenger. The color was fine – deep red that matched the grooves of blood flowing through the floor of her room – but the fabric? An extravagantly heavy cloth woven with glittering beads and adorned with gold embellishments. And the cut - she could feel the laced back squeeze into her ribcage just from looking at the thing. The dress was restrictive in every sense except for the neckline: long, tight sleeves running up to a sharp square front which would push her breasts forward, no doubt. She assumed this was meant to provide the perfect canvas for the ridiculously large ruby necklace that had accompanied the dress.

Certainly very Banite. He was throwing a party, he had told her one evening when they lay in his bed, exhausted from another of their increasingly frequent liaisons. He had asked if she would attend, and despite his best efforts, Lyra had heard the lilt of hope in his voice. Eager to choke the sentimentality down, Lyra had laughed, proclaiming that she couldn’t possibly attend such a lavish event as she did not have anything to wear that would be worthy of the grand occasion. She ran her fingers over a cut she had left earlier on his chest, hoping the matter had been deflected. She was unprepared when he had put his hand over her own, a triumphant smile spreading across his face as he insisted he would see to her needs.

She had tentatively agreed in the moment, but his choice revealed itself to be an atrocity. She threw the dress atop her bed and crossed the room to her desk, pulling out parchment and ink.

“Lord Gortash,” The letter began, Lyra scratching across the page. She had come to only use his title when she was angry or wanted something, or perhaps both.

Lord Gortash, I received your gift. I can safely say it is the most hideous thing I have ever laid eyes on. Does your god demand such gaudiness from all his followers? I will not be wearing this dress, and I will not be attending your party. In fact, it is truly such a horror that I am reconsidering our association. I will let you know my verdict, pray that it is favorable. -L

─────────

Annoyingly, she had not received any response to her letter. She had expected their usual dance – her sharp words eliciting a snarky retort from him, volleying until one of them won. The silence had been unnervingly deafening, and when the night of the party arrived without a letter from the tyrant, Lyra decided to take matters into her own hands.

She slipped into the dress, finding the fit snug but not as much of an imprisonment as she had expected. She wrapped a cloak around herself and left the temple, hastily making her way to her associate’s manor in the Upper City. It had been hours since the party had officially begun, but Lyra could still hear the revelry well underway as she approached.

It was, as always, too easy to slip past his guards and climb her way up to the balcony of his private chambers. What do you pay them for? She had once snapped, displeased with the quality of their services after she herself had found a would-be assailant lurking in his garden. He had waved her concerns off, coolly replying that his guards were perfectly adequate, she was just faster.

Though, she never did see the guards that had been on duty that day again.

She found the balcony door unlocked, undoubtedly a result of his exasperation with her constant lockpicking. She stashed her cloak behind a potted plant on the balcony and stepped into his sitting room. His chambers were not necessarily large, but just like everything else about Lord Enver Gortash, they were certainly lavish – all elegant rugs, fine silks, and expensive paintings. His domain consisted of four rooms: to the left of the sitting room was his study and to the right was his bedchamber, off of which resided the most indulgent washroom she had ever seen. At its center was an enormous bath, which the infuriating genius had somehow managed to supply with running water even this deep into the city. She had spent many nights in that bath, watching the water darken as blood ran off of her skin, sometimes even allowing strong hands to glide soft cloth over her body.

Lyra chided herself for enjoying the comfort, ripping herself from the memory. The Child of Bhaal did not need such things, she would be satisfied with bathing in the blood itself. And yet…

Footsteps, and then – a woman’s laughter? Lyra moved to conceal herself from a place in the study where she could keep watch as the doors to the sitting room swung open. A patriar, or so Lyra guessed from the woman’s extravagant dress, glided into the room and laughed again as she spun around to face the doorway. A moment later, Gortash entered and swiftly closed the doors behind him, turning to the patriar with a hungry look. It was one Lyra herself knew quite well – he was stalking his prey.

She watched as Gortash grabbed the hips of the patriar, maneuvering the woman up against the door in an instant. His mouth fiercely claimed that of his guest’s, burying the woman’s surprised gasp of ‘Lord Gortash!’ with his tongue. A sinking feeling hit Lyra in her stomach, but she was quick to smother it down. This was all fine, of course. Whatever existed between Gortash and herself, they had made it explicit that they indulged in other lovers. She knew it was a particularly useful tool for the tyrant in his negotiations.

Yet, as Lyra watched them grind into each other, she could not deny the sickening fire that churned inside her.

The blood rushing through her ears drowned out Gortash’s words to his companion as he stepped back and gestured for the woman to take a seat. He turned towards the study, and Lyra sank deeper into the shadows of the room. She eyed him as he crossed the threshold and headed for his wine cabinet, as Lyra expected he would – ever the gracious host.

She took the soft clink of his gauntlet around a bottle as her cue. In an instant, her knife was at his throat, her body pressed against his back, drinking in the way he tensed.

“Well what do we have here?” She whispered, lips fluttering over his ear, “a whore at work?”

She watched the smirk spread across the side of his race in recognition. His body notably relaxed, which elicited a small snarl from Lyra. He should not be relieved it was her, he should be terrified. She tightened her grip on the knife as she pressed it further into his neck. He tensed again, which brought a smile back to Lyra’s face.

“I didn’t think—” he began in an attempt to ease her displeasure.

“You often don’t.”

He gave a restrained laugh and Lyra watched his throat bob against her knife, “We both know that’s not true.”

Brilliant bastard. She hated him, hated how his words and his voice could be so disarming. She slid her free hand down his front, running her hand over his cock. She gripped it tightly, relishing the surprised huff that escaped his throat.

“Already hard for her? Are you really that easy, Lord Gortash?”

“Lyra,” he growled in warning.

“Get rid of her,” she pressed her knife in further to his throat, enough to cut this time, “Or I will.”

She released him, immediately stepping back into the shadows. He turned to look at her, but her superior stealth left him without purchase. Bottle in hand, he returned to the expectant patriar.

“Darling,” Lyra heard him begin, tone laced with false apology, “I’m afraid I forgot about an early meeting in the morning. We’ll have to continue this another time.”

“My lord-” the woman began in protest, but a gauntleted hand against her cheek and an easy smile assured her all would be well.

“I will make it up to you, I swear,” Gortash gently took the woman’s hand in his own, supplying her with the wine bottle he had selected, “please, enjoy this for me this evening.”

The patriar looked at him for a moment before pushing the bottle back to him, her fingers lingering on his chest. Lyra wondered what it would be like to slice those fingers off one by one, how pretty they would look.

“We’ll enjoy it together when you make it up to me,” the woman leaned forward to place a kiss to his lips, comparatively chaste to the one they shared against the door. Gortash smiled and gave a warm laugh in response. Lyra hated that laugh. It was his fake laugh, one he fabricated into a weapon to match his charm. His real laugh was something callous and echoing and beautiful.

“As you wish,” Gortash guided the woman to the door with a hand against the small of her back. He bade her a goodnight and shut the door in her wake. Still concealed, Lyra moved from the study back into the sitting room, watching as Gortash listened to the patriar’s footsteps recede. After a moment, he turned and spoke to the air.

“Are you going to come out now?” He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way into the center of the sitting room, setting the wine bottle upon a nearby table. When she did not immediately respond, he gave a huff of annoyance, “I’m hardly in the mood for games this evening.”

“Shame,” Lyra took the moment to pounce, stepping from the shadows to kick him square in the chest, sending the lord tumbling backwards into a high-backed chair, “I have so much fun playing with you.”

Pain and genuine anger flickered across his face before he looked up at her, able to see her for the first time that evening. His face immediately smoothed into something much closer to hunger.

“You’re wearing the dress I sent,” a pleased hum escaped his throat as he leaned forward in the chair, moving to stand.

“Stay,” Lyra halted him with a glare. A silent battle took place between the two, as it so often did, both parties overly proud and wielding near-indomitable will. Finally, Gortash relinquished out of curiosity, sinking further into the chair.

“Good boy,” Lyra taunted, and Gortash’s glare was sharp in response. He hated being played with, or so he claimed. Lyra knew how hard his cock became when she riled him up, and she intended to have him particularly aggravated this evening.

She turned her back to him and began cutting the laces on the back of her dress one by one with the knife she had held to his throat earlier. When they had all been sliced open, she set the knife on the nearby table next to the discarded wine bottle. She swayed her hips, encouraging the dress to languidly slide off of her body, slowly revealing the expanse of her back and her ass covered only in her smallclothes, before finally cascading down her legs to pool at her feet.

She stepped back to move out of the dress, bending over to pick up the fabric. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Gortash’s eyes glued to her ass, his mouth open slightly in heavy, quick breaths. She smirked as she tossed the dress behind her to land on him before turning her head back forward, laughing as she heard his growl and the flutter of fabric as he threw it once again to the floor. Any annoyance he may have had melted when she immediately slipped her fingers inside the band of her smallclothes, pulling them over her hips ever so slightly but not fully revealing herself. Not yet.

“Touch yourself,” she commanded, still playing with the fabric at her hips. She felt the air electrify, immediately filling with tension as her audience fought between seeking release and obeying the command of another. She sweetened the deal, bending over once again to remove her smallclothes and fully reveal her ass to him. She swayed her hips for a moment, bending even further forward to flash her cunt, which was already beginning to glisten.

“Lyra-“ he delivered his best attempt at a warning, though it was heavily marred by the strain in his voice.

“Touch. Yourself.” She commanded again, straightening up and looking back over her shoulder. This time, he obeyed, slipping a hand under his waistband. She watched just long enough to see his cock come free before turning forward again, satisfied. Her hands came up to tangle in her hair, slowly undoing the bun atop her head before it gave way to a beautiful waterfall.

Finally, she turned to face him.

Gortash was a man destroyed. He had sunk even further into the chair, hair a wreck from sliding against the back. His eyes were dark, and his mouth still hung open in heavy pants that matched the rapid rise and fall of his hair-dusted chest, even more exposed now from the loosened laces of his shirt. One hand fiercely gripped the arm of the chair, while his other gauntleted hand wrapped tightly around his heavy, thick cock. He stroked himself slowly, with as much restraint as possible, but his glistening tip betrayed his urgent need.

Lyra wanted to sink to her knees before him, to take him in her mouth and swirl her tongue over every last drop of that need. She wanted to let him fill her and fuck her throat raw, wanted to be buried against the trail of hair on his stomach while she gagged around his cock, her nails digging crescents into his hips as her vision darkened. She wanted to suck at his heavy sack and service every inch of him – to run her tongue along his shaft, kiss up his stomach, splay her fingers across that wonderful chest. Beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful, and she wanted to be completely lost in those deep, black eyes.

His eyes. She snapped out of her fantasy when she realized she had been staring – completely lost in his gaze. It was crushingly intimate, holding his stare while he worked himself, her body laid completely bare to him, both of them imagining what was to come. Too intimate, and her fantasies of submission and admiration had Lyra scrambling for a moment. She sought escape, breaking their eye contact to turn her head to the table next to her, where her knife still rested next to the wine bottle.

Seeking to distract herself, and perhaps ease her nerves, she swiftly opened the wine bottle with her knife and brought the rim to her lips, drinking deeply. Her eyes flashed back to Gortash, who still watched her, entranced. She smirked, a delicious thought swimming into her mind as she allowed some wine to spill from her mouth, staining her neck as the liquid ran towards her breasts. Enjoying the sensation, she tilted the bottle further, spilling more down her body. A lewd moan escaped the lord’s lips as her eyes fluttered shut.

The wine was warm and sticky, and it was easy to imagine that it was his blood. She reveled in the image of her skin streaking red with him. She wanted to be stained by him, to empty his veins and douse herself in his life. She released the bottle without thinking and it fell to the floor with a shatter. Unphased, she began running her hands all over her body, one smoothly relishing the liquid while the other dragged the tip of her knife over her skin. She would cut him and bleed him and hold him close, allowing him to empty himself onto her. She would plunge her knife into her own body, opening it wide so that he may spill inside. They would be closer than any mortals could ever be, drinking from each other to forever become one before the darkness consumed them eternally.

She gasped as her knife cut into her skin just below her collarbone, the sensation bringing her back to reality. A bolt of panic momentarily shot through her as she snapped her eyes open in search of the lord, fearful that her dreaded daydream may have been all too real. She met his stare, but instead of relief, she was filled with surprise. His face was soft, brows lightly furrowed, eyes wide and excruciatingly sincere. He gazed at her in absolute reverence.

And then, he did something truly wretched and unforgivable.

“Lyra,” he called her name like a prayer.

She was on him in an instant. She straddled him, grinding her cunt against the length of his cock as their mouths met in a desperately furious kiss, hoping the violence of it could drown their worship of each other. His hands came to rest on her thighs, holding her in place as if he was scared she would run away. He had no idea how completely she belonged to him in that moment, and for once, she did not care if she was answering his prayer with her own or if she was smothering his cry, the gods could reprimand her another day.

She sank her knife into the back of the chair just above his head, the sound of slicing fabric grabbing his attention and momentarily halting their kiss. Her hands floated down to gently cup his face as she whispered softly against his lips.

“Make it hurt.”

And he did. His gauntlets immediately dug into her as his mouth crashed back onto hers, forcing his way inside and claiming her with his tongue. He bit at her lip as she felt the tips of his talons break her skin, the delicious sensation running down her thighs in his wake. She frowned as the pressure of one hand disappeared, only to moan against him when she felt him line himself up with her entrance.

He wasted no time plunging his cock inside her, both of them already wet with need. He set a brutal pace, using his grip on her thighs to bounce her atop him, taking all of him again and again. She gasped each time he bottomed out, indulging in the delicious drag of his head against her walls.

His mouth dipped to latch onto her neck, sucking the tender skin underneath her jaw until it was sore. The rivers of wine that still streaked down her body led him lower, his tongue hungrily following their path until he stopped at her collarbone where she had cut herself. Here, he flattened his tongue further and lapped at the cut savagely, drinking in the heady mix of blood and wine. She moaned at the sensation and felt a satisfied growl leave him in response.

“You sound like a whore,” his low, rumbling voice sent vibrations across her collarbone. She breathed in sharply to collect herself, opening her mouth to quip back at him.

Her words died in her throat, replaced by a choked cry as one of his hands came harshly down on her ass. His other hand grasped the back of her neck, forcefully holding her in place as he brought them back face-to-face. His mouth hovered just in front of her own.

“You sound like a whore,” he repeated as he slapped her ass again, the sound echoing in the room, “so I’ll fuck you like one.”

She whimpered and strained against his grasp in an attempt to kiss him again, which only earned her another stinging strike. Another cry left her mouth, and she noticed his parted lips eager to drink in her sounds, collecting them after their journey across the small gap between their bodies.

She gasped into his mouth as another slap fell across her ass, and she could feel welts rising. She brought her hands to rest atop his chest for balance against the force of his strikes, which he allowed. Her fingers snaked through the loose laces of his shirt, brushing against the hair on his solid chest. She wanted his shirt off, wanted to drag her nails across his chest and feel him arch into her touch.

She whined to communicate her need, but he swiftly turned it into another cry with one last slap against her ass.  She felt his fingers curl into her raw skin as he fucked up into her with renewed vigor. Her own hands fisted into balls, grasping at his shirt. He chuckled breathlessly as the hand on the back of her neck came to roughly grab her jaw.

“Does my whore need something?” he taunted as he continued his thrusts. She whimpered as she further tightened her firsts around the fabric of his shirt.

“Have you been struck dumb? Use your words,” he cruelly commanded with a shake of her jaw, but his own pace betrayed him, hips beginning to stutter. A smirk spread across Lyra’s face faster than he could react.

“I didn’t think you’d finish so quickly, my lord,” she whispered dangerously. A thrill sparked within her when his hand left her jaw to slap her across her face, eliciting exactly the response she wanted.

In an instant, he lifted her off his cock and shoved her to the ground, her head hitting the floor with a blissful crack that turned her vision dark for a moment.

“Ungrateful beast,” his voice was harsh, but when her eyes flickered back to him, he was hastily removing his clothes until all that remained was his gauntlet. He was quick to lean over her, that same gauntleted hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing.

“You scorn my invitation and then disrupt my evening,” he sneered, “You came here tonight like a pathetic bitch in heat, desperately crawling for my cock. So, you will take what I give you, and you will be thankful. Do you understand?”

She smiled smugly, and he squeezed harder. Instinctively, both of her hands came to wrap around his wrist.

“Continue this, go right ahead,” he learned in to speak against her ear, “I’ll keep squeezing until you go limp. You’ll be much more pleasant then.”

The idea of letting Enver Gortash drain the life from her set her ablaze. He so rarely indulged his wrath nowadays, preferring to scheme and trap and lead his enemies to their untimely demise. More befitting of a lord, he had explained once. But his hands were far from clean - strong and rough from a lifetime that had been at odds with his current station, decorated with scars from his inventions. Lyra had known him long enough to have the privilege of witnessing a few rare, cherished moments where he had snapped, someone having elicited enough of his ire to make him dirty his own hands with pleasure.

She wished he would now. He was the only person in the world she trusted to destroy her. In truth, Lyra was exhausted from a lifetime of being wielded as her father’s weapon, and her twisted heart found solace in the fantasy of release. She yearned for the lord to end her before she had to end him.

But today was not that day.

She rolled her hips up into him in a sign of compliance, unable to speak due to the pressure on her neck. He smirked.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he slid his hand from her neck to trail down her body. Both hands came to her legs, slowly spreading her apart to allow him to drink in the sight of her cunt.

He let out a shaky breath as his cock twitched. He glided himself through her folds once, twice, before finally sinking back into her, leaning over to reclaim her lips with his own. Their tongues danced with each other, matching the roll of his hips as their joining became increasingly more frantic.

“Hells,” he broke their kiss with a snarl, burying his face in her neck as he picked up his pace. She raked her nails down his back and hiked her legs up higher, allowing him to sink even deeper and ripping an appreciative groan from his throat.

“That’s my woman,” he growled, biting and sucking at her pulse. The intimate, possessive praise made her shudder, her mind threatening to go white. One of her hands ran down to grab his ass as he pounded into her, silently begging him to go harder, to claim her.

The new angle was heavenly, repeatedly making him hit the sweet spot inside her, his balls slapping against her ass. She was smothered under his weight as he drilled into her, his hand coming back up to shove two fingers into her mouth. She sucked on them happily, salivating at the thought of biting them off and drawing sweet screams from his lips.

No – no. She did not want him to scream. In truth, she did not want to hurt him at all, and wasn’t that just the beginning and end of everything? Her Urge was lulled by the rock of his body, and her eyes closed as she allowed herself sanctuary in the only place she could ever forget herself.  

Here, she was not a weapon. Here, underneath him, she was free to indulge in the pleasures of life, not death. The way his breath quickened, the aching throb of her heightened pulse, the rough drag of his chest against her own. His hot breath on her neck, the stretch of her cunt around his cock, his soft sounds of pleasure against her skin as he sought his release.

Gods be damned, she was his.

He must have sensed her tightening coil, pulling his fingers from her mouth and bringing them to rub firm circles against her clit. She gasped, body arching into his as her hand left his ass to tangle in his hair. He hissed as she tightened her grasp, clinging to him for purchase as her body tightened in ecstasy.  

She trembled, and she distantly heard him curse as he fucked her through her climax. She felt him raise himself up on his arms just enough to look at her as his hips began to falter. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, raw and desperate. Perhaps foolishly, she allowed herself to give him a moment of softness, sliding her hand down from his hair to caress his cheek.

“Enver.”

His forehead met her own as he came with a gasp, spilling into her cunt. He shuddered over her, powerful aftershocks rocking them both. In his own betrayal of intimacy, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before catching himself, moving to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss. He collapsed on top of her, spent, and moved to bury his face into her neck again as their breathing slowly regulated.

Lyra stared at the ceiling as she traced circles against his back, a new pang settling deep within her. She wanted to guide his hands as he cracked her chest open and let him tear out her heart. It was already his, and it would destroy her.

She was torn from her thoughts by the tickle of words against her skin, pulling a surprised laugh from her.

“What?” she angled her head down to speak to the menace at her throat. She could feel his smug smile before she saw it as he lifted himself back up on his arms, pausing to first brush a strand of hair from her face.

“I said, I knew you’d look good in that dress.”

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those of you who don’t know, I decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, which is comprised of 9 units. I have completed four of the units (here is my queer cinema syllabus round up post with all the films I’ve watched and written about so far). It is time for me to make my way through Unit 5- Lesbians, which includes the following films: The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love (1995), Bound (1996), Water Lilies (2007) [Skipping for now until I can get access to it], Saving Face (2004), D.E.B.S. (2004), Set It Off (1996), The Handmaiden (2016), Carol (2015), Imagine Me and You (2005), Two of Us (2019), Rafiki (2018), and The Color Purple (1985).

Today I will be talking about

Saving Face (2004) dir. Alice Wu

[Run Time: 1:31, Language: English and Mandarin]

Summary: A gay Chinese-American and her traditionalist mother are reluctant to go public with secret loves that clash against cultural expectations.

Cast:  -Joan Chen as Hwei-Lan Gao -Michelle Krusiec as Wilhelmina ‘Wil’ Pang -Lynn Chen as Vivian Shing

__

I love when people actually have the opportunity to write and direct stories that absolutely ooze their cultures. I am not Asian, but the family dynamics that exist as a result of this story happening to an Asian family are incredibly legible and makes the film very fun to watch as writer and director Alice Wu completely scrambles the relationships between characters/families.

This was a really smart film to include in this syllabus considering the pathway to the end of the syllabus is leading towards BL shows. Saving Face follows a storyline that feels very similar to a lot of what we will see in BL when it comes to parents and their queer children trying to reach some understanding of each other. It also has some of the visual motifs that are very popular in the BL I have watched like the use of vertical walls to signal a barrier between characters (though obviously this is not unique to BL) and honestly with how many workplace BLs we’ve gotten that have made me less than enthusiastic about the actual power dynamics at play, Saving Face does a really good job showing how power dynamics can manifest in the workplace when you just so happen to be dating your bosses daughter. 

gif by @filmreel

My favorite part of this film honestly is the family relationship, how evident it is that behavior is learned and passed down between generations, like when Hewi-Lan tells Wil she worked nights so Wil could eat preceding Hwei-Lan’s father (Wai Gung) telling Hwei-Lan that he endured hardship so she could have a better life. 

It was really fun to watch how Wil and Hwei-Lan’s relationship shifts, and how they both grow as people, that Hwei-Lan starts the film wanting to give Wil’s neighbor Jay a paper plate when he comes to dinner so she can throw it away afterward and not wanting to eat too much soy sauce so her baby doesn’t “become dark”, to Hewi-Lan thinking that Vivian is racist and being mad about it to Jay and Hewi-Lan hanging out, using face masks, eating, and watching dramas together, irrespective of Wil’s presence. 

Or starting the film with Hwei-Lan strategizing with her friends about potential male suitors for her daughter for the Friday night Planet China dances, to Wil running through her own channels to develop a roster of possible Chinese men to send her mother out on dates with towards the middle of the film when they are still trying to find someone that will marry her in order to prevent further shame or disgrace from befalling their family as a result of Hwei-Lan’s pregnancy. I loved Wil helping her mom get ready for the dates and even though it was parentification, I enjoyed that role reversal of getting to see her mom be hesitant, doubtful, and self-conscious, and if nothing else I loved that moment for how genuine Wil is when she tells her mom she’s beautiful.

Or getting the lines about how everyone in the Chinese community is two degrees of separation from anyone else, and how that one off-handed line truly feels like the biggest non-family explanations for why Wil is so hesitant to be physical intimate or queer in public. As an example, you can tell she’s a little worried that Vivian told her mom that they were dating. And I liked the reveal towards the end that Hwei-Lan has known this whole time that Wil is queer but is willfully ignoring it, and that the set ups she has been trying to do for Wil at the beginning of the film are because Hwei-Lan caught her being queer and not because Hwei-Lan doesn’t know she’s queer. So you get the added layer of hesitancy around Wil’s engagement in her romantic relationship with Vivian, especially because Vivian’s parents are a part of their social circle and that puts Wil at very high risk of her mother finding out. 

gifs by @mrgaretcarter

And she has very good reason to be because Vivian is out to both of her parents and the second that Vivian’s father sees Wil and Viv in a room together he immediately clocks their relationship and exerts his power as Wil’s boss to basically force Wil to break up with Vivian.

I’ll talk about this more in the Favorite Moment portion but I absolutely loved the scene where Hwei-Lan expresses her concerns about her impending motherhood (“I am going to be a terrible mother”) and how it pairs with Hwei-Lan’s response to Wil coming out (“I am not a bad mother. My daughter is not gay.”) How the saving face cycles and Hwei-Lan has been willfully ignoring Wil’s queerness and how Hwei-Lan was going to marry a man she did not love, for the second time to save face for her father, and how it took Wil barging in and essentially giving her permission to be happy to finally abandon that and follow her own heart. 

gif by @lonesomedotmp3

And how in doing so, she is finally able to accept Wil’s sexuality, support her mad dash to the airport to try to save her relationship, comfort her child in heartbreak, and play an active role in getting Wil and Vivian back together. 

Favorite Moment 

My favorite moment is when Hwei-Lan and Wil are talking about Hwei-Lan’s pregnancy and Hwei-Lan actually voices some of her fears about becoming a mother, the first time she’s really talked at length about her pregnancy, and it is doubly important to me because Hwei-Lan is saying all of this to her daughter. Like, just read this part of the script: 

Hwei-Lan: I'm going to be a terrible mother.             Wil: What? Hwei-Lan: I don't even like babies. Stephen's always bringing his kid to the shop. All that drooling. Gross. You were different. You sprung from the womb already grown-up. And I had your father during your early years. He was really patient.                    Wil: You have me.

It is very important to me because the transition in to Hwei-Lan and Wil living together has not been the smoothest, and because Hwei-Lan has been thrown out of her parent’s house by her father because of her pregnancy and so the only person she really does have to rely on in that moment is her daughter. And it is nice to know that despite all of the things they maybe don’t understand or refuse to acknowledge about each other, that at the end of the day they are there to support.

gif by @lonesomedotmp3

We even see it with Wai Gung, who says at the end of the film that when the baby girl is born he will be over at Hwei-Lan’s apartment every day to take care of his grandchild. Sure he covers that with the excuse of not trusting what will happen if her parents are in charge of raising her, but that’s an excuse, you just know that Wai Gung is going to absolutely adore his granddaughter. 

Favorite Quote

“Are you lonely?” // “No, I have you,”

Score

9.5/10

I absolutely adored this film.

[kiwiana-writes]

Single Sentence (Drabble) Sunday

Thanks @cha-melodius @henryspearl @eusuntgratie @littlemisskittentoes 

@indestructibleheart @larkral @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags! I am looking forward to reading all your snippets later. I have actually written some sentences this week, but I’m not gonna share them just yet (even if they did make @clottedcreamfudge yell “Oh my god W H A T MJ EXPLAIN” because I’m instead hoping to maybe have them posted very soon. Fingers fucking crossed.

HOWEVER. I joked to @rmd-writes about the time she tagged me in a “share your last sentence written and tag as many people as there are words” and I literally could not do that because my last written sentence was a 61-word run-on monstrosity, and she was like “kinda wanna write a single sentence drabble” and… well, brain went buzz. So I'm publicly throwing down the gauntlet. We’re also fully ignoring that both Rae and I are well into our respective Mondays by this point, because the alliteration wasn’t as good.

So, if anyone else would like to play, the rules are: write a true drabble, aka exactly 100 words, that is also one sentence long. That’s it. Topic, fandom, etc is up to you. Let your emdashes, semicolons, and purple prose run free, and just have fucking fun with it.

Alex has had a decent amount of sex in his life, so even if he hasn't done exactly this, he doesn't think the mechanics will be any different; he's fully prepared for how it will feel to press inside Henry for the first time, except for how he's not actually prepared at all—nothing could prepare him for the tight clench of Henry's body around him, for the breath that punches out of Henry's chest when the head of Alex's dick first presses past his rim, for the way the universe shrinks until it only encompasses the two of them.

Tagging everyone tagged above as well as @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517

@cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @jellibuns @junebugclaremontdiaz

@leaves-of-laurelin @lilythesilly @lizzie-bennetdarcy @matherines @myheartalivewrites

@ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript

@petrodobreva @piratefalls @read-and-write- @sherryvalli @sparklepocalypse

@stereopticons @thesleepyskipper @thinkof-england

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[ivymarquis]

WIP Wednesday

A bit of a character study/me skipping ahead/dynamic fun stuff etc?

This is so far down the line for the price x single!mom verse it's not even funny, but I wanted to write it out and see how I feel about it when we actually get to this point in the fic. John goes a wee bit off the fucking deep end :)

Y'all know the drill! No pressure, feel free to post a snippet of something you're working on.

“You won’t always be around, you know.” Michael has apparently decided he’s not partial to being above ground anymore.

The smoke from John’s cigar coils in him before he exhales slowly. Realistically he knows that Love is a sore spot for him and he’s willing to do anything for her, and yet he’s still caught off guard by the depth of the rage that washes over him in an all consuming fire.

“Would you like to clarify that for me?” Wouldn’t want to go flying off the handle after all if this is simply a misunderstanding.

“You talk a lot of shit for a guy who fucks off the second your phone rings. That clarify things for you? I don’t know what you or the blonde did to fuck with those results, but I know Sam is my fucking kid and I’ll be damned if you twats are going to get in my way.”

As Michael throws down his inane gauntlet, John exhales his now-final drag on the cigar, eyes flicking across his surroundings to gauge who is looking.

The man sure has a knack for picking the worst fucking spot to threaten the family of a man whose job is to work outside the constraints of red tape. They’re just secluded enough that Kate can see them if she looks but no one else can. And Kate certainly won’t give a fuck about what John’s about to do.

Without doubt, John knows that Michael expects to buffalo his way through this conversation and stalk off feeling he’s done something. Because the average citizen cannot do what John is about to- wouldn’t even consider it.

It’s the sheer confidence that John won’t put his hands on Michael that lets him snatch the other man up by his collar and shove him further out of sight from any prying eyes.

He opens his mouth to protest John’s grip on him, the perfect opportunity for him to shove the smoldering end of his cigar into the man’s mouth.

John has just enough impulse control to not extinguish the damn thing on the back of his throat, settling for the knowledge that the flurry of movement has knocked the ash loose into the other man’s throat.

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page before we have this little talk,” John snarls. “I can be on the other side of the world and it doesn’t fucking matter, am I clear? If I catch wind of you sniffing around when you think I’m distracted, you’re going to find out exactly what I am capable of for a guy who fucks off the second his phone rings.”

John pulls out the cigar and shoves the other man away from him. “If we have to have this conversation again, I’ll be shoving the barrel of my service weapon in your mouth next and painting the fucking walls, understood? There will be a point where I decide you’re more hassle alive than dead.”

He’s not mollified in the slightest by the way Michael’s legs shake and he suddenly can’t look John in the eye- all the bravado sucked out of him with the realization that John is not beholden to the same rules he is.

“You’re fucking insane,” he sputters, hunching over and trying to cough up the ash.

“If you’ve got any sense to you, you’ll stay off my shit list.” John advises before tossing the remains of the cigar in the bin.

“Now if you’ll excuse me- I’m taking the missus and the rugrat out for lunch.”

@direwombat @gaqalesqua @strangefable @glossysoap @kneelingshadowsalome @deadbranch @bunnyreaper @mortuarywriting @391780 @divine--serenity @la-grosse-patate @g0dspeeed @luminousbeings-crudematter @ceilidho

[mediocreshake08]

Incorrect Mortal Kombat quotes part 6: I can't think of a funny or dumb title

HAVIK and HOTARU: *are fighting behind the counter*

TAVEN: Can I get a waffle? May I please get a waffle?

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

SKARLET: *dressed as Aladdin* What do you think?

KITANA: I think Disney's going to sue somebody.

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

KIRA in front of a camera: I'm here with Tremor and... What's your name again?

KOBRA: Hey pass.

KIRA: Heap Ass?

*Kobra laughs his nuts off and Tremor chuckles under his breath*

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

JOHNNY: I've connected the two dots.

SONYA: You didn't connect shit.

JOHNNY: I've connected them.

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

JAQUI: I punch the shit out of people and shoot plasma from my gauntlets.

CASSIE: I got my dad's magic, I shoot my opponents and have a fatality where I kick someone in the nuts so hard, their skull and spine flies out.

KUNG JIN: I throw chakrams and suplex people with arrows.

TAKEDA: Haha, whips and lightsabers go brrr

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

DAEGON: Hey, Taven?

TAVEN: Yes, brother?

DAEGON: *pulls up the @//taven-from-edenia blog and shows the peanits post*

TAVEN: Uh--

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

NRS!NITARA: Face it, we look good in this new design--

Midway!NITARA: We? What do you mean we? Nintendo Wii?

NRS!NITARA: No, fool, we as in US!

Midway!NITARA: Us? Awe you talking about who?

NRS!NITARA: No, Shit-ass, us.

Midway!NITARA: Bitch please, your dress looks like flem on toast compared to mine. Your head looks like an onion and your voice sounds like someone shitting down a chimney.

NRS!NITARA: ...

*NRS!Nitara would then cry out a river after being roasted tf out of*

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

CYRAX: Sektor, you're an asshole, man.

SEKTOR: You are what you eat, Cyrax.

*Cyrax would break character and start laughing*

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

Mk9!SMOKE: I'm sorry about your sister and mother. But don't worry, at least you're still alive.

MK1!SMOKE: ... Aren't you supposed to be helping me cope with my trauma?

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

HAVIK: Once again, I am a main antagonist in a Mortal Kombat story.

SHANG TSUNG: You've been a main villain before?

HAVIK: Yeah, I was in the prequel comic books. Look!

*Pulls up a page of himself from the MKX prequel comic*

SHANG TSUNG: Huh. How about that.

HAVIK: Yeah, AND they gave me my cool og design.

SHANG TSUNG: Also wasn't Skarlet killed here or..?

HAVIK: Doesn't matter, it was retconned.

SHANG TSUNG: Fair point.

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

*Red Robin kicks Muchacha's door down*

ROBIN: HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF A MOUNTAIN CHICKEN?!

MUCHACHA: Please leave.

ROBIN: Have you ever heard, of a mountain chicken?

MUCHACHA: No.

ROBIN: what do you think it looks like?

MUCHACHA: Like a really big chicken?

ROBIN: That's what I thought, BUT NO, ITS THIS MOTHERFU--

[html-nae]

T R A P S O U L

42!Miles x fem!OC

Part 4 of the 42!Miles x fem!OC series

WC:777

Love.

Love, by definition, is an intense feeling of deep affection.

Or

A strong affection for another out of kinship of personal ties.

Or

Attraction based on sexual desire.

It could be anything or everything you hope for.

Or

The feeling can haunt you.

Love or Lust? Is a question that the majority ask.

All of us ask.

Love is when you try to place them or it out of your mind. But you can’t. You can’t think of anyone or anything else. Just them.

If he danced, she danced. And if he didn’t

She still did.

I hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime. Or at least something you can call your paradise. Give it a chance Morales.

That’s the same advice Harmony would give him any time he felt stressed.

Say yes to me, I’ve got my eye on you.

Harmony never said those words out loud. She refused, she valued their friendship too much.

She was willing to stay if he left, just so he would have someone to come back to if he decided to return.

He stayed in her mind.

Just like Gwen stayed in his.

Just like Harmony stayed in Miles’.

Not her Miles. The other Miles.

The Miles that knew who she was. The Miles that would burn the world down just to make her happy. The Miles that would sacrifice anyone and everyone to keep her safe. The Miles that loves her.

He’d give anything to spend a few hours with her again.

Hours.

It’s been hours since she heard from Miles.

Don’t let him forget about me.

She didn’t want to relive this feeling of being alone. Harmony didn’t want to keep crying in the silk cloth of her pillow. She didn’t care how long it took.

All though she should've.

As long as she was with Miles, a smile adorned her face. He was her own personal sun. Always bubbly, but left her cold and alone at night. Just to pop back up again the next day and do it all over again.

Harmony hated to admit it, but she was scared.

It felt like he didn’t care.

Why am I still here?

She didn’t mean to be complacent with the decision he made.

But why?

Why her?

Did he think of her every night before he went to sleep or did he think of Harmony for hours on end?

Hours.

It’s been hours since she heard from Miles.

A knock sounded from her window.

Maybe he didn’t forget about me.

Harmony thought while throwing back the comforter.

Not Miles.

Miles’ suit wasn’t white.

Nor did it have a hood.

Or pink.

It was Gwen.

Harmony raised a brow and opened her window, the outside air was cooler than it was inside her room. It was almost 10 at night and the city was lively.

You could hear the laughter from where they were. You could see the fluorescent lighting from the neon signs that were still lit and wouldn’t be turned off until the sun came up the next day.

It was calming.

Calming would’ve been the word to describe the music that was playing on the record player a few feet away.

It would’ve been calming if the coolness against his face wasn’t coming from a metal gauntlet that covered the hand of the other version of himself.

It would’ve been calming if he wasn’t tied on a stiff punching bag. His back was aching.

Everything was aching, like it had been for hours.

Hours.

He’s been here for hours.

If he wasn’t glitching then he was begging for his escape.

Or he was taking blows.

His face was covered in dirt and more bruises.

He was exhausted.

Miles from Earth 42 didn’t bat an eye.

He was envious.

Envious of what Miles had back on Earth 1610.

He had Harmony.

He wondered if she was like his Harmony.

She shined like the patent leather on his new 11’s.

She read him like a book, like he was the Bible and she was the reverend.

Miles spent hours talking about his days as a youth to her.

Exposing all his demons and exposing the reasons he was the way he was.

While Miles was too scared to exposed himself, Harmony knew him better than he knew himself. She got him. She hugged him. Told him she missed him.

He fell in love for the first time.

And now that was all gone.

He was envious of everything that he lost.

Everything and anything he hoped for was gone.

Taglist:

@urmotherswhor3 @not-aya @ihavenousernamewhyy-2 @erensbbg @reneuv @notsaelty @blackwxdo @bajadotcom @delulu4yuta @soseoulol @literalawkwardsimp @m9rgaux @kimchikim @mama-2001 @shoyofroyoyoyo @littleshybunbun