#i think karl would also suit him

[khmarrenian]

i hc his name to be alec (/alexandre)

[bloodstained-ballgowns]

i just rewatched ‘the woman who fell to earth’ a couple of days ago for the first time since it aired back in 2018 and the more i think about it, the more i like it.

thirteen is the only doctor for whom i feel a tangible, rose-tinted nostalgia. she wasn’t my first doctor, but she was the first doctor i watched live, the first doctor that i spent an actual extended period of time with over the episode rollout. her intro episode has middling parts (as can be expected with most episodes of Who) but there’s also so much good that i really want to highlight.

first of all, there are some really great character dynamics set up here. much more interesting than i remember, tbh. ryan is a guy who loves mechanics but is stuck in a warehouse job he hates, a guy who obviously wants to connect to people, a guy who by the end of the episode has lost both his mother and grandmother in the space of a couple of years and the step-grandfather he didn’t really want is all he has left (minus his absent father). that’s interesting.

yaz has a keen sense of justice and this raw, intense yearning to help people, to do something worthwhile, something more - the way she has chosen to express that is through law enforcement, but it’s not quite giving her the satisfaction she wants. that’s interesting.

graham’s experience with cancer means that he constantly feels like he’s living on borrowed time. meeting grace gave him purpose, gave him family, gave him the will to fight when he fought it was all but over, but now grace is gone. he and ryan aren’t related, but they’re family, and now they’ve got to figure out how to care for each other without the very lynchpin that brought them together. once again with feeling: interesting!

“i’m just a traveller. sometimes i see things that need fixing. i do what i can.” i like that they circle back to the ‘just some guy’ portrayal of the doctor here, both because it’s the one i’m partial to and because it feeds particularly well into the whole ‘the doctor is an unreliable narrator’ aspect, especially in the wake of the increased deification in the moffat era. it's a nice set up, even if it gets completely overhauled circa series 12/13. in fact, having thirteen keep this as a persistent attitude throughout the Timeless Child of it all could have been really effective re: her reticence with her companions and refusal to address or deal with her past.

the scene where thirteen builds her sonic screwdriver might be one of my favourite sequences in nuwho. i love that it’s a hybrid of alien tech and sheffield steel. i also love that they highlight the ‘mad inventor’ side of the doctor here (her teleportation circuit is based around a microwave?) and wish that they had carried it forward more. it would have been the perfect basis for her to bond with ryan over. jodie also pulls off the humour of the episode well, considering the significant shift from moffat dialogue.

i enjoy thirteen's outfit: the vibrancy of it as mirroring her childish excitability, but also as another part of the mask - if i dress all colourful then maybe i can ignore/outrun/masquerade my great capacity for darkness! etc etc. the shopping trip with yaz and ryan is a bit shoe-horned in at the end but it's cute that she finds it in a charity shop. (back in 2018 i bought a t-shirt with a couple of stripes across the chest solely because it remotely resembled the one she wore lol. nerd from a young age, me.) jodie also looks soo hot in capaldi's outfit though so a spin on the traditional suit would also have been appreciated.

some miscellaneous points: i like that she tells Karl off (“you had no right to do that”) right after saving him. i like that she gets it wrong at first and makes it clear that she’s working on the fly. she’s following her instinct, and that instinct is to help people. doctor who has been beautiful before but the cinematography takes such a huge step this era. “it’s been a long time since i bought women’s clothes” i am choosing to believe this is about river thank you and good night.

[shakirawastaken]

dsmp if... they were spiderman

i love spiderman just like every other bitch out there

dream: - do not be surprised if he comes out one day and claims hes a demigod and superhero and a wizard - cause if its anybody its this guy fr - if he was spiderman he wouldnt have the main and basic color scheme - hed go green like everything - green is the main color like the evermore green and black/white as the accent colors - his string also wouldnt be normal spider string i feel like itd be neon ish like miguels from the movie - he would also avoid telling you that he was spiderman till the very last moment - he would wanna keep you safe the best he can - would nEVER swing by your house - but he keeps an eye out on you when he knows ur out and about walking - but when you eventually figure it out? boy oh boy - cornering you in the street and pushing you into an alleyway - spiderman poses in front of you, hanging from his web - gives you upside down kisses???? sign me tf up - hed also get himself just the right amount involved in the crime he fought - he knows how to balance his life out, and he knows how important it is to be able to balance his life out like that - hot as spiderman  sapnap: - a reckless spiderman - leans vigilante  - out of all of them he would be the one with the suit closest to the spiderman - but im not feeling the blue - marroon and black or some other brighter color - a rash spiderman - fights crime like no business, but kinda makes a mess along the way - its okay bc the people love him - loves loves LOVES arguing with cops - tells you almost immediately after becoming spiderman bc he has to tell someone - breaks every canon event - trash talks every criminal out there - but is nice to every citizen he sees - likes webshooting your wrist to the counter or something so you cant leave or go out or smth - forces you to spend time with him :) - likes to keep out of interacting with people as spiderman  - but will use it as argument bait in day to day life - makes a hammock out of webs and lays there between two buildings - overall 7/10 spiderman

george: - is barely spiderman but when he is hes darn good at it - he leaves a lot of the petty crime to the cops - only goes out for the big stuff - dark navy blue suit with black accents - stays in the shadows/on top of buildings - doesnt interact with anyone if he can help it - the more secretive he can keep the better - he told you a fair amount of time after he went out as everyones crime fighting superhero - but he doesnt like to talk about being spiderman  - and youre fine with that, as long as he stays safe - he swings to your window every night after hes done being spiderman - hed rather be with you than someone else after the hard night hes probably had - has a habit opening your window without knowing and jumpscaring you accidentally LMFAO

karl: - oh he LOVES BEING SPIDERMAN - hes the spiderman to be on every cereal box and phone cover and talk show - loves taking pictures especially with little children in their own spiderman costumes - after he captures and ties up every criminal he leaves a little goofy aah note for the cops to laugh at - unlike sapnap he has a great rep w the cops  - he told you after he “test” ran it - actually he just showed up with the mask on and you were like “SPIDERMAN OMG LET ME CAL MY BF” - and then spidermans phone was ringing and you were like - “what” - “im spiderman!” - “WHAT” - his suits like - i feel like it changes color in the sun - its one of those suits - and hes the only one out of all to have an assistant ai thing in his suit to lead him through crime - he might be a more light hearted spiderman but he still deals with the same dangerous crime

quackity: - this guy loves to swing - he will put his headphones on and jump off the nearest building - mona lisa by dominic fike - soars to the ground and then swings up at the last moment - swings to the beat of the music to relax - he has the normal suit i think - but he has his hair comin out of the suit like pavitr  - loves to take you swinging - even if you may find it terrifying - he likes the feeling of sharing with you his favorite activity - fights crime like no ones business - he told you like a few months after being spiderman - he just jumped down from the ceiling  - “? what” - “spiderman!” - “...what” - yeah  - idk all i can think of is that quackity likes to swing around the city just for the heck of it - “WOAH ITS SPIDERMAN” “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” 

wilbur: - has a black suit like miles - tommy is his guy in the chair LMFAO - in his ear like “SWING LEFT I MEAN RIGHT I MEAN LEFT” - mutes tommy half the time - leaves you little messages in web on the walls of the house - “love you!” but its in spider web - actively holds a conversation with the people hes fighting - “so hows your day?” *PUNCH* “hows ur kid doing?” *OBLITERATES* - uses physics and shit to his advantage cause hes not that built - another one whos hot as spiderman - never EVER brings you out as spiderman - EVER - will bring tommy tho - cause tommy annoys him into doing - “BIG UPS WILBUR!!” “SHH TOMMY” - is spidermans biggest fan even though hes spiderman - “they will never suspect spidermans biggest fan as spiderman!” - smart ngl 

guys all i can think about is spiderman its a dilemma an issue a problem  sorry for the short headcanons i had to get my thoughts out of the way!

[muiitoloko]

Hey:) i don't know if your laptop is working again but i wanted to make a request if it's okay. Can your write something about Karl Hoffmeister please? He has so much work to do and looks for a nanny to look at his son because he is working so much. His wife left and so he needs someone. That's when y/n is coming, she's the perfekt nanny and Karl and y/n are falling in love or something? Its just an idea so i'm not mad if you don't do it :)) Thank you

Title: The Nanny's Promise

Summary: Karl Hoffmeister, a weary industrialist, is struggling to find a suitable nanny for his young son, Otto, after his wife leaves them. Despite having little experience, a determined young woman named [Your Name] secures the position by promising to care for Otto with the same love and dedication she gave her siblings.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warning: none.

Author's Notes: Hey there! 😊 Unfortunately, my beloved and dear friend, my laptop, is currently resting in peace 😅 But I'm still writing on my cell phone—it's a bit more complicated, but totally worth it! Your idea about Karl Hoffmeister and the perfect nanny sounds fantastic, and I'll definitely see what I can do with it! Thanks for the suggestion! 😊

Also read on Ao3

Karl sighed as he sent in another possible nanny for his son, Otto. He had already gone through many interviews that day, wanting to ensure that his son would have the best possible care. The day had been long and disappointing; three interviews so far, and none of the candidates had impressed him. He told the next one to come in, not even looking up as he pointed for her to sit in front of him. He heard the candidate greet him softly as she took her seat.

Karl picked up her CV and began to read, noting with a frown that it was almost blank—no past experience, just basic education. She was young, which explained the lack of experience, but it did little to alleviate his concerns. He read her name out loud, “[Your Name],” and finally looked up. He paused, absorbing her simple yet striking beauty. She had the fresh, earnest look of a young working-class woman, her eyes bright with determination.

Karl mentally scolded himself. It did not matter if she was beautiful. What mattered was finding a competent nanny for his son, especially now that he was too busy with work and Charlotte had run away with her lover, leaving him and Otto behind.

"Miss [Your Last Name]," Karl began, his baritone voice steady, though a hint of weariness seeped through. "I see you have limited experience. Can you tell me why you think you are suited for this position despite that?"

You met his gaze, your own nerves evident but your resolve clear. "Mr. Hoffmeister, I understand that my CV does not reflect much in terms of professional experience. However, I have taken care of my younger siblings for many years. I have a natural inclination towards caregiving, and I am very quick to learn. I am hardworking and deeply committed to any task I take on."

Karl nodded slightly, noting the sincerity in your voice. "Taking care of siblings is quite different from being responsible for someone else's child. What makes you think you can handle the responsibilities of being a nanny for my son?"

You straightened in your chair, the intensity of your gaze reflecting your determination. "I believe that caregiving requires patience, empathy, and dedication, all qualities that I possess. I understand the importance of creating a safe and nurturing environment for a child. I may not have formal experience, but I am committed to learning and doing my best."

Karl considered your words, his eyes searching your face for any signs of insincerity. He found none. Instead, he saw a young woman who, despite her lack of experience, seemed genuinely eager to take on the challenge. He sighed inwardly. Otto needed someone reliable, and perhaps, someone with fresh enthusiasm could be beneficial.

"Very well," Karl said finally, his voice softening slightly. "Tell me, how would you handle a situation where Otto, who can be quite stubborn at times, refuses to follow instructions or throws a tantrum?"

You thought for a moment before replying. "I believe in a balanced approach. It is important to be firm but also to understand the child's perspective. If Otto were to throw a tantrum, I would remain calm and patient, trying to understand the root of his distress. I would use positive reinforcement to encourage good behavior and set clear, consistent boundaries."

Karl nodded, appreciating your thoughtful response. He leaned back in his chair, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his face as he regarded you. "And what about his education? Otto is quite bright for his age. How would you contribute to his intellectual development?"

Your eyes lit up at the question. "I love reading and learning, and I believe in fostering a child's curiosity. I would engage Otto with educational games, storytelling, and interactive activities that stimulate his mind. I would also work closely with you to ensure that his learning aligns with your expectations and values."

Karl felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, despite the lack of experience, you might just be the right fit. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Miss [Your Last Name], I appreciate your candidness and enthusiasm. This position is crucial, and I need someone who can be both a caregiver and a positive influence in Otto's life. I am willing to give you a trial period. If you prove capable, the position will be yours permanently."

Your heart skipped a beat, relief and excitement flooding through you. "Thank you, Mr. Hoffmeister. I promise I will not disappoint you."

Karl gave a small, approving nod. "Very well. You may start tomorrow. Be here by eight in the morning. We will see how things go from there."

As you left the room, Karl allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps, amidst the disappointments of the day, he had finally found someone who could bring a bit of stability back into his and Otto's lives.

Over the course of the next two days, you settled into your new role, quickly winning over Otto with your kindness and patience. Karl watched from a distance, his initial skepticism slowly giving way to admiration. You handled Otto’s tantrums with a calm demeanor, diffusing his stubbornness with a combination of firmness and understanding. Your enthusiasm for learning and engaging Otto in educational activities impressed Karl, who found himself lingering longer in the evenings just to observe your interactions with his son.

Karl's workload remained heavy, but knowing Otto was in capable hands allowed him to focus more on his business. As days turned into weeks, and then months, the household began to settle into a new, comfortable rhythm. Karl began to notice the small things you did that went beyond your duties as a nanny: the way you instinctively tidied up around the house, the meals you prepared that Otto loved, and the genuine affection you showed his son.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at work, Karl arrived home to find you and Otto in the garden. You were kneeling in the dirt, showing Otto how to plant flowers. Otto's face was alight with excitement, his laughter ringing through the air as he dug into the soil with his small hands.

Karl stood at the doorway, watching the scene unfold. You looked up and noticed him, giving him a warm smile. "Mr. Hoffmeister, you're home early," you said, standing up and brushing the dirt off your hands.

Karl nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I managed to finish my meetings earlier than expected," he replied, his baritone voice carrying a hint of exhaustion. He walked over to join you and Otto, his eyes softening as he watched his son.

"Daddy, look!" Otto exclaimed, holding up a small plant proudly. "We're planting flowers!"

Karl crouched down beside Otto, ruffling his son's hair affectionately. "That's wonderful, Otto. You’re doing a great job."

You stood back, watching the interaction with a sense of quiet satisfaction. Seeing Karl with Otto always brought a smile to your face; it was clear how much he loved his son, despite the demands of his work.

As the months passed, you continued to integrate yourself into the household seamlessly. Karl found himself looking forward to your daily interactions, appreciating your presence more and more. You brought a warmth and stability that had been missing since Charlotte left, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to you.

One evening, as you were cleaning up after dinner, Karl approached you in the kitchen. "Miss [Your Last Name]," he began, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for Otto and me. You've been an incredible help, and I don't know how we would have managed without you."

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with genuine warmth. "Thank you, Mr. Hoffmeister. It's been a pleasure taking care of Otto. He’s a wonderful boy."

Karl took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "You’ve done more than just take care of him. You've brought life back into this house. For that, I am truly grateful."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his gaze. "I’m happy to be here, Mr. Hoffmeister. I care about Otto, and I care about this family."

Karl felt a surge of emotion, his usual composure slipping for a moment. "Please, call me Karl," he said softly, his voice filled with a sincerity that took you by surprise.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Alright, Karl."

From that evening on, the dynamic between you and Karl began to shift. There were more shared glances, more moments of unspoken understanding. Karl found himself lingering in the kitchen after Otto had gone to bed, simply enjoying your company. The conversations grew deeper, moving from discussions about Otto's day to more personal topics. He told you about his work, the pressures he faced as an industrialist, and even shared some memories of his own childhood.

You listened with rapt attention, offering your insights and encouragement. Your empathy and understanding made Karl feel heard and valued in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He began to realize that his feelings for you were growing, his admiration slowly turning into something deeper.

One particularly cold evening, as a winter storm raged outside, the two of you found yourselves alone in the living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room. Otto had gone to bed early, exhausted from a day of playing in the snow. You and Karl sat on the couch, sipping hot cocoa and talking quietly.

As you laughed at a story Karl shared about his early days in business, he looked at you, his heart swelling with affection. "You have a wonderful laugh," he said, his voice soft and sincere.

You blushed, looking down at your cocoa. "Thank you, Karl. You’re very kind."

He reached out, gently lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze. "No, it’s the truth. You've brought so much joy into our lives. I don’t know how to express how grateful I am."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. "I’m just doing what I can," you said softly. "Otto and you mean a lot to me."

Karl’s eyes held yours, a depth of emotion reflected in them. "And you mean a great deal to us," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

The moment was charged with unspoken feelings, the slow burn of months of growing affection coming to a head. Karl leaned in slightly, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. You held your breath, your heart racing with anticipation.

But then, he hesitated, pulling back slightly. "I don’t want to rush you," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to make sure this is something you want as well."

You smiled, your hand reaching out to cover his. "Karl, I’ve felt the same way for a while now," you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion. "I care about you, deeply."

Relief and joy flooded Karl’s features as he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth in your hearts.

From that night on, the bond between you and Karl only grew stronger. You continued to care for Otto, and now, you cared for each other as well. It was a slow burn, but one that had been worth every moment, bringing love and happiness back into a household that had once felt so empty.

[themakeupbrush]

In no particular order, my top looks from the 2023 Met Gala "Karl Lagerfeld: A Line in Beauty"

My thoughts are below, but I'll be honest, I didn't really do any background research this year because there wasn't much to be done. These are really just my opinions on whether or not I liked the look.

Ironically, I felt this was a very mediocre year, which led to me having a lot more favorites than usual because they were kind of all on the same level. In previous years I would have separated this into multiple posts, but I don't really see the point.

Doja Cat: I wanted someone to dress up as Choupette the cat and she delivered, and managed to do so in a way that was still fitting for the event

Keke Palmer: She looked amazing, and really captured the Chanel look with the bombshell hair and the extremely bedazzled tweed. I honestly don't want to think about how much that dress weighed

Anne Hathaway: Besides that fact that I love everything Anne Hathaway has ever done, this dress was the perfect combination of honoring Lagerfeld's style while also incorporating it into the style of the brand she was representing (Versace). It had tweed and pearls, but also sex appeal and safety pins

Cardi B: First, I just want to appreciate her ongoing commitment to high fashion and the fact that she had three (3) completely separate looks. This particular Miss Sohee look was my favorite because she's living out my glinda barbie mermaid fairy princess dreams

Harvey Guillen: This was one of the first looks I saw of the night, and still one of my favorites. It has all the Lagerfeld style essentials, but still manages to look unique. Plus, creative menswear always gets extra points because the bar is painfully low, though this year was a surprisingly pleasant exception.

Jennifer Lopez: It's not the most creative look, but it's right up my alley and honestly, do we expect anything groundbreaking from JLo? She's always going to show up in something pretty that's decently on theme enough for me to just focus on whether or not I like it. And this immediately makes me think of classic Chanel.

Penelope Cruz: She was a co-host, it's vintage Chanel couture from the 80's, and she's one of the people I most heavily associate with Lagerfeld and Chanel. A win all around.

Russell Westbrook: I really want to give Russell Westbrook credit for always showing up to the Met Gala and really going for it. I love all the details: the pearl necklace, the tweed blazer with floral clasps, the bows on the shoes

Chloe Fineman: Another first look that turned out to be a favorite. This again had all the necessary design elements without feeling like a cheap knockoff. Also major points for the bedazzled cat bag.

Anok Yai: I don't know and I don't care how this relates to theme, she looked like a goddess

Bad Bunny: Another man not only doing something interesting but incorporating the theme? Genuinely shocking. Obviously I loved the OTT floral cape, but I really loved the ode to c. 2005 Chanel with the backless suit and backwards necklace.

Gisele: She wore the same dress from an iconic 2007 editorial, proving not only that she still has it, but that she's always had it. A true supermodel.

Salma Hayek: She looked hot, I don't know what else you want me to say about it. Also it had color, which nothing else did. My eyes were starving for color.

Glenn Close: For starters, she needed an entire team to carry her train so props for that. She brought the drama, the glitz, and the "age is just a number so shut the hell up" glamor.

Lil Nas X: This was, for lack of a better phrase, a cheeks out, bedazzled, balls to the wall look. The Choupette inspiration is more obvious when he was inside with the fur (ish?) coat on, but I honestly didn't care. I needed a moment and he delivered. Though I do wonder (1) how long it took to bedazzle him and (2) will he every fully be de-glittered.

Brian Tyree Henry: I don't know if it's the pose or the cape, but it's giving me dramatic shakespeare vibes and I appreciate it.

Naomi Campbell: The only issue I have with this look is that they called 2010 Chanel Couture "vintage" and I can't accept that. Beyond that, I mean, it's Naomi Campbell in Chanel Couture. I was also dying for any semblance of color at this point and somehow this dress was among the most colorful

Jenna Ortega: The perfect combination of chanel tweed cropped blazer/mini skirt and the Wednesday Addams aesthetic. Which was interesting because I thought she was trying to move away from that but I don't care it was a successful look

Ava Max: Chanel was known for the haute couture bride, and this not only really captures that, it was one of the most and quite honestly only majorly dramatic looks of the night

Halle Bailey: She looked like a mermaid and I love that for her

Ashley Graham: I would have loved this look regardless, but after seeing the dress it was modeled after, I also think it was one of the best tributes of the night

Tems: Has she ever looked bad on a red carpet? Her headpieces are just getting bigger and more elaborate and I see nothing wrong with that.

Diddy: I love the drama + the floral cape, though I am left wondering how he didn't faint under all of that. Also, you can roast me all you want for captioning his post with Sean Combs but that's what was given to the AP so it's what I went with.

Shai Gilgeous Alexander: A final man who followed the theme and wore something interesting, arguably more interesting than some of the women. I actually think I like this look better without the coat over it.

[sapphicrow]

The choices for the side enemies in each section of resident evil was very deliberate, and shows off both what Mother Miranda thought the lords deserved and what suits their characters. This may have been for difficulty purposes for each area, but still. I think it is a nice tidbit of flavor to our characters even if it’s indirect. Also I have brain rot.

Moreau doesn’t have any mobs. His reservoir is uniquely isolated. It’s evident from the way the other lords treat him that this is how they feel towards him as well. He isn’t a popular fella. As such, Mother Miranda granted him no special protection or privileges. Besides, I’m sure his bile would repel any creature, even a zombie or moroaica.

Lady Dimitrescu has many creatures within her castle because she interacts with more people on the regular. It’s canon that she had a whole service of female servants who were regularly harvested and experimented on. These subjects are later turned into one of two things: moroaica (the on ground creepy crawlies), or samca (the harpy looking things on the roof). Though we know Alcina isn’t Miranda’s favorite, she’s still pretty high up there. She had to make these critters herself still. Plus, her castle is huge and it only makes sense to have scattered security. I’d say Alcina’s daughters count as a high honor and another reflection of the characterization of Castle Dimitrescu.

As for Lady Beneviento, her situation is an interesting one. Angie doesn’t quite count as a mob, since she is technically an extension of Donna’s consciousness. This is obviously part of her as a person. Disregarding Angie, Donna has no major creatures. I say this because I don’t believe her dolls count as beasts bestowed upon her by Miranda. They’re handmade. She had to harness the skills of cadou experimentation, combined with the craftsmanship of doll making. This reflects Donna because she is isolated, but skillful enough to combat it unlike Moreau. She’s delusional, but evidently not to the same degree as Sal. She copes in her own fucked up, crafty way.

Last but not least, Heisenberg. Now, Heisenberg is Mother Miranda’s established favorite. The golden child. The sun of her sons. It’s also established that Mother’s fondness is by no means requited. Heisenberg loathes her. But nonetheless, even with his absolutely meh loyalty, he has a fair deal of power bestowed upon him. Disregarding his cadou abilities, he has the entirety of the lycan pack. That is no small force. Miranda practically trusts the most dangerous lord with an army. I’d like to believe she isn’t stupid enough not to realize his faulty loyalty, but I feel as if she treats him like a second true child. He’s the son that could’ve been Eva’s big brother should everything have worked out. Love is blind, and Miranda’s too busy to question cutie Karl. Karl also has the Soldats that he’s made himself. This is an intriguing view of him in my opinion. Karl lets Ethan slaughter Miranda’s creation because the entire time he’s been using the powers she gave him to oppose her. Silly guy moment.

Mother Miranda herself has no side mob which is very purposeful as well. She works alone. Her sidekick is the cadou, which we see in the form of all those root looking appendages bursting forth from the ground later in the game. Unlike Moreau who’s isolated due to his insufferable and odorous nature, Miranda is alone by choice. By grief, more accurately. Why bother with companions when Eva isn’t back yet? For her shattered mindset, I’m sure the thought of her daughter is companionship enough. Even with the mold making an appearance, Ethan only has to engage in combat with her herself. This is because even with the mold present, she’s still the vessel. It’s illogical and unnecessary for the megamycete to risk itself when Miranda is right there and so willing to take the blunt of the force.

The megamycete’s side mob is every single thing infected with the mold.

Thank you for reading :) hope it was coherent

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 16 | Friends and Curiosities

Chapter Sixteen | Friends and Curiosities

Parker couldn’t believe it. Within such a short amount of time, he suddenly had a dozen followers and friends on his page.

Sure, he didn’t know them personally, but everyone was welcoming and polite – two things he was eager to report to his mom when she expressed concern. The miniscule boy also made sure his mom knew he was being safe, not giving out too much personal information, and that the topic of his condition hadn’t even been brought up.

One person commented on his profile picture being interesting, which was a picture of Parker standing in front of his computer screen, but he just explained it was a background and that he wanted to showcase the platform he was publishing on. Karl was the kid’s name, and evidently he and Parker were the same age.

All in all, Parker was pleased with his interactions and the people he was meeting. Lots of them had advice and things for him to check out, and he liked all of the things he was seeing.

There were sketches of space and vast mountains as well as the everyday interactions. There were hundreds of stories from writers just like him.

It felt nice. It felt like some kind of community with people supporting and helping one another. A sense of satisfaction filled the young teen every time he checked his notifications and saw he was getting the chance to meet someone new.

“Just look here, mom,” said Parker eagerly as he showed his mom the latest post he made. “It has almost fifteen likes!” He looked up into his mom’s features and saw her beaming with pride.

“That’s so great, Parker,” she complemented. “Are you going to post your latest story from Mr. Tamplin’s class?”

“I… think so. I don’t know yet though. It doesn’t feel done,” he replied, feeling his cheeks getting warm. The latest story he came up with for Mr. Tamplin’s class was a fiction fantasy story about a sprite named Tal’el. It essentially was his backstory for the Dungeons and Dragons campaign he and his friends started.

Basically, he was a small fairy-like person who was a poison master for his people until he decided he wanted to go out adventuring and exploring. The Dungeon Game Master said it was fine if he played a smaller character, thankfully not questioning why he would want to do such a thing and found a special class for him to play as.

The story actually won a young adult author award for his class and Parker had Mr. Tamplin to thank since it was he who tutored him through his writing slumps. He was now refining it for his literature class.

“Well, don’t be scared to post it sweetie. You’re such a great writer and can do whatever you set your mind to,” encouraged his mom. “Now before you get sucked into checking your notifications, finish your homework and get ready for bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yes, momma,” Parker replied, rolling his screen back into place in the main area. The structure walls rumbled as his mom closed the outside walls to his home. It was hard to believe it had been a whole month since he “moved in” to this new space.

Parker loved it, in a weird way.

Not to sound ungrateful, but having his own space to roam around, especially in a space that felt suited to him, made him feel just a little bit normal. He liked that he was usually at eye-level with his mom instead of having her loom over him. Just the thought made him shudder involuntarily, and he wasn’t sure why.

It made him feel guilty every time the sensation seized him.

But, now was not the time to dwell on that. It was time for bed.

Parker walked into his room and rummaged through his dresser to find his oversized space t-shirt and elastic band sleep shorts. Then, he went back to the computer and finished submitting his assignments. The words filled the page and Parker hoped that his paper on the evolution of technology was going to be good enough to get him the grade he needed.

Parker’s other assignments were a breeze. Math was simple enough and the biology project about documenting the growth of plants was going smoothly. It was his other project, his story for his literature course, that he was worried about. It was his same story that he was using for his channel, but it was more a mild fear of rejection and lack of perfection.

His online friends liked it, but would his teacher? His followers?

Parker sighed and leaned against the wall before slinking down further into the chair. His eyes focused on the blinking line in front of him as he stared at the end of the fifth chapter he had been editing. Something about this story felt particularly personal, but Parker remembered hearing once about how writers put more of themselves than they’re aware of when they’re making characters and stories.

Perhaps this was just part of that feeling?

The teen sighed and stretched when, suddenly, his lights flickered up above him.

Confusion injected itself into his mind as he stared at the wired lights on the ceiling. His eyes flicked over to the wall switch.

Perhaps just a fluke?

The notion was dismissed when the lights flickered two more times, all of his lights dimming and glowing systematically.

Something raised the hair on the back of Parker’s neck. He felt like he was on pins and needles, the anticipation of a drop while suspended in mid-air. Cautiously, the curious teen stood up and walked over to the switch, examining it closely.

It was still up and wasn’t jiggling or loose.

The lights flickered again.

It felt like he was in a spooky movie, of which Parker had only ever seen one in his life along with a couple of older “thrillers” like Alien and Jaws. Even those movies were censored because his mom didn’t want him to get too spooked.

Was there something wrong with the plug?

Parker glanced at the window at the back by the stairs and, just for a moment, he could have sworn he saw something.

It looked like the quick flick of a shadow.

It was quick and Parker wasn’t even sure if he knew what he saw. He did just step out of his room after all, and he had been staring at his computer screen, which he knew sometimes made shadows appear when there weren’t any.

He held deathly still, his entire body locking up like a perfect figurine. His body fell naturally into the position as he slowly crouched and laid his hand against the floor, as if he could detect any trembling or motion.

He didn’t get a chance to investigate for long though. Before he could make his way to the stairs in his crouched position, there was a knock on the table that made Parker nearly jump out of his skin.

“Parker? Are you going to bed soon?” Parker’s entire body shivered as he pushed himself upright and heaved in a few deep breaths. Every nerve in his body felt electrified. While his heart continued to thrum rapidly, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to his mom as the sides of the walls began to open.

“Y-y-yeah, mom. I’m ready for bed,” said Parker. He glanced up at the lights stayed on without the slightest hint of a flicker. The walls opened fully and, instantly, Parker saw his mom’s brow furrow quizzically.

“Everything okay? You look a bit pale,” she said. The maternal instinct in Amanda kicked in and she reached forward and pressed the tip of her finger against Parker’s forehead. He shied away from it, which was typical teenage behavior, but something else felt off about Parker that Amanda couldn’t quite place.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. I just…” Parker stopped short. It felt like something physically squirmed in his mind, preventing him from saying something about the shadow and the lights. He shook the notion loose, confused as to why this instinct flared up in him, and proceeded with his thought. “I just saw the lights flicker and got spooked.”

“Oh?” Amanda replied as she glanced over and looked down at the power strip that fed electricity into Parker’s Place. Nothing looked off about it to her, but she still knelt and glanced around the ground.

Still nothing.

“Well,” she sighed as she stood and walked back over to the front of Parker’s tiny home. “I don’t see anything. It looks like it’s all plugged in, but we’ll check on it tomorrow. Okay? For now, it’s bedtime.”

“Yes, momma,” replied Parker as he walked up to the edge and accepted the kiss on his torso that his mom gave him. With that, Amanda smiled and watched as Parker curled under the blankets, forming an almost imperceptible lump in the bed. “Goodnight momma. I love you.”

“I love you too, Parker. Sweet dreams my love.” Amanda closed the walls and secured them tightly before tiptoeing out of the room and to her own room to turn in for the night.

Just in the other room, Parker laid there with his heart still fluttering nervously. Everything in him was still on edge, and the curiosity of what was going on with his lights was really bothering him. Parker enjoyed a good mystery or puzzle, but he generally liked ones he could solve.

This one wasn’t solved yet.

For what felt like a couple of hours, Parker tossed and turned in his bed as a mixture of homework assignments and curiosities about the power outlet swirled like a mist in his mind. The more the young teen thought, the more it annoyed him that he didn’t have the answers.

He had had enough.

Parker pushed himself up and decided to go and check out the source of the flickering lights. If it was a cable going bad or possibly the breaker being loose, he needed to get a new one as soon as possible. It would be terrible if he was in class and his power went out. His mom said they would do it in the morning, but Parker knew himself; and he knew he couldn’t sleep if he didn’t at least go and see it for himself.

He couldn’t afford to not check it out with his presentation tomorrow.

The teen stepped noiselessly through his house and exited the front door. As he walked around, he noticed a few things that just seemed, in a word, natural.

Sound was amplified. The darkness in the corners of the room seemed brighter. He could feel every tremble in the desk from his footsteps.

As he made it outside, a choice presented itself to him. For a moment, he considered going down the climbing line he installed himself on the backside of the desk.

But he knew if he slipped on the rope and got hurt, which he never did, his mom would make him take down the line.

He decided to risk it.

It was late. She was asleep. Parker was as sure footed as a goat and knew he would be fine all the way down. The temptation was also too great for the teen to resist. Plus, it would be a lot faster.

There was something about the experience that was, in a word, liberating. The free fall. The catch. The feel of the rope in between his fingers.

It felt natural.

The urge to climb and fall and hide never failed to fascinate parker. Whether it was something his condition genetically programmed him to do so or if it was some personality trait he possessed, he didn’t know.

What he did know was the sensation was addictive and he was itching for a good climb.

Parker snagged the line in between his fingers and leaned over the edge of the desk. There was a mild sense of vertigo that swelled inside him, but he loved it. The weightlessness seized him as he let himself slip over the edge, hands and feet firmly in place and secured on the line.

The line burned against the teen’s palms and against his legs as he quickly descended. It felt like something a secret agent would do, and it felt epic.

The moment Parker’s feet hit the ground, he felt himself instinctually look around and crouch low. Silently, he stepped across the planks of wood that constructed the floor and walked toward the power strip that was only a few feet away. The whole thing was four times Parker’s size, but he navigated through the wires with ease.

His hands worked quickly to check the buttons and reset panels, and the teen could find nothing wrong with any of it.

Perhaps something is up with the electrical cover in the wall? Parker wondered silently. He jumped over the stiff cord that led to the wall and approached the trim on the wall which had small notches in it, so he didn’t need to snag a ladder.

As he approached, Parker noticed something by the very base of the electrical cover that made his hair stand on end.

It was a drill bit.

Flat head.

It was a tad bit rusty, and Parker didn’t recognize it from his mom’s kit that she used to help construct his space. He approached and picked it up, realizing it wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be. In his hands, it was about twice the size of the drill that his mom used, and he realized he could probably carry it around easy enough; but where did it come from?

I don’t think this is mom’s drill bit. How’d it get here?

Parker glanced up at the electrical cover and felt his heart skip a beat as he noticed the screw for the wall socket was protruding from the wall ever so slightly.

His entire body was shaking now, but he wasn’t sure why.

Had his mom messed with the electrical cover with some old tools that she forgot about?

It didn’t seem like her.

Parker stepped up on the trim, balancing precariously and using the cord to stabilize himself, as he pushed on the very bottom of the electrical cover.

With almost no effort, the piece wiggled free and the screw clattered to the ground. The end looked a lot shorter than the others. He knew because he helped his mom replace the covers a few weeks ago.

The young teen took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he dared to peek inside. Engulfing darkness belonging to the wall consumed his vision. There was something exciting and enticing about the darkness in front of him.

It felt, in a word, familiar.

But why?

Parker felt his head beginning to throb as his mind stirred some fragmented memory, but it was hazy and distant.

What really set the teen on edge, however, was when he dared to push himself up onto the ledge to peer better into the wall and noticed something else that made his insides fill with nervous energy.

There was something that looked like a pencil mark. Two lines with a triangle on top followed by a little check mark on the inside. To Parker, it looked like a kid’s drawing of a house with a check mark inside of it.

Was this something his mom did?

Or was this some kind of construction mark?

What was this?

What did it mean?

The teen stared at the marks and then back to the darkness of the wall. Just like the shadows of the room when he stepped out of his house, the looming abyss of those narrow spaces between the walls didn’t seem very dark. It almost seemed inviting.

There was something about that confined space between the drywall and the studs and exterior boards that made Parker feel like he was back in his space. It was familiar.

But why?

Parker hadn’t realized that he had been learning forward to the point where he was barely hanging onto the edge of the electrical cover and leaning into the walls. It took the sound of his foot skidding against the wood and nearly tumbling headfirst into the space in front of him.

Startled and shaken, Parker pulled himself back out of the entryway into the walls, forced the electrical cover back onto its perch, and hurried back to his room. He was in such a tizzy, the young teen didn’t even realize he had gone straight to the secured line he left and climbed up it in record time, ignoring the staircase mere feet away.

His little feet barely made noise as he scurried back to his room, securing the door and slipping under his covers without so much as a squeak.

Parker’s mind was racing. What was that he just saw? And what was that weird draw he had toward the walls?

Hopefully, his mom would have the answers.

First thing in the morning, he would ask her. She would make everything better, right?

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #701 (July 1994)

"THE FALL OF METROPOLIS," Finale! The final (for now) battle between Superman and Lex Luthor! Wait, isn't Luthor practically a vegetable now? Is this just 22 pages of Superman beating up a cripple? No, it's actually a fair fight because Lex is back to his old Pre-Crisis habit of wearing purple robot armors (I guess they're traditionally more green than purple, but still).

As seen last issue, Lex's paralyzed body is being taken to S.T.A.R. Labs in an ambulance so they can administer the cure to the Clone Plague that left him in this state, but he's got other priorities: mainly, punching Superman. Following Lex's programming, a Kryptonian Battle Suit (the same one that Superman just sorta left laying around in Metropolis during "Reign of the Supermen") comes to retrieve him, trashing that poor ambulance in the process.

Now able to see and hear again thanks to the armor's sensors, Lex witnesses the destruction in Metropolis for the first time and is like "I can't believe I accidentally destroyed the city I love... anyway, let's destroy it some more!" More specifically, he wants to destroy the statue of Superman that stands atop what was once his tomb.

Superman comes to stop Lex from causing even more property damage (and prevent him from showing what's inside the tomb and spoiling a storyline that isn't supposed to start yet...). Superman evades the armor's punches and missiles, but Lex is able to club him with the statue itself -- which you already saw on the cover, but I'm showing it to you again because it's such a cool image.

Lex tries stepping on Superman and burning him with ignited rocket fuel (so hot that it turns the armor's hand into a stump), but Superman is Superman, so he ends up ripping the suit open, taking Luthor out... and flying him to S.T.A.R. so they can give him the cure. Because, again, he's Superman. But, unlike Superboy and other Clone Plague victims, Lex doesn't simply go back to normal after getting the cure: he's still paralyzed, probably because his clone body was "grown more quickly" than the others (he should sue that Dabney Donovan fellow for his shoddy rush job).

Of course, Lex blames Superman for the results of his own dumbass choices and swears that one day he'll make him pay...

...but, for now, he better get comfy in that bed, because he's gonna be there for a good while. THE END!

Plotline-Watch:

That closes the actual "Fall of Metropolis" storyline, but Metropolis will remain fallen for a little while longer.

This is also the end of the Clone Plague storyline, since Lex was the last surviving clone to get the cure. If you're wondering what happened to the Underworlders: at S.T.A.R., Dr. Kitty Faulkner says they all "seem to have perished." Damn, even the babies? That's brutal. Considering they never appeared again except in flashbacks, Kitty is probably right, but I prefer to believe they simply retreated even deeper underground and never had to deal with the surface world's bullshit ever again.

Lex wearing a green/purple armor finally fulfills the tease seen on the first page of 1986's The Man of Steel #5, when we're made to think a random goon in a proto-Lex-Men suit is Lex. Then we see businessman Lex himself and it's like "Ha! You thought this Lex Luthor would ever be caught dead inside something so corny? Dream on, nerds!"

This issue is written by Karl Kesel (plot) and Louise Simonson (dialogue) since Roger Stern left in Action #700 and the new guy hasn't arrived yet. Speaking of Stern, that blurb at the end saying that hopefully both he and Lex will return one day is exactly what's gonna happen, but it won't be in Action or any of the existing Super-Titles...

Shout Outs-Watch:

Awesome Kryptonian Battle Robot-sized shout outs to our supporters, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, and Dave Shevlin! Join them (and get extra articles) via Patreon or our newsletter’s “pay what you want” mode!

And now, keep reading for the great Don Sparrow's take on this issue, Roger Stern's run in general, and what does Clone Lex have between his legs...?

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it’s appropriate for a title like Action—Superman’s Kryptonian warsuit duking it out with the Man of Steel at his own memorial.  Great sense of motion from the rubble flying off, without motion lines, which is a real feat.  It also reveals that the Superman statue in Metropolis Memorial Park is in fact stone or concrete.  This whole time I was imagining it was bronze (we don’t have many stone sculptures in my neck of the woods in Northern Canada, as they tend to crack with the wild temperature differentials). 

Inside we’re treated to back to back splash pages to open the story, both with a great look at the rogue warsuit in action.  The image of the suit plucking a stark naked Lex Luthor is a pretty memorable one. And if you’re a fan of nude Lex, this issue doesn’t disappoint.  I hesitate to even mention such a thing, but is this is the first canonical appearance of Luthor’s pubic hair? Moving on…

[Max: I always took that as a shadow. That panel did make me wonder if Lex's clone body had everything, or if perhaps he asked Dabney Donovan to forget certain parts and just focus on making sure his pecs and abs remain rock hard even if a plague turns him into an old person.]

The image of Superman flying in to combat the Lex-driven warsuit is an all-timer, and would have made a great sticker.

The battle in this issue is reminiscent of the "Doomsday" storyline, in that we’re treated to super-sized panels, with only one or two images per page.  This is a treat, as the artwork really gets to breathe, but it has the unfortunate effect of making the issue a pretty quick read, as there’s a lot less text than in a normal issue. It also makes my job of picking the standout panels a little harder, as they’re all pretty stunning throughout the book.  The image of a raging Superman, having just thrown some missiles back at Lex is a good one, and very en vogue in this era, the peak of Image Comics grim & gritty style.  The image of the warsuit brought to one knee was another standout, as I really appreciate the difference in textures, the sold lugubrious brushline on the warsuit denoting its shininess, against the greasepencil looking streaks in the sky illustrating tendrils of smoke.

We get another intense Superman image on page 19, where Superman marches out of the flame undaunted (visually recalling the utterly badass house ad for the Super titles in 1990).  One of the final images we see is Superman carrying the limp, near-dead body of Luthor into flight.  Again, I think decency dictated this pose—surely carrying him in both arms, pieta style would have been safer for the passenger, but then we’d get an eyeful. Is there a reason Lex couldn’t just be wearing underwear throughout? [Max: Lex hates Superman so much that he refuses to wear undies on the inside OR the outside.]

SPEEDING BULLETS:

Well, at least Superman also acknowledged that leaving the warsuit on the docks was stupid.

This issue seems to reveal that Kryptonian metal isn’t all that much more durable than regular metal, as Superman shatters the leg of the warsuit pretty easily.  In the silver age, it was unscientifically explained that Kryptonian metal was also super-charged by Earth’s yellow sun and lessened gravity, making it way stronger than conventional metal. 

It’s a rare thing that a cover image comes to pass but we really do see Lex knocking Superman through his own memorial in a great splash on pages 10-11.

For such a knock-down drag out fight, taking the suit apart seems pretty easily for Superman on page 20—the very next panel, Lex is out of the suit, and in Superman’s arms.

A side by side comparison reveals that they really did redraw Lex on the last panel, despite similarities to how he is shown on page 12.

We are left with a small farewell caption to the great Roger Stern, with a hint that he—and Lex—could return to the super-books in the future.  “When we least expect it” would prove to be a little over a year later, but we’ll drive off that bridge when we come to it.  Perhaps because he’s not a writer/artist like John Byrne, Dan Jurgens or Jerry Ordway, it took a little while for me to recognize Stern’s greatness on these books.  But his Action Comics title consistently had some of the very best characterization and consistency in all these stories.  So many of my favourite moments (Lois finding out Superman’s secret identity, Batman getting Luthor’s Kryptonite ring, the return of Amanda McCoy, the introduction of Maxima) were all Stern scripts, and that’s saying something.  While in retrospect, I don’t love Supergirl being a protoplasmic synthetic entity, or Lex Jr. being a secret Aussie clone of Lex Sr. (storylines that mainly featured in Action) those were interesting options for their time, and certainly don’t stand in the way of Stern being among the all-time greats when it comes to Superman writers.  And, from my own weird personal point of view, much of the spiritual stuff I’ve collected over the years in our now-famous Godwatch feature has come from Stern.  So, God bless you, Roger Stern!

In an interesting sidenote that has no better place than here to mention—were you aware that in the Law and Order franchise, there have been dozens of characters with the last name Stern, which originated as a shout-out to Roger Stern from fellow comics writer turned Law and Order writer Gerry Conway (creator of no less than Firestorm, Power Girl and Killer Croc)?  There’s even a particularly creepy episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent where a perp has that exact name.  Conway also frequently used Hudson University in his episodes, which comics fans know is the alma mater of one Dick Grayson—which essentially means Law and Order is set in the DC Universe.  Cha-chunk! [Max: Wait, does that mean all of the DC Universe takes place inside some kid's snow globe?]

[myminecraftfantasy]

DSMP x Encanto AU

Character Concepts:

This post is about my thought process why I assigned each character the role they have. Along with some concept art. (I’m not an artist, but I tried T^T)

Character Selection:

Philza — as Alma Abuela. The reasoning is simple, “His name is Philza Minecraft and he is quite old...” Also, he’s part bird because the wings are iconic

Nihachu & Puffy — Niki as Julieta. when I made this AU, I immediately casted Niki for this role because of her kind nature and the bakery she once had (in DSMP). Puffy as Augustin. I originally had Wilbur in this role, but I changed it because I thought Puffy would be more fun and I wanted to do something else for Wilbur. It’s a shame I can’t make Puffy a sheep, but I made Niki a cat because she has cats irl.

Sapnap & Karl — as Pepa & Felix. I immediately knew I wanted this couple in the AU since they’re a really fun dynamic. Karl would’ve suited either of the roles well, but I thought that Sapnap would suit Pepa better than Felix. Also, I made Sapnap a panda because Pandas.

Technoblade — as Bruno. they’re both quirky & introverted characters that I like (yes, I’m a bit biased). Also, he would fit in the song “We don’t talk about Techno, no, no, no~”. I think it was meant to be. And of course I made Techno a pig, he is “The Pig”.

Dream — as Dolores. their characters both have a ‘lying in wait’ sort-of-vibe, it’s hard to explain. It’s also pretty entertaining in terms of character interactions, and I put George in Mariano’s role. I also made Dream a wolf because of that popular GNF video.

Quackity - as Camilo. they both have really fun and goofy personalities, I think it’s a perfect fit. Quackity likes to change his mc skin a lot, so it matches Camilo’s gift. Also, Quackity is a duck because quack.

Wilbur — as Antonio. I was originally going to have Wilbur as Augustin, but I thought this would be a more interesting dynamic with Tommy with the flip in ages. I made Wilbur a fox because of his son Fundy in DSMP.

(I really wanted the bench trio in this AU, and I thought the 3 siblings would be perfect)

Ranboo — as Isabella. The character dynamics and relationships is really interesting with him in this role (prolly gonna make a mini-post for some hcs for this). Also, with Isabella’s gift, I could give Ranboo a flower crown. I chose a deer for Ranboo because the antlers and ears matched well with popular fan interpretation.

Tubbo — as Luisa. Not much to say for this one, I’ve seen the strong Tubbo fanart. This combo is perfect. Tubbo is obviously a ram for popular easons.

Tommy — as Mirabel. Main character energy, of course. Not to mention, their characters are often underestimated despite the attention they get. Tommy remains a regular human until the Casita gets rebuilt. He gets a bird too)

(Also, Casita’s nickname in this AU is Chat.

So remember those scenes with Mirabel saying “Casita”, now imagine Tommy saying “Chat” in the same way

Idk, I think it’s funny)

[geminiwritten]

untouched ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: billy hasn’t touched you for months, and you’re frustrated, so you decide to invest in some skimpy lingerie in the hopes that he won’t be able to resist

notes: YES, this is (very loosely) based on the song ‘untouched’ by the veronicas and if you haven’t heard it, it’s a bop. also, i’m so sorry for the terrible british accent writing, and i’m sorry for the fade-to-black but i was too chicken to actually write all the smut. please let me know what you think!

side note: i would die for this man (billy butcher and karl urban)

warnings: a lot of swearing, beer, very light smut, and some google translated french

word count: 5848

You hadn’t originally planned for Frenchie to come along on your little shopping trip, it was supposed to be MM, but when he got a call from Janine, you couldn’t possibly have asked him to prioritise you over his own daughter. Hughie had offered to drive you, of course, but you decided that Frenchie was the lesser of two evils in this situation, and you refused to go alone. Lately, you weren’t the biggest fan of going anywhere alone.

“Ooh,” Frenchie coos, pulling a lacy baby doll from one of the racks and holding it up to his own body. “I think this would suit me, no?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think it would, why don’t you try it on?”

He giggles and throws the garment over his arm. “I think you, mon amour, would look ravishing in it.”

So here you were, in the middle of the lingerie section in one of New York City’s largest department stores, shopping for scandalous undergarments with Frenchie. You have to admit, he is a huge boost for your self-esteem, but you trusted him much less than MM to keep this little shopping trip a secret.

“What about this one?” he asks, holding up a bodysuit styled after Starlight’s costume that left even less to the imagination than her suit already did.

You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

He giggles again as he returns the bodysuit to its rack. You were doing your best to avoid anything that resembled the costume of a Supe, even if some of Queen Maeve’s designs did catch your eye. The purpose for which you were buying would definitely be negated by anything that looked like it had been produced by Vought.

“May I ask,” Frenchie says as he catches up to you at the next rack, “what exactly are you looking for, and why?”

“I just need some new underwear,” you lie. “The washing machine at that dingy apartment only works half of the time and I figured that buying more underwear was a more economical option than buying a whole new machine.”

The second part wasn’t a lie, but you still had to turn away to hide your pink cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighs, moving around the rack to follow you. “So silly of me to assume that this had something to do with Monsieur Charcutier, but I suppose you would not lie to me, hm?”

Your pulses races, pumping even more blood into your cheeks and making the huge store feel suddenly stifling. You ignore his inference and turn toward a shelf full of wrapped latex garments, ranging from underwear to bras, to suspenders and gloves. The items draped over your arm are mostly lace and straps, so you choose a pair of latex hot pants and hand them to Frenchie.

“Like this,” you say, “practical underwear, perfect for fighting. I won’t have to worry about them falling down.”

He smirks. “Of course, and perhaps you will need this to?”

He takes a riding crop off one of the hooks beside the latex display and offers it to you.

“Better than a gun, in my opinion,” you state, taking the crop and holding it under your arm that is already full of lingerie.

“What is it for if not to spank a naughty, naughty Supe,” he chuckles.

After an hour of browsing and dodging Frenchie’s attempts to get you to reveal your true agenda, you approach the check-out counter. A surly old woman serves you, grumbling between disapproving glares as she scans each item that is more scandalous than the last. You’re so busy trying not to burst out laughing that you don’t even notice the inclusion of the riding crop until she hands you the bag.

“Have a great day,” she mumbles insincerely.

“And you too, mon chéri,” Frenchie says with a wink.

You grab his wrist and drag him behind you as you b-line for the store’s main doors. By the time you reach the curb, you’re both giggling like idiots and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes while strangers watch you with wary expressions. It’s only a short walk to the car, but you manage to compose yourself by the time you’re both climbing into your respective seats. The engine sputters to life, and Frenchie swerves into the busy traffic in the direction of your current residence.

“Be honest with me, mon amour,” he says, and you look up from your phone, “what is all this about?”

The paper bag is nestled between your feet, and you can see a buckled strap peeking out of it. None of your purchases were at all for practical use.

You sigh, “I honestly don’t know, Frenchie.”

“Butcher has been distant lately, no?”

You nod, and he glances at you from the corner of his.

“It has been rough,” he says, “and I know he is not good with his emotions, even in the best of times, but I know he does care about you.”

“I know.”

He moves a hand from the wheel to hold one of yours. “You do not need all of this to make him lo-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, your pulse spiking with panic, “please, don’t say that word.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, and somehow in French the word sounds a lot less intimidating. “You are beautiful, do not ever forget it.”

You smile at him and raise his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re beautiful too, Frenchie.”

He chuckles, “I know.”

It isn’t just that you’re afraid of that word when it came to Butcher, because there were so many more things to fear in this world, it was more to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched you in months. You knew, when it all started, that this situation wasn’t going to be easy and it definitely wasn’t going to be something that meant a whole lot to Butcher, but you went ahead and fell anyway. With the chaos of the cause you were all fighting for, and the uncertainty of whether or not any of you would live, you thought you’d be able to put your own desires on the back burner. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was good for a while, but then things got bad again and more skeletons crept out of the closet, and Butcher has all but forgotten about you. It isn’t that he no longer cares about you, because you know he does, but he’s been all work and no play for months now, and your heart is beginning to ache. And so is the place between your thighs that he is exceptionally good at satiating.

You might be stupid enough to fall for the man but you’re not stupid enough to assume that he might ever return those feelings, so you’ve decided to focus on the one element of intimacy you know he craves too.

“Looks like le Charcutier himself has returned,” Frenchie says, and only then do you realise the car has stopped.

Butcher’s car is parked at the curb in front of the decrepit apartment building that you currently call home, and you can swear there are new scrapes scratched along the passenger’s side doors. You tuck your purchases as deep into the paper bag as they’ll go before getting out of the car and following Frenchie into the building. You climb two sets of stairs and stop at the third door on the left, nervously chewing the inside of your lip while Frenchie fumbles with his keys.

“You know,” he whispers, pausing as he turns to you, “he might not-”

“Frenchie,” you hiss, “I don’t want to talk about the consequences, okay?”

He sighs, “I just don’t want you to be upset if he does not appreciate this the way you want him to.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

You snatch his keys and jam the big rusted one into the doorknob, twisting it angrily and pushing the door open before he can say another word. You knew your plan had holes, but you didn’t have the patience to try and talk any sense into yourself because Butcher was the only thing on your mind. He has been from the moment you met him.

The first person you see is MM, sitting on the couch watching old cartoon reruns with a content smile on his lips. Hughie is in the kitchen, on the phone to his dad and by the sound of it, attempting to talk him through the process of rebooting his Wi-Fi router. Your frustration dissipates at the sight of normalcy, or as normal as it got for people who live the way that you all do. It’s been quiet lately, more reconnaissance than murder, and more time to plan and recover for when things inevitably go wrong.

“Hey,” MM calls, “how did you go?”

He immediately glances at the bag and grin splits across his face.

Hughie bids his father goodbye before tucking his phone in his pocket and looking to you, his frown turning quizzical. “What is that?”

“It is a- uh,” Frenchie puts a finger to his lips, “how do you say flagellateur?”

“You bought a cane?” Hugh gasps, “What the hell for?”

MM chuckles, “I believe Frenchie called it a flogger.”

“For the naughty Supes,” Frenchie says, pulling it out of the bag before you can react.

Hughie bursts out laughing as Frenchie moves like lightning and smacks MM across the bottom with the crop, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the room. MM yelps, turning to Frenchie with a murderous glare.

“Touch me with that again and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it in your throat,” he threatens.

Frenchie smirks, “Do not make promises you cannot keep, vilain garçon.”

MM moves to grab the crop, but Frenchie is faster. He steps back and holds it behind his back, giving himself a light tap on the thigh and moaning wickedly. Hughie’s laughter bubbles up again, and even MM can’t help from chuckling.

You roll your eyes despite your amusement, “Come on, Frenchie, that’s enough.”

“Au contraire, mon petit chat,” he coos, “we are just getting started.”

“Who’s gettin’ what started?”

All four of you turn toward the familiar voice – gruff and always a little sarcastic – to find Butcher standing in the door to the main bedroom. His hair is damp and tousled, and his signature trench coat absent.

“Nothing, Monsieur Charcutier,” Frenchie says, still holding the crop behind his back.

“What the bloody hell are you hidin’?”

Hughie is struggling to hold back his laughter, his eyes watering with the effort. The boy is definitely sleep deprived, though this time you blame Annie more than the vigilante lifestyle.

Butcher takes two heavy steps forward and his brows furrow. “Is that a fuckin’ riding crop?”

“Oh, this?” Frenchie shows him the flogger. “This is Mademoiselle Y/N’s.”

He steps toward you and slides the crop back into your bag.

“We went shopping,” you say, forcing yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes despite the overwhelming urge to run back out the door.

He cocks his head, “You went shoppin’ with Frenchie, ‘n’ bought a fuckin’ sex toy?”

You nod slowly, feeling the blood burn in your cheeks. The air is suddenly thick, and you struggle to draw anything more than a shallow breath as you wait in silence for someone to say something. You know it’s bad when even Frenchie shuts up.

“Right,” Butcher glances at the bag in your hand before turning to MM. “Well, since everyone’s ‘ere, we might as well go over what we know ‘bout the rally this weekend.”

Hughie rushes over to the small dining room table to retrieve his laptop, and MM turns the television’s volume down to zero. Butcher looks back at you, and then to Frenchie.

“Unless,” he says, “you two had somethin’ better to do?”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, and your embarrassment turns into irritation.

“Just let me get changed.”

You don’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and marching into your room, slamming the door for effect. You tip the contents of your shopping bag on the bed and begin stripping out of your jeans. It is hot in this dingy little apartment, since no one had yet been successful in getting the thermostat to work, so your decision to change into shorts and a loose button-up wasn’t totally uncalled for. It just so happens that you decided to swap your bra and panties for a sheer black bodysuit with a built-in harness that wrapped around your chest and waist, and down around your bum into thigh garters. You button your shirt enough to only just show the straps over the curve of your breasts, and make sure the garters are tucked under your shorts before remerging into the living room.

The boys are gathered around the kitchen bench, Frenchie and Hughie looking at the laptop while Butcher and MM point at what you can guess is a map on the countertop. You assume Kimiko is still sleeping, and no one was game enough to try and wake her.

“We’re not sure if anyone from corporate is scheduled to attend,” Hughie says, “but it looks like every member of the seven have been ordered to appear.”

You step between Frenchie and MM, right across from Butcher. Frenchie glances at you, his eyes dropping for less than a second to your cleavage before he gives you a cheeky smirk. You press your lips together to keep from laughing, and when you look toward Butcher you find his eyes already on you, or rather, on Frenchie. If looks could kill, the poor French man would be a pile of dust on the floor.

“It would be suicide to try anything at this thing,” MM states, “with all of them there, the security is going to be tight.”

“I agree,” Hughie says, “so if we go, it has to be lowkey, and we can’t be recognised.”

“So that rules out you and Butcher,” you point out, leaning past Frenchie to see the laptop screen.

“You and I can go, then,” MM points at a spot on the map, “we recon from the outskirts, and Frenchie waits off side in case we need an emergency extraction.”

“No,” Butcher says, his eyes trained on you with an intensity that made your spine feel like a gummy worm, “she’s not goin’ anywhere near this shit show. Her and Hughie watch from this buildin’,” he points at a building two blocks from the main event, “me ‘n’ you go in for recon, ‘n’ Frenchie ‘n’ Kimiko will be waitin’ nearby.”

You frown, “Hughie can do the surveillance on his own, and you can’t go anywhere near Homelander. I’ll go in with MM.”

“No,” he says again, “you’re not gettin’ that close.”

“This isn’t close,” you point at the map where MM had, “and if you’re worried then you can wait with Frenchie but Butcher, you can’t be seen. It’s too risky.”

“You wan’a know what’s risky?” he snaps, his gaze dropping to your chest.

You cross your arms, fully aware that it accentuates your breasts.

“Fuckin’ arguin’ with me.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Fine, get yourself killed for no fucking reason Butcher, see what I care.”

Tension rolls through the room like a dark storm cloud, rumbling with impending thunder as it settles right between you and the man you’re glaring at.

“No one is going to die,” Hughie speaks cautiously, “we’re not going there for a fight.”

“I know that.” you snap, though your eyes don’t dare leave Butcher’s. “Tell him that.”

“Butcher,” MM says, “I know you want to lead, but she has a point.”

Butcher scoffs, “I don’t give a damn about whether I’m on the front line or not, but she’s not goin’ anywhere near those fuckers. ‘Specially if I’m not at her fuckin’ side.”

Your heart stutters and your resolve cracks. Your shoulders slacken as every measure of intimidation you had built up dissolves and the stupid but familiar feeling of warmth and longing spreads through your body.

“We’re not getting close, Butcher,” Hughie says, “all we need is-”

“That,” Butcher spits, pointing at the same spot on the map, “is too fuckin’ close.”

MM looks at you, waiting for you to argue some more. Butcher rarely listens to anyone, but on the occasion that he does, it’s often you. But right now, you’re tired and you’re sick of arguing with this man when all you really want is for him to throw you up against a wall and tear your clothes off.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “you’ve got to live your life the way you want, right, Butcher?”

You circle around Hughie, around the kitchen bench, and behind Butcher where the barely functional fridge is. Silence hangs heavy in the air as you open it, bottles rattling in the door. You take a bottle of beer from the shelf and shut it again, turning to the drawer where you last saw the bottle opener, but it isn’t there. Sighing, you turn on your heel to stand beside Butcher and lift the hem of your shirt to wrap it around the bottle top, using it to buffer your hand as you struggle to get the cap off. With a soft pop, the cap comes free and so does another button on your shirt, revealing the little gold buckle connecting the straps between your boobs.

A small, triumphant smile quirks your lips as you look up, meeting Butcher’s gaze much closer than before. His eyes are dark, his pupils devouring almost all of his hazel irises.

Frenchie clears his throat, keeping his own gaze locked on the map. “Hughie says that most of the roads will be closed, but if we park the van here,” he points to a side alley, “we should be able to leave quickly, if we need.”

“What about the perimeter guard?” MM asks, “They’ll have more than usual, and I don’t doubt half of them will be Vought’s B-listers.”

Hughie nods, “Annie said they’ve been flying in all week, from almost every state.”

You can’t focus standing this close to Butcher, feeling the warmth rolling off his body and from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn to you every couple of seconds. He isn’t subtle about it at all, and with his height advantage, you know he can see right down your loose shirt. When you try to focus on the map, you can see his hands in fists at his side, knuckles white with strain.

“What do you think?” Hughie asks, at which you only respond with a slow blink. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

You raise a hand to your neck and tilt your head to the side, rubbing at your hot skin and subtly letting the collar of your shirt slip off your shoulder. When you glance at Butcher, you know you’ve almost got him. His neck is red and jaw set as he watches you like you’re prey.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, surveying the map with a wicked idea when Frenchie, bless him, asks the perfect question. “Do we know where Homelander will be arriving?”

“There,” you reply, stretching onto your toes and reaching across the bench. “From there, he will walk through this audience before flying to the stage.” You arch your back as you trace your finger along with the directions, feeling your shorts ride up and the garters on your thighs dig into your flesh.

Another beat of silence pulses through the room before Butcher clears his throat. You look to him quickly, only to find him glaring at Hughie, and when you turn to the boy in question you realise that he too had noticed the black straps on the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry, uh, yeah,” he mutters, cheeks pink, “Homelander is the only one who won’t be escorted directly to the stage. They want to create hype, so he’ll be moving around to greet fans.”

“Well, we better make sure we’re not anywhere near wherever he’ll be,” MM says.

Hughie nods, “If he follows orders, he’ll stay within the barriers. Vought is wary and with all their assets in one place, they’ll be making sure even Homelander is on his best behaviour.”

Frenchie chuckles, “They do not want golden boy starting a civil war in the middle of the city, eh?”

“They know that there’s a huge chance of anti-Supe protest,” you say, “which raises another issue, access. No one in a two-mile radius will be allowed in without verification.”

Hughie turns his laptop to face the group, “I’ve been working on that, but I need to know who is going in so I can print ID badges.”

The four of you look at Butcher.

“It’s your call,” MM says.

He blinks as if suddenly returning to reality, and shifts awkwardly on his feet so his hips are pressed against the kitchen bench. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice thick, “I don’t wan’a think abou’ it right now, alrigh’?”

Hughie nods and closes his laptop, and MM sighs though his small smirk is betraying as his eyes meet yours.

“Well,” Frenchie says, “if we are done here, I am going to go get us something for dinner.”

MM tucks his phone into his pocket, “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” Frenchie frowns.

MM glances at Butcher before turning back to Frenchie. “Really.”

“I’ll come too,” Hughie says quickly, “I-I mean, I was going to see Annie, anyway.”

Frenchie’s smirk is so wide you’re worried his cheeks are going to split. The three of them hurry out the door, muttering goodbyes and arguing over who is going to drive before leaving you and Butcher alone with the storm cloud of tension still rumbling in the air.

You down half your bottle of beer in one swig before sighing, “Well, as much as I would love to keep arguing, I’m going to-”

“Oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweethear’.”

You only just have enough time to turn around before Butcher traps you with a hand on either side, gripping the bench with white knuckles.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

You feign an innocent frown, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

His breath comes and goes with a shudder, and you can feel it fan across your bare neck.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout this,” he hooks a finger under the garter around your thigh and lets it go with a snap. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you goin’ shoppin’ with Frenchie for fuckin’ sex toys.”

“Okay,” you smirk, “and what exactly is there to talk about?”

His head cocks, and you feel like prey staring down a predator.

“What is there-” his eyes narrow. “What is there to fuckin’ talk about? I don’t know, maybe when the fuck you started fuckin’ around!”

His rage, though intimidating, only turns you on. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Am I not allowed to fuck around, Butcher?” you ask, watching the pulse in his neck race.

An emotion flickers behind his eyes, too fast for you to discern, but it’s strong enough to relieve his frown and he almost looks hurt.

“Do you want to fuck around?” he asks, his voice low.

You can’t figure out if he’s baiting you or not, or if it’s just the aching in your chest that’s trying to convince you that he might actually be feeling something.

You decide to guard yourself, keeping a smirk on your lips. “Are you offering?”

He releases his grip on the bench and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand in jagged spikes.

“Look,” he sighs, “I know it ain’t any of my business, but if you and Frenchie are-”

“I’m not fucking Frenchie!” you exclaim, the past few months of frustration finally breaking out of the bottle.

“Oh,” he straightens, “good.”

“Good?” you echo, “For fuck’s sake Butcher, you are thick.”

His frown returns and before you can move, he traps you again. “What was that?”

“I said, you are thick,” you press your bum into the bench in a lame attempt to create distance. “If you think I’m sleeping with Frenchie- with anyone, you’re an idiot, but you know what? I already fucking knew that.”

“Yeah? And when did you figure that one out?” he asks, once again a predator who has cornered his prey.

“About three months ago, when I woke up and you weren’t there,” you say, fighting the lump in your throat. “You fucked off for three days, Butcher. No one knew where you were, you didn’t answer your fucking phone, and when you got back, you acted like nothing had fucking happened.”

You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you wait for him to bite back, but he doesn’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh, “And now you won’t even fucking touch me.”

“Is that what you want?” he whispers.

You can only nod, too afraid that another word from your lips will turn into a cry. He breaks your stare and lets his eyes fall to your chest, slowly moving his body closer until it’s completely pressed against yours. You can feel him against your lower belly, not fully hard but definitely there and probably the reason he was hiding himself against the bench before.

Unlike the last time he touched you, this one is gentle. His fingers start at your jaw, just below your ear, tracing the sensitive skin right down to your collarbone and stopping at the swell of your breast. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest and reverberating through your body. Your breath is shallow as you wait impatiently for him to kiss you, watching his lips like an addict yearning for a taste of the drug that only he can provide.

He denies you, though, instead dipping down to press his mouth against your bare shoulder and sending waves of electricity dancing across your skin. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but its enough to make you sigh, and you roll your head back to allow him better access. His lips leave gentle kisses along your collarbone, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps in its wake.

You feel like you can breathe for the first time in months, and your heart is beating so violently within your chest that you know he can feel it on his lips. A small voice at the back of your head is screaming, telling you to stop and push him away, because the further this went, the less control your head would have over your heart. Your heart that is threatening to crack a rib as it tries to surrender itself to the man in front of you.

When his lips leave your skin, you whine, but he doesn’t smirk like he usually does. He doesn’t make a sarcastic comment about how needy you are, or even look up to meet your eyes. His gaze is on your chest as his hands come up to the collar of your shirt, fingers curling into the soft material before yanking it apart. The buttons break, popping off the shirt entirely and scattering across the kitchen floor. He gasps, almost inaudibly, but you know you heard it.

This isn’t like before, he’s too quiet and too gentle, aside from the whole ruining your shirt thing. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, longing for approval as his dark eyes devour your scantily clad torso. His hands follow the curve of your body down to the waistband of your shorts, finding the button and popping it with much less force than they did the shirt. His fingers hook inside the denim and guide them down over your hips and past your thighs before letting them drop to the floor. Then he steps back.

You feel empty without his warmth, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with your arms while he observes you from the other side of the kitchen. Given, it is a small kitchen and he’s barely two steps away, but you suddenly feel like an exhibit on display.

You swallow thickly, “If it’s- uh, if you don’t like it I can-”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, his voice low and raspy as he closes the distance again.

Pressed against you, you can feel him hard behind his jeans, and you can’t help feeling a little proud.

He cups your jaw with both hands, his face only inches from yours. “I fuckin’ love you,” he mutters, before crushing his lips to yours.

The taste of his mouth sets your tongue ablaze, but instead of melting into a puddle like you know you should have, your spine goes rigid. The voice in the back of your head grows louder, clearer, as it rushes to the front and crashes against your skull, screaming.

He notices you tense up, and pulls back immediately, not offended but afraid. His frown is deep and his mouth slightly agape, realising what he’d said and knowing that it’s the reason for your reaction.

You stare at him, “What did you say?”

He takes a generous step back and runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

“Butcher,” you press, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and compensate for the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighs, “I didn’t-”

The lump in your throat rises, “You didn’t mean it?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I meant it, jus’ didn’t mean to say it.”

“You meant it?”

He nods slowly.

You blink quickly to try and repress the moisture filling your eyes. “You meant it as in… you love me?”

He nods again and you can feel your whole body beginning to shake.

“D-Do you love me like-like a vice?” you ask, your voice unsteady. “Like you love drinking and smoking or-”

“I love you like I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice makes you flinch, and he regrets it immediately but refuses to move toward you again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he sighs, “isn’t it fuckin’ obvious? I haven’t fucked you in months.”

You frown, “Yeah, and why would that make me think you love me?”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ twat who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he says, “and sweethear’, you are too fuckin’ good for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” he exclaims, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and young, and you shouldn’t be in any of this shit, let alone in it with someone like me.”

It feels like your heart is swollen, pressing against your ribcage and squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your pulse races, blood rushing to your head and making you dizzy as you try to make sense of his words.

“Butcher,” you close the distance between your bodies, pressing him against the opposite bench, “I want you, and everything that you want.”

He keeps his arms rigid by his sides as he stares down at you, his pupils still blown with lust.

“If you want me to leave you alone, then I’ll stop,” you say. “If you want me to fuck off, then I’ll go, but no matter fucking what, I’m yours because I love you. I don’t have a choice about that, because I fucking need you."

He breaks your stare to look up at the ceiling, letting go of a long sigh before looking back down with the smallest quirk in his lips. “You’re gon’a fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, “I’ll certainly try.”

His hands find your bum, pressing you impossibly close as his lips crash into yours and it feels like your heart bursts, sending shockwaves through your body and turning your limbs into jelly. With a soft grunt, he lifts you up and pushes away from the bench, allowing you to wrap your legs around his hips. You can feel him completely now, rock hard and rubbing against you in the most delicious way as he carries you across the room toward your bedroom.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you kiss him sloppily, pouring every bit of frustration and longing into his mouth until he pulls away and drops you onto the bed. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and your fingers find his belt, eye level with you as you clumsily unravel it.

“An’ what’s all this?” he asks, calling your attention to the pile of lingerie dumped on the bed.

You would have blushed if your face wasn’t already burning red. “Just some things I bought.”

“Jus’ some things, huh?”

He picks up one of the lacy red garments and holds it up, a devilish smirk stretched across his lips. “Who’re plannin’ on wearin’ all this for, love?”

“Well,” you giggle, “Frenchie was very approving of it all when I was trying them on, so…”

He throws the lacy thing aside and pushes you back on the bed with a hand around your throat. His legs straddle your hips, pressing against your throbbing core and sending jolts of excitement up your spine.

“If any other fucker ever sees you in this, I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as his beard tickles your cheek. “You’re gon’a wear all of this for me, and I’m gon’a ruin all of it.”

You move your hips for some sort of friction as a soft whine escapes your lips, but his other hand grabs your side with bruising strength and holds you still.

“Do you understand me, sweethear’?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “yes, I understand, Butcher. Just fuck me already.”

His hand tightens around your throat and another wave of heat washes over you.

He tuts, “What have I said ‘bout manners?”

“Butcher,” you groan, clawing at the fastening of his jeans.

His hands leave their places on your body to grab your wrists, easily transferring both of them into one hand, restraining you as he sits up. He reaches behind himself on the bed, and you wriggle impatiently beneath his weight.

“Think I need to teach you a lesson,” he says with a grin, holding the riding crop in his other hand.

Thrill bursts in your stomach and you feel yourself clench, wetness pooling in the crotch of your bodysuit.

“You ready for me to show you how to use this thing, doll?” he asks, touching it to the valley between your breasts.

The leather loop is cool against your hot skin, even through the sheer material as he traces it down your sternum and all the way to your belly button. All you can do is nod, holding your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the whimpers wanting to escape.

He pulls the crop back before softly smacking it against your right breast. The gossamer fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and his eyes light up at the sight of your taut nipple.

“You, my love,” he murmurs, caressing your left breast with the crop, “are fuckin’ diabolical.”

END.

[thommi-tomate]

People about Thomas

Karl H*inz Rummenigge:

When I was once asked who I would have tattooed as a Bayern player, I spontaneously replied: <<The Herrgottschnitzers from Oberammergau, and that would be Thomas Müller>>. Thomas comes from the Munich area, has come through all the youth ranks, grew up here and speaks to the fans from the heart, both on and off the pitch. Fans love identifying figures like him. We have to be grateful to Louis van Gaal for having the courage to trust him, that's what we want from a coach: to demand and promote talent. Müller meets and continues to meet all the requirements we want. Besides, I always say that he is one of the cheapest players in history. He never gets injured, you don't need a backup for him, and to be honest: he doesn't have a replacement either, because the way he plays is unique.

In my eyes, Thomas is on a par with club icons such as Franz Beckenbauer or Gerd Müller; after all, it is no coincidence that FC Bayern celebrated the most successful decade in the club's history with him. Thomas will never have anything to reproach himself for at the end of his career: because he always brought out 100% of his talent. Thomas is not only carved out of very good wood in terms of character; authentic craftsmanship made in Bavaria. He is a Bavarian icon the likes of which will never be seen again.

Manuel Neuer:

What makes Thomas special? He has the Bayern DNA inside him. He's a guy who always wants to win. I don't think I know of any player who is as ambitious as he is and who learns so much so quickly. No matter what style of play you put in front of him, he's able to do it in the blink of an eye. Thomas is simply a winner. You need players like that.

Thomas represents communication like nobody else. He keeps the guys on track by talking a lot on the pitch and thinking strategically, especially in terms of how we attack and defend together in attack. When we played without spectators during the coronavirus era, everyone in front of the TV realized how much Thomas communicates during a game. That was a very important factor, especially in the knockout games in Lisbon when we won the Champions League." In recent years, Thomas has also learned to listen more and more. He pays a lot of attention to others and accompanies them. He is very perceptive and knows how to respond well to his teammate.

Thomas is also synonymous with opportunism. He has a nose for the right areas and makes the right decisions. And he knows how to read the opposing goalkeeper. I always enjoy the challenges against him in training. Off the pitch, the two of us talk a lot about the things that are important at FC Bayern, the things that inspire us. He has his heart in his chest and always has his finger on the pulse. Thomas is very honest and straightforward. His Upper Bavarian mentality suits my Ruhr Valley mentality. Thomas represents an era at FC Bayern. We won the Champions League twice and eleven Bundesliga championships in a row. Without Thomas Müller, with his qualities as a player and his character, none of that would have been possible. That's why he has the highest status for me, not only at FC Bayern, but also with the German national team, with whom we became world champions together in 2014. There are hardly any players who come close to Thomas Müller.

Basically, I'm very happy to have played on a team with Thomas for so long. He always has a joke in his mouth and keeps everyone in a good mood. I think he's the player who has the most jokes memorized. He looks outlandish in some of the celebration photos and there are funny dances he does at title parties. I have many moments with him that I remember fondly, and I think there will be more in the future.

Robert Lewandowski:

Thomas fascinated me as an attacking partner in many respects. Above all, he is a perfect all-rounder. He talks for most of the game and gives orders. But his directions never distracted him from finding the optimal free space. That's something I've only seen in him, he's totally committed to the team. And even though he talks so much, we understood each other without words in decisive moments, which is another thing I really appreciate about Thomas: just one look, one movement, and the other player knows exactly what's going to happen.

When I think of our relationship, two words come to mind: unique and honest. He is the kind of teammate anyone would wish to have, who is also happy for his teammates from the bottom of his heart. I still remember the incredible game in which I scored five goals in nine minutes against Wolfsburg. When the game was over, I hadn't even realized what had just happened. Thomas came up to me and said: "You've just achieved something unique, people will still be talking about it in 20 years' time. Please enjoy it and celebrate it." And then he pushed me towards the Südkurve fans.

Speaking of celebrations: he can also go all out and set the mood. We celebrated one of his birthdays together at <<H'ugo's>>, and the evening was certainly one of my favorite "Müller moments>>. I wish Thomas that his intelligence and knowledge will become the foundation of his favorite club when his career is over. Because I am sure: FC Bayern is Thomas Müller's future - and Thomas Müller is FC Bayern's future.

[tainbocuailnge]

love this attitude + thank you + i think extella link suffers a lot from the format it tells its story in not really being suited to the story it's trying to tell in that all the little branching paths within each "route" and the fact that each scene HAS to come with a battle make it very hard to manage its pacing and the large cast that comes with the gameplay genre means it's juggling a ton of characters when the actual story really only wanted to focus on like three maybe five of them so it's forced to spread out and pad it's pretty short and direct plot across way more scenes than would actually let it shine and while i do think it succeeds at delivering its important emotional beats (because my impression is that charlie is pretty popular and i still think a lot about karl) those story beats are likely to kinda fly over the average player's head because the tone is all over the place and those moments are scattered in between tons of just haha funny ensemble cast bits that aren't that deep (and the gameplay is also just not very good so it's not holding attention with that either). and on top of all that karl has the debuff of being an old man with a design that's more silly than sexy and just generally appearing as a pretty straightforward story excuse for why theres hundreds of dudes for you to mow down so people who already aren't particularly engaged are gonna be paying even less attention to him. not me though i think about this line every fucking day of my life

[gleeful-faggot]

wow guys isn't it so cool that the fiances went to the met gala and nothing bad ever happened to them

Inspired by this post by @honeyblockm about which on the dsmp characters would wear a black suit to the met gala vvv

I can't draw feet so that's why they have no shoes, but other than that, explinations for the clothing choices under the cut!

Starting with Karl bc I have the most to say about him! I decided to have them be going to 2024's just gone Met Gala, which means the theme was Garden of Time, and the exhibit Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion, and out of all three of them, Karl would be the one going to great lengths to be on theme for both.

I wanted his clothing to be a mismatch of eras with no clear gender, so he's wearing a late 1800s mens evening shirt with 1830s mutton sleeves (worn under dresses to give them shaping), then a regency mans corset. The gloves and trousers have no era as I think he'd also try and look into future fashion of fashion, and the angles in both pieces were inspired by that.

The twisting vine around him, and the decorative flowers on the corset are the interpretation of 'A garden of time'. I wanted him to be in something that appears to defy gravity but I'm not that good at drawing yet. The colour of the flowers are all from his various skins over tftsmp

His makeup is evident, but minimal. He's got a painted flower on his cheek, lipstick on his bottom lip, and eyeliner on with no specific date in mind but he slays it.

Next up, Sapnap. He's in a black suit. He's got an apple brooch on that Karl probably wrestled onto him that costs more than the suit in total but gives an air that maybe he knew what the theme was.

For makeup, he's even more minimal. Orange blush with lipstick on top and bottom lip. My man is not eating this look :/

Last up, Quackity. He sees himself as an It Girl, so is wearing something incredibly stylish but absolutely not on theme. He's got a loose fitting gold blouse on that has the Lowest plunge neckline you've ever seen bc mans is a SLUT. He's also glitzed up his wings by putting shit loads of glitter in them, and then balanced the gold with an equal amount of red, as seen in the high waisted trousers.

His makeup is the most maximalist of all three. He put makup in and around the scar to make it more noticeable, and also helps with balancing the red and gold. He's got gold eyeshadow on and glitter smeared strategically across his upper half. He's got lipstick on his upper lip, and he knows what's up. He knows he's hot.

[bamboobrat]

succession s4 e4 recap: ken brings a strap-on to a gunfight

I'M PSYCHIC! I'M PSYCHIC!

^^ from my recap of season 4, episode 1

turns out succession really is channeling their inner CW teen show. translation:

SHIV IS PREGNANT!

what gave it away? her face. oh, and she ordered a club soda with a closed top at the dive bar in episode two. don't think i didn't notice.

anyway, i know she's all poly representation and all, but let's be honest with ourselves: it's toms baby. she's planning her 20 week ultrasound, so i reckon.... italy?

kendall arrives at logan's makeshift wake/board meeting and overhears hugo in the lobby.

now, if you overheard someone saying "you fucked me in the ass with a strap-on" on the phone, would you guess that someone was talking to their daughter?

only on succession.

i'm not going to use space showing you hugos face, so let me summarize: his daughter sold stocks right before the news of logan's death was made public. he tells kendall. kendall has leverage.

now, enough hugo.

MARCIA IS BACK!!!

the girlies love marcia. lying about having intimate conversations with logan every night? we love that.

death truly does become her.

also, did anyone else pick up on the fact that cyd simply said "sorry babe" to kendall as he walked by?

supportive queen!

greg is also trying to be supportive and we collectively join in on the kids giving him serious side eye (or ignoring him altogether).

much like the rest of the roy family, he is incapable of any type of normal hug.

the kids discuss marcia and kerry, and roman notes that he thinks kerry is "in marcias trunk. inside an anaconda. inside a sarcophagus." for a pre-grieved boy who doesn't want to make phone sex jokes about his late dad, he's still got it.

the suits are also there, gathering in the kitchen to look at the china.

just two gal-pals backing each other in business and sitting on each other's faces

tom receives a proper whooping from karl and eats a seafood taco.

i know i should aim higher in my important trade of recaps and give you more detail, but i can't. i shan't. it is what it is.

oh, but important: karl is in on a greek island with his brother-in-law.

and "your wife doesn't even like you" is a wonderful insult.

shiv gives us an accurate representation of what it is like to talk to a swede:

for context, i'm norwegian. the banter is scandi culture.

saying "bad one" when your dad dies? also scandi culture.

willa is truly winning in this episode. she gets logan's apartment, a dig at marcia AND a moneymoon touring the midwest. cheese curds all the way.

and they save a bunch on realtor fees, of course.

the gang finds a piece of paper.

we are getting so much gerri/frank/karl content this season, i am chuffed! yes, sure, the sibling dynamic is interesting, but the gerkrank (?) vibes are strong!

they all make very funny jokes about throwing the piece of paper in the toilet. haha comedy gold.

kendall manages to make his brother and sister laugh for once in his life. all it took was for him to make a joke about their dad not being a pedo.

i'm going to make obit decoding my new thing.

a summary of logan:

threw phones at staff

racist

racist, again

relaxed about sexual assault

never payed a penny of tax

not a pedo

wouldn't even hug his grandkids

kendall's name is on the piece of paper. i reckon it's from around early season 1 times, maybe even before then.

it's not certain if the name has been underlined or crossed out. (but really, does logan strike you as the type of man who would underline anything?)

greg is also mentioned with a bunch of ????? and the big bozo deigns to suggest he might be logan's #2.

frank reacts appropriately:

they keep putting roman and gerri in the same frame.

AS IF i wouldn't notice. i see you, lorene. doing the lords work.

they rag on greg some more. it's a doodle, fuckface.

ken shares a moment with his #1 dad.

frank: he was an old bastard and he loved you me: sobbing

ken realizing he wants back in? that's self-destruction, bby!

shiv continues to hit rock bottom....

with a lil pregnancy hint and some narcisissm, framing it as if she's the only one who lost something she cared about.

but is she talking about logan? or tom? or none? or both?

i need a shiv redemption arc soon. it's beginning to feel so sexist, and not in a critique kind of way.

spooky embryo mencken is on his way to join the rest of the right wing crazies in logans eulogy.

if you are in need of motivation, work every day in your life to ensure a right wing guy will never feel inclined to do a speech at your funeral.

or, live a life that will make greg never want to talk to you. ever.

we all know tom wishes he'd taken that route.

sandy is smiling at logan being dead. sandy is us<3

why is this sex party so sad?

marcia sends kerry in a taxi to a subway so she can go home to her little apartment.

last time we see her, or does she have an unborn baby up her sleeve?

<3 roman showing kerry kindness and then immediately shitting on tom's redemption tour <3

wambsgans deserves to grovel.

stewy is a softie when it comes to ken.

his pubes got a little singed last time, but they are in love.

willa is enjoying her new apartment, as she should.

her mom is me at a buffet.

shiv gets shivved as her brothers decide to take on the role of CEO without her.

redemption arc! redemption arc! redemption arc!

obligatory screengrab that is just in here because gerri looks cute:

i couldn't even bother coming up with an excuse for this one.

chant with me: STE-WY! STE-WY! STE-WY!

power move from a power bottom. jk he is obvi a top.

and with stewy in the room, the power dynamic shifts to favor the siblings.

gerri makes a very slight move, but backs up immediately.

(don't think i don't notice that roman is still in this frame, guys. it's dark, but i notice.)

ken and his homey romey are the new interim CEOs. we all know what a thankful job that is...

shiv trips and falls and i want to kms.

do i need to chant again?

please, for the love of god, give shiv a win. the baby is not a win.

hugo and karolina suggest to the newly appointed CEOs that they throw their dead dad under the bus. roman reacts the way an emotionally mature person would:

utter distain.

ken, however, does not.

this photo will be in his phone and in his subconscience forever. the question of whether his dad loved him or not anthropomorphized.

so he tells hugo to go ahead with the "shit on logan roy" communcation strategy.

it's what his father would do.

he is pleased. and we, my girlies, are one step closer to kendall having a full godfather-like arc.

pretty sure i predicted that too, back in the day.

or is episode 4 too early to peak for our dear ken? time will tell.

next week: the gang travels to norway and i go absolutely bonkers.

[diamonddung]

Hai~💖

@hom3land3r which way do you think looks better? Can't decide.🤔

Built like tank~💗

I add lower lashes and changed his eyebrows, hair color, and face detail a little bit. Old one comparison:

I like old hair but felt new one was better suited for suit.

I made him look a little younger since he a vampire but I think I want to make multiversions because he needed a lot of mods to get like this and I want to make him more easily accessible minus the CC. Figured out where Batman suit came from too (superhero/villain career mod).

If I can, I will make a basegame (or at least Late Night) compatible version. I will probably also make some guy named Antony Starr eventually for my obsession with old man.

Want to make Willem Dafoe and Steve Buscemi too~✨

I also make William. Not done, but he a vampire hunter. Kinda.

Look like glamor shot. @therealbillybutcher Puppy eyes kill me.😵‍💫🥺

May make some old guy named Karl Urban too, he like a less handsome Mr. Bean. Haven't decided yet, too busy making Shrek.

He needs much work and my full attention.

. . .

If I could give all of them sparkly diamond turds, I would.

~💎

[sapphicrow]

Re8 Characters as Crane Wives Songs!

Karl Heisenberg- Take Me To War

I think he would be this song because it’s very violent and argumentative, as he is. Also. The man literally is jam packed with the desire for a revolution and his design is heavily influenced by WWII elements. It’s a very simple connection, but suiting.

Donna Beneviento - Unraveling

I think this song reminds me of her not because I imagine her exactly as the serial romantic that the narrator of this tragic tale is, but because of the fact that she has dealt with a lot of loss in her life. Between the death of her family, then anyone she may have had in the village when Miranda ordered them to be massacred, as well as earlier her humanity. The idea of unraveling, or losing it per se, alludes to her characteristic mental illness. Shes off the rails, we love that for her, and so does this song. One of the main lyrics in the song is “But now my love is gone / and I am left unraveling” and I just feel that encompasses how she’s been abandoned to her dolls to wither out of sight. Also the song goes tailor, gardener, then carpenter and she is all of those things which I find to be a rather seemly match.

Salvatore Moreau - Nobody

Now, the artists themselves describe this as a queer tragedy, but I think I can yank it out of context a bit to fit the silly. Now, this song states over and over again how “nobody ever loved me like she tells me she does” and I feel that is a very manipulative statement. Moreau does not have much of a back story, but one of the original concepts for his character was that he was to have the woman he loved melded to his back in a somewhat perverse fashion where she would be forced to stay with him. This idea is encapsulated by the obsessive and toxic nature of the relationship this song portrays. If you really want to have a think about it, you could imagine it was the woman herself trying to justify Moreau’s actions to herself. However, I was thinking more along the route of how Miranda surely had to lead this poor fish on for him to be so devoted. I don’t mean romantically, but she most definitely was more involved to begin. Nobody ever loved him like she told him she does. That doesn’t mean she does, but it does illustrate how she taunted him with the idea of a mom, leading him to create this familial illusion in his twisted mind.

Alcina Dimitrescu- Tongues & Teeth

Now this one was a little tricky, I was torn between this one and The Wolf but I feel this one gives more of that cruel seductiveness we have come to associate with Lady Dimitrescu. This song is very blatant. “And when you come in quick to steal a kiss / my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear” I love to imagine our lady as a woman who relishes in her power, not one who is insecure in it. She will not shy away from her own strength, nor will she temper it for anybody. Tongues & Teeth tells it like it is- should you wish to be hers, you are going to get hurt. End of story. She’s going to hurt you. This is no accident, this is no fluke. She is violent in her very nature. But on the contrary to that, this is a warning. This gives you the courtesy to flee. I think she would want you to at least be willing to be broken by her in some capacity, which is why she would even say anything in the first place. Also. I think the song is a banger and I’d like to bang her.

Cassandra Dimitrescu- Show Your Fangs

Cassie is a huntress, a conclusion made among fans due to her final fight being fought within the Dimitrescu castle’s armory. She is strong and has a fierce playful energy to her, going as far as toying with Ethan with her lil “RAH!”s that admittedly did scare me a few times. I view this song as a sort of feminine war song. “I’m not your highness, a damsel left helpless by fright / I am a lioness, fierce as I walk through the night” Out of the three sisters, she is certainly the most combative. In addition to the obvious associations, I believe that the line stating that she is not your highness is a sort of jab at the title of countess. She wants nothing to do with that power. She is wild and bitey and feral. She is in no way a ‘proper’ lady. She refuses that idea outright and I mclove that for her.

Bela Dimitrescu- Steady, Steady

We all imagine Bela as the perfect, shining golden child of the Dimitrescus. She’s responsible, respectful, and just overall a polite little lady. But I think she’s more wild than that. The duality of this song orchestrates this view wonderfully. Sang in a slow, deep melody; “Steady, steady, you know when you’re ready.” This shows her prim side, I also like to imagine this as her mantra muttered between deep breaths as she goes to present her work to her mom. (She’s always well received, but she over thinks it a lot.)

And then the other side of this song goes in a more frantic, rambunctious tune; “I’m swimming in this dress like a child in her mothers clothes/ This ring around my fingers like a chain around my throat” and while I suppose the original intent was to allude to an unhappy marriage, I think we can point it towards the subtle resentment Bela holds towards her responsibilities and how she feels as though she’s not the right person for the job. Bela deals with a lot of impostor syndrome on this matter. I just think this song gives both sides of our dynamic blondie. (Alternatively for Bela, Hard Sell)

Daniela Dimitrescu- Icarus

Originally, Icarus was a tale of a young fool who got too close to the sun. It is also the tale of a boy who wanted Apollo BAD bad. Daniela feels very youthful and naive to me, she was locked up after all. I think that her mother acknowledged that she was desperate for outside interaction and that this was a threat to her, thus her seclusion in the library. However, in the end, her delusions of romance had her get just a bit too close to Ethan. “My love will fall with grace,” says the song. And so she did. She flew too close to the sun. Plus this song is super spunky and that gives Dani vibes.

Mother Miranda- Never Love An Anchor

Okay so. This song speaks of a shitty shitty relationship, one that’s maternal evidently. I believe this is symbolic of Mother Miranda’s connection with the lords. Heisenberg, who wound up in her control against his own will, shown respect solely for his success as a subject. Donna, demented and alone, was taken under her wing only for her to be defenseless when Ethan attacked. Alcina, mighty and beautiful, but weak and insecure in her own mind, left to yearn for her favor. Moreau, grotesque and ruined by Miranda’s hand, then allowed to spoil further as his desperate need for her love went unfed.

“Do you ever think of me and my two hands? And wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently? And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?” On a separate note, I think this could be something Miranda thinks to herself as she fights for Eva. If her consciousness is trapped in the megamycete, it stands to reason that she is conscious in there. I wonder if Miranda ever worried if Eva could overhear the carnage she was causing for her. I wonder if she spoke to her, apologizing for not being a good enough mom. I wonder if the guilt would overwhelm her to the point she was crumpled on her lab’s floor, weeping against bare earth and mold, begging her to forgive her. Hm. Food for thought.

Bonus! Mirancina- The Moon Will Sing