#if this was last year the numbers would be so much higher | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lasanya539 · 15 hours ago

Text

no restitution comes tonight

(based on this piece by @darkpolicepsycho)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles TW: Mentions of Su!cide Word Count: 5647

Posted on AO3!

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It was just supposed to be an extraction mission, Donnie thinks.

It's dark in the med bay, the lights are turned down. The digital clock on the wall blinks to 2:35, 2:36, 2:37 A.M. It's cold in here, but it doesn't bother him. The purple hoodie he's wearing should be preserving some heat, but Donnie genuinely can't feel a thing. The sensations of his body are a far-away concept, like sand between his fingers, slipping away no matter how much he tries to hold on to them.

It was just supposed to be an extraction mission.

He blinks. And blinks again. For the first time since that night, his brain registers a feeling: dry eyes, crusty and in pain. Surely the result of staring at his purple holograms for the last few hours. A multitude of readings crowd the screens, the numbers changing with the continuous recordings of heart rate and blood pressure and body heat and pulse ox levels and— He breathes, turning his eyes away. The holograms glow in the room. His eyes track the shadows they form on the bed against the wall, haloing its occupant in a pretty lavender hue as he sleeps on.

Donnie stands up, bones creaking. He stretches, hearing something in his back crack; he’s been slouched over the plastic chair of the med bay for hours now. He walks to the stretcher, quietly, towards a slumbering Leo.

It's weird to see him like this. So vulnerable. Leo's notorious insomnia, combined with how light of a sleeper he is, has made it nearly impossible for any of the brothers to catch him passed out on them. It's almost always the other way around: Raph on the couch after a movie marathon, Mikey on the kitchen table surrounded by comics, Donnie in his lab chair after a night of obsessing over his newest hyperfixation. They always wake up to find a warm blanket tucked over their shoulders, and a silly stuffed toy by their heads to greet them in the morning.

Donnie gulps, running a gentle hand over the blanket that covers Leo now. As much as he wishes, this isn't a night of miraculous deep sleep for his twin, a full eight hours of Leo's perpetually tired mind cycling through all stages of NREM and REM.

No, he thinks, turning to check his vitals again. This is much worse.

It was just supposed to be an extraction mission.

The objective was simple: get into the Hidden City, into Witch Town, sneak into the Museum of Mystical Artefacts and Gems, steal an obsidian diamond dagger, and leave unobtrusively. That was it, that was all. The Mad Dogs have done dozens of similar missions in the past. Granted though, the stakes of this one were a bit higher: the mystical obsidian, inlaid with unrefined diamond, was apparently the only thing strong enough to destroy the Krang key. And the sooner they got rid of the wretched thing, the better.

It had been going well; they snuck in and pulled off the heist, with the weapon safely tucked away with Raph, and they were on their way out, leaving behind a decoy without tripping any of the alarms. Everything had been perfect.

Until Donatello was recognized. By none other than the mayor of Witch Town.

Mira singled him out almost immediately, her shrill voice drawing the attention of all the Witch Town residents out and about. He'd been naive enough to believe that his little feud from two years ago would have been forgotten, an old mistake made by the last vestiges of his youthful arrogance. But he was wrong, very wrong.

And Leo paid for it.

He should have seen the verbal attacks coming, he really should have. He also shouldn't have responded to her accusations with barbs of his own, already on the defense, angry, and jeopardizing their extremely important mission. Leo's voice was clear in the comms in his ear, the calm and collected leader, telling him to back off before things got worse. But he didn't listen, until there was a whole crowd of angry witches surrounding him.

He could've managed it, Donnie thinks bitterly now, a finger on his brother's pulse point on his wrist. Fine, okay, he might have blown some stuff up, caused much more of a scene than any of them planned for on this trip, but he could have managed it. But his stupid, self-sacrificial twin just had to jump in the middle of the conflict, Face-Man routine on full blast.

Leo and his crowd-working, situation-diffusing skills, managed to calm almost everyone down. One lie here, one exaggeration here, one self-deprecating joke there, and the people were in the palm of his hand, swept up into the Neon Leon magic. No one could argue with that bright grin and those confident, shining eyes, as Leo hooked an arm over Donnie's shoulder and started to guide him out.

He managed to fool hundreds of witches and wizards. Except Mira.

Donnie noticed her a second too late, didn't see her narrowed stare and tightening grip on her staff. His eyes were for Leo only, watching a side of his twin he hadn’t seen surface in weeks, not sure if he was glad for the reappearance or not.

When he finally did see her, he barely had time to gasp, seeing her staff pointed directly to the center of his plastron. He’d braced himself in that one millisecond, squeezing his eyes shut. Before he was forcefully pushed out of the way.

A veilbreaker curse, Draxum had called it, when he was frantically summoned to the lair as the three brothers rushed a passed-out Leo back home. Mikey had nearly been in tears, hiccuping into the phone call, begging him to bring all his books on any kind of mystic knowledge to them. The alchemist had stood over Leo, a hand resting on his forehead with a gentleness only their own father had ever shown them, an ancient scroll open in front of him as he recited, Shatter the facade and lay bare the soul.

Donnie grips Leo's hand tightly now, gritting his teeth.

With one wayward swipe, he makes all his floating holograms disappear. The readings they're showing him are irrelevant to Leo’s real condition.

He fixes the goggles on his head over his eyes, tapping the side to activate the long-hidden crystal. His breath catches in his lungs at the sight before, the same way it did when he first looked through the mystic lenses.

Ichor. The golden blood that flows in the veins of gods. Comes from the Greek word ikhṓr. It's a bit of a misconception, actually, that ichor is gold in color. Several representations of Greek mythology disagree, some arguing for blue, some arguing for plain red.

Still, it's the only word that comes to Donnie's mind, as he watches the liquid drip down the edges of Leo's face, tear-like droplets rolling off his head, cheek, temple, chin. As if a mask has been carved out of his face, and the wound is oozing, like blood seeping from a deep gash.

He shudders out a breath, and forcefully takes off the goggles. The horrifying vision disappears, and he's greeted with the simple sleeping visage of his twin.

It doesn't make it any easier. Donnie presses his knuckles into his lips. In fact, it makes it all the more terrifying. It’s a problem lying beyond the physical reach. Beyond Donnie's reach. Something's broken, something needs to be fixed, something that’s hurting his family, and he can't fix it.

He's a man of science. And despite the lessons he’s learned over the last many months, mysticism is still the one thing he can't solve.

He squeezes Leo's hand once more involuntarily, trying to subdue the swell of emotions rising in his body, grounding himself with the vice-like grip.

"Dude. Ow."

He jolts in response, retracting immediately as his heart thunders in his chest. "S-sorry, shit. Sorry."

Leo's bleary eyes peer up at him through the slight frown of someone unwillingly woken up. He blinks at him once, then yawns, languidly stretching, not unlike a cat.

Donnie lets out a snort against his will. Leo gives him a look.

"Somethin' funny?" He mumbles, as if his brain isn't completely online yet. "You know it's not nice to use my actions against me when I'm not even awake enough to recite the first ten digits of pi yet."

"You're never awake enough for that." He responds.

Leo rubs his nose sleepily, still managing to look miffed. “I know the first ten digits.” He grouses. “Three, one, four, one. Uh…”

“Uh-huh.” Donnie says, voice tinged with amusement at the familiar bantering. “Keep going, genius. Next number is a five.”

Leo seems to think for a minute, before he huffs. “Whatever, I know the digits, okay? I’m just not awake enough for them right now.”

Donnie’s lip twitches. Leo bends and reaches over the side of the stretcher, pressing the button on the side that raises the angle of the head section, until he nestles in comfortably in a semi-sitting position.

"Better?" Donnie asks, as he rubs at his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

All of a sudden, Leo freezes, like the lightening bolt of realization strikes him at once. He jolts forwards with a panicked look. Donnie startles.

"The dagger!" He exclaims, reaching out to grip him tightly to convey his urgency. "The – the whole Witch Town thing! Did we figure it out? Are Mikey and Raph—"

"They're all fine." Donnie interrupts, resting a comforting hand over the fingers as they dig into his forearm. "We figured it out. The dagger and key are with the Caseys, and the three of us got out safe, I promise.”

Leo stares into Donnie's eyes longer, as if trying to decide for himself. The hesitation at believing him stings, a silent question lingering between them. But then he eventually sighs, his relief palpable, lying back and letting go.

"Okay, okay, that's good." Leo breathes, smiling at him. "You're all okay, that's great."

He purses his lips. "Yeah." He says curtly. "All of us except you."

Leo blinks, as if surprised. Donnie gapes at him; he hadn’t hurt his head, and the spell that hit him wasn’t a memory spell, right?

“You got hurt, Leonardo. Ring any bells? Why do you think you’re in the med bay right now?”

“Oh… oh, yeah, I remember.” He responds, somehow sounding even more dismissive about it. “But I’m not in pain at all, and it doesn’t feel like I’m not on meds. So I’m fine, then.”

Leo starts shifting, throwing off his blanket as if he was planning on leaving, but Donnie’s cutthroat glare stops him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He demands. “That witch hit you with a curse, dum-dum, you’re staying here.”

Leo barely looks moved. Was he just planning on getting hexed and going about his life like normal?

Still, he asks obligatorily, "What kind of curse?"

"Does it matter?" Donnie snaps. Of course it does, but Leo’s nonchalance at the whole matter is pissing him off further. "If I tell you it's nothing, you'll act like it's nothing, won't you?"

"Dude, if it's nothing, then why would I bother anyone with it?"

The reply seems to stupefy both of them. Leo genuinely looks stunned at himself, eyes wide at the extremely honest answer. Donnie mirrors him, before composing himself.

"Even if it was nothing, I would want to be bothered with it." He says slowly, hoping to convey how clear that expectation was, but then shakes his head. "And it wasn't nothing. It was a curse, a genuine curse. It was all - pink and glowy and ominous." He gestures with his hands, driving his point home. "Draxum said it was a veilbreaker. Ancient, powerful magic. Enough to make you pass out." He emphasizes again. How is Leo not getting that through his thick skull?

He still just sits there like an idiot, as if he still doesn't understand the problem. "But I’m fine now, right?"

Donnie wants to be difficult on purpose, make some kind of joke about you're supposed to be the medic, you tell me. But it's too late in the night for taunts, and the image of glowing ichor from before keeps flashing behind his eyelids.

"Your vitals are normal." He reports. "As far as I can tell, you're physically fine—"

"Then we're good, jeez—"

"But mystically," Donnie continues, irate, "you’re not. There's enough energy emanating off of you that Draxum clocked you the second he stepped foot in the lair. He's worried, dumbass. And if Draxum is worried, you know it's bad."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Leo asks, a tad sharper than Donnie expects. He’s scowling at him, like he's the one getting irritated. "Sit in a bed, wait for Mikey's Pops to give me the all-clear?"

"Yes." Donnie pauses before he forces the word out, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You're supposed to wait until you're better to get back to... whatever it is you're planning on getting back to! Is that seriously such a surprise to you?"

Leo just huffs, crossing his arms and almost pouting, like a child. Sometimes his twin boggles his mind.

"Are you being purposefully obtuse for some reason?” Donnie asks, exasperatedly.

"I don't feel any different than normal, dude, and I have more important things to do—"

"Like what? Read a Jupiter Jim comic I know you've read a billion times before? Drink enough caffeine to give a horse a heart attack? Go walk around New York City in the middle of the night? Yeah, I know about that," Donnie adds when Leo looks surprised. "Of course I know about that, who the hell do you take me for? I told you, I have trackers on everyone and on everything."

Leo bares his teeth at him, pissed. "Stop fucking tracking me."

"Stop getting into trouble." He responds, and maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Leo's face transforms from anger into hurt so quickly it gives him whiplash.

Donnie promptly tries to do some damage control, guilty. "No, that's not what I meant."

"No, that is." Leo bluntly states. He's gripping the edge of the blanket tightly, eyes narrow. "You mean that. You think all I do is 'get into trouble'.’

"Okay, no, stop twisting my words, that's not what I fucking said." Donnie almost snarls. God, he hates when Leo does this, taking one thing he's spoken in a moment of anger and distorting it, sharpening it to a point. Like a knife to stab himself with, whether to prove something to Donnie or to himself, no one knows. "That is not 'all you do'. But I have a tracker on you because I’m worried about you. It’s the exact same reason why I have a tracker on Raph and Mikey and April and Dad.”

Leo looks a little mollified, and Donnie ignores the quiet voice in the back of his mind that calls him a liar.

"You don't have to be that worried about me, Dee." He replies. Genuine, tired. "I'm all good, I always am."

Donnie has to remind himself to take the next breath, despite it feeling like it's been squeezed out of him. A ball of frustration rises in his throat, and he manages to speak around it gruffly, "Why did you take the hit for me, Leo?"

Leo blinks again, either at the question or the tone, it's hard to tell. "Huh?"

"The curse." He grits out. "Why did you jump and take the hit, when you knew Mira aimed it at me?"

"Because there was no way in hell I was going to let you get hurt," comes the immediate reply, and it's sincere, it's so sincere that it once again shocks Leo, who refuses to meet his eye.

"Even at your own expense?" Donnie asks, desperation tainting his voice. "Leo. That spell could have been anything, from – from a dumb itching hex to a fucking Avada Kedavra, don't you understand that?"

“Yeah, of course I understand that.” He responds with equal fervor. “Which is why I couldn't let it hit you."

"So you took it?"

"Yeah, Don, ‘cause it's fine if it’s me!"

Hysterically, Donnie wonders if they're in a telenovela, and the words exclaimed by Leo are repeatedly echoing in the room as loudly as they are echoing between his eardrums. If there really is dramatic music playing in the background, or if it's just an overwhelming buzzing happening in his mind, drowning out all other sounds.

There are faint flickers of gold at the edges of Leo's face, just barely present, shimmering like the surface of a liquid, as he heaves out a breath. He curls up into a ball, knees tucked in, trying to hide, as if that would take the words out of the air.

Donnie can feel his brain whirring, thoughts and equations and memories playing on repeat, trying to figure out the basis of this outlandish concept that his twin has somehow ingrained into his psyche. That somehow, Leo getting hurt is 'fine', in any context.

He can't think of a single reason why.

Well. A single valid reason, anyway.

Because the reality is that he knows Leo. All that bolstering and blabbering and omitting and deflecting; it all can fool others, fool the world, fool their father, sometimes even their other siblings. But it can’t fool Donnie.

Not Donnie, because he's watched him create this… other version of himself, slowly and meticulously. He’s been an audience to his twin picking up this role like an ill-fitting shirt, carefully tearing and stitching and stretching and pulling at it over the years, until he grew into it flawlessly. A perfect cover, so that putting it on or taking it off would make no difference. Blurring the line between them into indiscernibility, so no one would be able to tell there was anything missing in the first place. Like a Schrödinger's Leo, except the cat and the box are one and the same. Can't see the cat without looking into the box; can’t find the box without asking the cat.

But Donnie can see it in front of him, both the box and the cat, now that the veil has been broken. Hamato Leonardo. The facade shattered and soul laid bare. The mask carved out and the ichor trickling away.

He closes his eyes and lets out a bitter scoff, tinged with dark amusement. Who knew witches had a penchant for poetic irony?

"You think you getting hurt is better than any of us getting hurt?" Donnie asks him, point blank.

Leo curls into himself more, eyes flitting away, the action an answer in itself. The gold tears marring the sides of his face shine a little brighter, highlighting his red stripes unnaturally.

"You think – what? You don't want to see us hurt, so you'd rather take it?" He blinks back the wet burning he feels in his eyes. "Don't you think we don't want to see you hurt either? For any of our sakes?"

Leo sniffles into his arms. "It's not the same."

"Why?" Donnie implores. "What makes you so different from us?"

Leo looks away, but he puts a hand around his arm and pulls roughly, almost toppling him. Leo tries to jerk back, but Donnie glares at him angrily.

"No, answer me." He asks, done with it. "Why do you think you’re so different, huh? What gives you the right to be so... so arrogant, to hold yourself to a different standard than us?"

Leo frees himself, appalled. The ichor glows and drips. "It's not arrogance!"

"Then what is it?" Donnie snaps. "Self-hatred? Self-pity? Sheer idiocy?"

"It's my job!" Leo finally exclaims, eyes wide and earnest. A powerful visage dripped in gold, tension present every line of his body. Donnie’s throat dries at the sight, eyes ticking over the liquid covering him.

"To protect what's important is my job, Donatello. You and Raph and Mikey - the Hamato clan would be nothing without you three. This family would be nothing without you three. It’s like - it’s like Raph is our earth, our ground, what we stand upon. Mikey is our sun, our happiness. And you are our air, all-encompassing and ever-present. You're needed."

Leo gurgles out a laugh, all distorted in pain and sorrow. The ichor gushes out of his whole face, falling into his eyes and dripping over his nose and lips, fat drops rolling off into his hoodie and blankets. "What the hell do I do, dude? Be the Face-Man? The Face-Man isn't even fucking real, Donnie, it's just a ruse. I'm just a ruse." His eyes, wet with gold and salt, bore into him in a piercing gaze.

"All I have are my stupid swords and my portals, and - what did I used to call it? My rad ninjosity?” He scoffs resentfully. “None of it is real, man, there's nothing here. If there was, I wouldn't have caused the end of the goddamn world, we wouldn't have ever needed that stupid dagger to break the key, no one would have been cursed."

He covers his eyes with his arm, the sobs he's trying to suppress making themselves known in short, staccato hiccups. "You’re right, you know. All I do is get in trouble, mess things up. But I try so fucking hard to stop. I train in the dojo, I work out at night when I can’t sleep – I’m trying to get better. Because if I-I can't even keep you safe, what the hell am I here for?"

Donnie's vision is blurry, his heart breaking messily, as Leo openly cries, hiding himself out of shame. There are words that he should say to his twin, comforting, validating assurances. Yet all Donnie can do is slowly raise his hand to cradle his cheek, right over the mystical wound, around the edges of his stripes. The soft touch makes Leo peer at him, an unnamed emotion in his eyes, but all he can focus on is the drip, drip, drip of the golden liquid onto his palm.

It feels warm, like real blood, shimmering over his green skin. But it sends a cold shiver through his whole body as it trickles down his arm.

Leo just watches him, as the final dregs of his mask finally fall off, bleed off. Donnie watches the ichor disappear into mystical nothingness, a vague and uncomfortable mixture of horror and relief forming in his chest.

He lifts his gaze, and comes face-to-face with Leo. The real Leo. Laid bare.

Donnie can't help it any longer, he lurches forward, practically pouncing on him as he hugs him in a crushing embrace. Leo doesn't even hesitate, burying himself into the crook of his neck.

Donnie runs a flat, comforting hand over his shell through his blue hoodie, trying to calm down the stuttering breaths. Tears escape from his eyes that he rushes to brush away. Now is not about him.

"Is this what the root problem has been?" He finally asks, quietly. "Is this what's been driving you, this entire time?"

Leo just squeezes him tighter, like he'd rather just fuse and disappear into the embrace. Donnie closes his eyes, understanding the need on a fundamental level, in a way only two twins ever could.

"It just made sense." Leo eventually whispers into the silence as they hold each other. "Jumping for you. It made sense."

Crack. Another fissure in his already-broken heart. Donnie's head falls onto his shoulder.

Does Leo even mean it like that? Does he know how that statement applies beyond the confines of a random spell by a random witch in the Hidden City?

Jumping for you in front of a curse. Jumping for you in front of a demon. Jumping for you into hell.

Donnie sniffles loudly. "And if it had killed you?"

He'd asked him that once, before. Weeks ago, when it was a quiet night after the worst day of their lives, right here in the med bay. Twins sitting side by side, two stretchers set up right next to each other so they could hold hands as they recovered. When a drug-induced exhaustion had numbed away their pretenses into asking anything that came to mind.

Shame that the drugs had wiped away any memory of the answer he got.

Donnie wonders vaguely if it had been the same answer he gets now, if Leo had given him as much of an undisguised truth as he does now.

"You would have survived." A hoarse voice near his ear. "You would have hurt for a bit, but you would have survived."

Donnie can't help the upset sob that tears through him at that answer, how it makes Leo startle, and squeeze him even harder.

Because that's the worst part, right? Truth is subjective, completely utterly subjective, as infuriating that is to a scientist. It's not as simple as holding up a book and asking two people sitting on opposite sides if it's red or black. It's holding up a book and asking two people sitting on opposite sides which it deserves to be, red or black. Which is better, which is worse? Which color connotes it as good, bad, noble, unworthy? Depends on the person, right? After all, which one of them is holding the book?

"I'm sorry." Leo whispers, and he’s being honest, Donnie knows it. "I'm so sorry."

It’s a mangled truth, though. "Sorry enough to never do it again?"

Leo doesn't reply. Another tear rolls off Donnie’s face.

"I wouldn't survive." He says. Starting off somewhere, a real, honest truth. No masks, no disguises, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. No subjectivity.

"If it killed you, if anything killed you," including yourself, Donnie adds silently, knowing this moment is far too tender to say it out loud, "I wouldn't survive. I almost didn't, you know. When... when that happened."

Leo tenses in his arms. "We're not talking about that."

"I am." Donnie taps nervously on his shell. The Krang invasion, as taboo of a topic as it is in their household, almost killed every single one of them, that’s true. But Leo’s sacrifice – it almost destroyed their entire family. "You jumped into the… through the gateway, because you thought that would save us. But you closed the portal on yourself, knowing you were going to die.

"And you did, for me." He admits, the words warped through tears, the confession coming from the depths of his soul. "For five minutes and twenty-six seconds, you, Hamato Leonardo, left me a twinless twin."

One sharp squeeze, strong to make Leo gasp. "Y-you made me mourn you. And I almost didn't survive it, the same way you almost didn't survive that either.

"Do you get that?" He practically begs, way past the point of desperation. "There is no me, no Raph or Mikey or Dad, without you. There is no Hamato without you, Leon."

"You - you would've—"

"I wouldn't." Donnie cuts off his token protest, given to him despite the overwhelming evidence for the contrary. "I wouldn’t. You once said you're nothing without your brothers, right? Your brothers are nothing without you either."

It takes a few seconds, and Donnie holds out for just a bit more, trying to maintain his stance for a bit longer, anything to make Leo get it. This isn’t a problem that can be solved with one heartfelt conversation, he understands that. No matter how much he wishes, this still isn’t a broken gadget in the physical realm that he can fix; Donnie can’t connect the wires in the right places, make the electrical impulses travel through the right circuits, change the way Leo thinks about himself. He still can’t solve Leo.

But he can say how much he needs him, how much he loves him, over and over again. As many times as it requires him to.

And eventually, his twin caves, collapsing into him, pressing all his weight on him. Donnie rocks backwards with it, but manages to stay upright. Compensating for Leo, in more than one sense. Two halves of a whole. In perfect symmetry, in equal balance.

He rests a comforting hand over his head, offering nothing but the pressure, taking a page out of Splinter’s book of raising little crying turtles. That seems enough to make Leo gasp out another sob. And another. And a few more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying." Leo babbles, rubbing his face into Donnie's hoodie, trying to wipe the tears.

"You're exhausted of the burden that's been sitting over your skin for years." Donnie replies slowly. He checks his other palm, the one he'd cradled his face with, feeling the haunting liquid dripping between his fingers. But there’s nothing there, never was; it’s all just plain green skin.

He sighs, clenching his hand into a tight fist. Stupid mysticism.

He gently bonks Leo’s head with his. "You don't have to bear it any longer, Leon, not for our sakes, nor yours."

Leo lets out a tiny sound from the back of his throat, a small, vulnerable thing, that punches Donnie in the gut. "I'm sorry."

"For being exhausted?" He asks quietly. "That's not something to be sorry for.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Leo mumbles. “Just feels like I’m sorry for something, I don’t know what.”

Donnie lets out a breath between his teeth. Not for the first time, he wishes he could go into his twin’s mind and physically beat up all the emotions in there, steal some uranium and cook up a nuclear bomb to blow up every bad thought that crowds his mind. That could solve Leo, if such a thing were possible.

“You did steal my favorite Jolly Ranchers today.” He answers, somewhat deliriously, trying to get rid of the nonsensical image of throwing a cartoon dynamite stick into the dark, evil clouds in Leo’s brain. “Maybe you’re feeling sorry about that.”

That surprises a wet chuckle out of him. “Hey – that’s on you, okay? You keep hogging the watermelon ones.”

“I save the blue raspberry for you, isn’t blue supposed to be your ‘thing’?”

“Oh, like you’d have the grape ones just because they’re purple.”

“I wouldn’t have the grape ones if they were the last thing to eat on planet earth.”

Leo chokes out another laugh, and Donnie can feel the weak smile pressed into his shoulder. It makes him feel lighter, the roiling mess of feelings between them finally slowing down.

"You know," he says wonderingly after a few moments of quiet. "If— if Raph really is the ground. And Mikey is the sun, and I'm the air. Then... then I think you'd be a tree."

Leo sputters into another laugh. "What? A ‘tree’?"

"Yes, a tree." Donnie continues stubbornly, refusing to be embarrassed. "Just – hear me out. You'd be the tree, the thing that connects all of us together. Your roots grow into the ground, that's where you get your nutrients and water from; that's Raph. You draw energy from the rays of the sun to produce glucose; that's Mikey. And you engage in photosynthesis with the air, that's me, by using both the water and the light energy, converting carbon dioxide to oxygen. Breathing life into everyone around you. That's you, my dearest twin."

Leo trembles in his arms, a full-body tremor that seems to overpower any other emotion. It makes him hug him even tighter. "You think so?"

"I promise you."

“You’re not just saying that because I’m green, like chlorophyll?”

“No, dum-dum, we're all green.” He huffs, fondness undeniably seeping through. "And you should know better than to doubt my genius. I’m smarter than you, after all."

"Yeah." Leo whispers, easily conceding. "You are."

Donnie smiles, a real and genuine thing. Now, that's an honest truth if he's ever heard one.

Eventually, Leo extricates from the embrace, wiping his entire face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Donnie winces slightly, but when it’s pulled away, there’s still no sign of the mystic ichor.

Leo looks at him, and the only thing dripping from his face is pure tiredness, bloodshot eyes and a watery but authentic smile. A shattered facade.

“But I was right, though, huh?” He still says, in a teasing voice that Donnie rolls his eyes at. “The curse wasn’t that big a deal. Mira just really hated the Face-Man routine.”

“Or she was trying to expose me, as I truly am,” Donnie says, a dramatic sigh injected into the words that makes him grin wider. “A mad scientist that still scorns the inexplicable concept of magic.”

“We probably should’ve explained our Ninpo to her.”

“Oh sure, because the ‘power of family and friendship’ is somehow a better explanation than the tried-and-tested scientific method, he says extremely sarcastically.”

He laughs. “Hey, she let us off with a relatively harmless curse, so cut her some slack, alright? I mean, yeah, the whole 'getting-rid-of-fakeness' schtick was pretty harsh, full points to her on that one. But that was it, right?”

Donnie levels another, serious gaze at him that sobers him right up. “Not exactly.”

“¿Pérdon?”

"Draxum said the spell has a pretty bad side-effect, actually."

"He did?" Leo asks, alarmed. "Like what?"

Donnie grabs his hand and squeezes, hoping to look sympathetic. "Really, really bad constipation."

"...You're kidding."

"I'd stock up on the Miralax, Leo.” He says, appropriately contritely. “You know how bad it can get. Remember Mikey when he ate two party-sized Whole Foods cheese boards?"

"Oh, god," Leo blanches. "You're not kidding."

"Yeah, no I'm not. Sorry, I guess this is the one thing the power of family can't save you from."

Leo pauses, before grabbing a pillow and slamming it on Donnie's face, as he laughs delightedly.

---

Thank you for the amazing artwork! I had to write a little something for it<3

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt disaster twins #disaster twins #disaster twins my beloved #fic

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helloidkwhatimdoing-0 · 2 years ago

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I literally cannot remember watching a single resident evil stream (thats what the grey box is) but okay

The rest is pretty accurate tho

Also Risk is from when tubbo got rly into Risk at the same time i got rly into watching tubbo streams

#if this was last year the numbers would be so much higher #i rly stopped watching streams as much this year #tbf i did have like gcses the first half of 2022 #and then started a levels the second half #which is like #not a lotta time

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aegonstradwife · 5 months ago

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conception | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aegon have 4 daughters. while aegon is in a meeting they discuss the fact that the king doesn’t yet have a male heir. otto suggests aegon taking a second wife to have a chance at producing an heir. it pisses aegon off that otto would even suggest that.

warnings: talk of general misogyny, established relationship, smut. (riding, creampie.)

a. note: link to the original request.

It's a warm day, perfect for taking the girls out to play in the courtyard. They are glad to be free of their daily lessons, and you of your queenly duties.

One day away from such responsibilities couldn't hurt, and the sun shining down on your grouping had you in higher spirits than you had been for months.

Until you spied your husband stalking his way through the corridor toward you.

Initially, you lit up as you saw Aegon, as did your daughters upon seeing their father; he is so often away from them in council meetings or tending to other kingly duties.

For Aegon, seeing his wife and daughters makes him happier than he's been all day. It's a rare sight, seeing him smile so warmly, especially these days. But sadly, it doesn't last long.

The girls may not notice, as Aegon scoops the youngest into his arms, but you sure as hells do.

That menacing look, the red rimming his eyes. Telltale signs that Aegon isn't feeling his best, which unfortunately have been more prevalent of late.

"Aegon?" You lay a hand on your husband's arm, squeezing. "What's the matter, love?"

His violet eyes lay upon your hand squeezing his arm, and he tries to keep his terrible mood in check, so as not to take it out on you or the children. "There's nothing wrong, my dear."

But he refuses to meet your gaze as he presses a kiss to your daughter's forehead.

"Nothing?" You raise your brows, studying him. Something is wrong. Perhaps something you'd better not discuss around the girls....

"Ladies, why don't we break for lunch?" You announce, herding your daughters to one of the maids nearby.

With one last kiss to her chubby cheek, Aegon sets the youngest down and allows her to waddle off with the rest to the kitchens.

"Talk to me, my love." Once alone, you run your hands up Aegon's arms to his shoulders, kneading. "What happened? I thought you were meant to be at council all day...."

The king grumbles, frustrated to be questioned by you, but at the same time relishing the feeling of your talented hands kneading the tension out of his shoulders. Of which there is a lot.

His gaze meets yours, and there's a hint of annoyance in it, though whether at you or other matters, you can't initially tell.

".... Otto has brought a most pressing matter to the council today."

The breath he takes next is measured, trying to keep his composure, though he finds doing so much easier in your presence.

"What?" You frown, any number of terrible things flashing through your mind. All of them ending with the palace in rubble, your family ruined as Rhaenyra takes the throne. "Is it her? What awful thing has she done now?"

You dig your fingers ferociously into Aegon's shoulders.

A small pained noise escapes him, though he tries not to wince as he places his hands over yours to loosen your grip.

"It's not Rhaenyra." He continues to stare at you, his eyes full of an exhaustion you wish you could wipe away. "It's Otto."

You smooth your fingers apologetically over his shoulders, soothing the hurt. "So you said. What did he say?"

Aegon closes his eyes, that furrow between his brows relaxing for just a moment, as your fingers stroke him, before returning. He pauses, unsure how you're going to take the words that must next fall from his lips. Knowing they might hurt you. "He said we need a son, that we desperately need a son and soon...."

Your stomach falls. You knew this was coming - for years now you've only been able to produce girls. With every birth, Aegon's joy only grew, and your worry along with it.

What if you couldn't produce an heir at all? What if -

"We'll keep trying," you say resolutely. "I know I can give you a son. Just let's keep trying, please...."

"That's not all that was mentioned." It looks like it physically pains Aegon to tell you this. "The matter of a second wife was also raised, to try and help produce a male heir...."

You know husbands - especially kings - often take second wives when the first is unable to birth a son. Gods, it will about kill you if Aegon turns to that ...

At a loss for what to say, and feeling tears threatening to spill if you utter so much as a word, you cling speechlessly to Aegon, hoping for him to make it all better.

His hand is under your chin, cupping gently, forcing you to look at him. "But.... what if.... what if I don't care for a son?"

Shaken by this declaration, all thoughts of crying banished in worry, you clap a hand over your husband's mouth and glance around for any passing servants. "Do not say that, Aegon! What if someone were to hear...?"

A determined hand encircling your wrist, he pulls your fingers gently from his mouth, a grave look on his face. "And if they did? Why is it so important they think we care about a son? Why.... why couldn't one of our daughters be queen? Rhaenyra seems to think she has some claim to the throne. Why not our eldest?"

That intense stare does not waiver as he continues to peer at you.

"Aegon, please, not here..."

The cogs in your head are turning, as you grab him by the hand and pull him along into a spare room, Aegon following silently along.

It seems he, too, is thinking about what he's just said as he closes the door behind you. His expression is still earnest when he turns to face you.

You turn to face him at the same time, arms crossed. "You're saying you would name Syryn as your successor, as queen?"

"Yes," comes his simple yet fervent reply. "If Rhaenyra believes Viserys named her heir, then surely I can do the same?"

You chew thoughtfully at your cheek. "Otto will never accept it. I doubt the smallfolk would either. Isn't that why we're in this situation in the first place?"

"You think they won't accept it?" Aegon asks, cornering you and placing his hands on your shoulders. "I'll make them accept it. I'm the king, damnit. I don't want a son, I don't need a son. I have everything I need already."

The conviction with which he says it almost makes you believe it. "And.... you don't want to at least keep trying? For a son? Or even another daughter?"

Seeing your husband all worked up like this is making you feel.... things.

Aegon notices the immediate change in your expression, the way you look at him, your need for him.

"We will keep trying.... but not because I want a son."

His hands relinquish their hold on your shoulders to instead grab for your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you flush against him. That earnest look in his eyes is now dark with desire, gaze roaming hungrily over your body.

Your hands come to sweetly cradle his jaw, humming contentedly as your body is pulled to his. "I love hearing you talk about our family this way. I love knowing you love us and will do anything to protect us, as king."

Twining a lock of his hair around your finger, you look up at him through your lashes. "I would love to give you another child, Aegon. Son or daughter."

He purrs as your fingers weave further into his hair, his hands tightening their grasp on your hips, pulling you ever - impossibly - closer.

Aegon leans down, breath hot against your ear, and breathes, "Then you'd better be prepared to keep trying.... over, and over and over again."

You can't help but grin, ecstatic at Aegon's joy over your family. You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders and kiss him; a biting kiss, teeth clashing, tongues sliding over each other.

"We should try now," you gasp, tugging at the back of Aegon's jacket. "While the girls are at lunch and you have some time away from the council."

Aegon groans agonizingly into your mouth before he pulls away, gaze now even darker.

"Such a desperate little thing, aren't you? Wanting to take advantage of your husband while he can spare the time," he teases, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside.

Even just those words - Aegon calling you desperate, seeing you for what you truly are - are enough to make your legs tremble.

"Oh please, Aegon. Right here, I need it here."

The room you've found yourselves in is bare, with naught more than a fireplace and a few suits of armor dotting the perimeter.

As such, you pull him back toward the wall and lean yourself against it, fingers dipping under the collar of his exposed tunic. "I need to feel you, my king."

Aegon presses you back against the wall, your back aligning with the cool stones, his body now pressed firmly against yours. His lips find your neck with a huff of hot air, kissing and nibbling, hands grabbing for every bit of you they can reach.

"You're always so needy, so desperate," he mutters. "I'll give you what you need, my wife. I'll give you everything you desire."

As his hands work their way over you, yours do the same over him. His body has the perfect amount of cushion to it - being held against him is the most comfortable feeling in the world.

"Aegon...." You whisper, lifting a leg to wrap it high around his waist. "Give me another child. Please."

A deep growl escapes him at the wrap of your leg around him and he presses forward, wanting to make sure you can feel every searing inch of him against you.

"You want another child, do you?" His lips blaze a scorching path to the collar of your dress, which he tugs out of the way with his teeth. "You want me to fill you up and give you what you need?"

In a hurry to have him inside of you, you gather your skirts and pull them up with a quick nod. "Let's not waste too much time. Someone will be looking for one of us sooner or later."

He whines as your gown is hiked up, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of your legs and the heat between them. He runs his hands over those legs, leaving burning trails in their wake.

"So impatient," he murmurs, "but I have to agree with you."

He hunches down, positioning himself properly between your legs, and curls his hands around the backs of your thighs. "Wrap your legs around my waist, love, and hold on tight."

With your back still anchored against the wall, you wrap your legs tightly around your husband's hips and allow him to lift you from the ground. Your hands are still moving all over him, eventually skimming down to his trousers, which you start to undo the buckle of.

Aegon grunts his approval, allowing you to unbuckle his breeches. His gaze never leaves yours, though, as his breaths grow shallow.

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me one day," he sighs, hands squeezing at your thighs. "You always know how to drive me absolutely wild."

At this angle, it's hard to get your hand all the way inside the opening of Aegon's pants. But you do manage to circle your fingers haphazardly around your husband's half-hard cock and give him a few solid pumps to bring him to full hardness.

"And the way to drive you wild is to ask you to fill me full of your babies, isn't it, Aegon?"

His breath hitches at the feeling of your hand around him, a frustrated groan falling from his lips. His entire body quivers with desire as he leans in. "You know me too well. The thought of filling you with my seed, of giving you more children.... it's enough to drive any man wild."

"Any man?" You 'tsk.' "Doesn't the thought of just 'any' man getting me pregnant make you jealous, my king?"

With your legs already around his hips, it's hard to get the waist of his trousers low enough to allow his erection to pop out and Aegon has to help you, shoving the constricting material down so that the head of his cock can nudge at your folds. "I'm wet for you.... can you feel it?"

Though he doesn't say it aloud, he feels a sharp pang of jealousy at your words, a possessive need surging through him. He growls, hands gripping your thighs even tighter, eyes practically blazing with desire.

"Don't play with me. I know you're teasing, but it's enough to make me lose control." He leans in even closer, breath blistering against your skin. "Put me inside, my love. Let me feel you."

Arching your back away from the wall, you position yourself so that Aegon's cockhead is pressing insistently at your opening. "…. should I make you beg to fill me up?"

That simple question sets his body quivering with yearning for you. His fingers dig into your skin as he tries to hold on to his composure, but failing all the while.

"Please…." He groans, his voice low and hoarse. "Please, my love, let me fill you up. I need it, I need you."

"Good boy," you sigh, and after a quick peck of a kiss to his nose, you begin to relax the muscles in your back, allowing your wet cunt to slide down on Aegon's cock, welcoming him inside of you.

Aegon's eyes roll back in overwhelming pleasure at the feeling of your warm, wet heat around him. With a sharp inhale, he redoubles his hold on your thighs, pulling you down onto him as he begins to move with you, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your moan and Aegon's desperate grunts. Aegon's face finds your neck again as he continues to drag you down onto him with abandon, deeper and harder with each thrust.

"You feel so good, my love." His voice is tremulous, hands beginning to shake where they hold you up. "I'm not going to stop until I get you pregnant again."

And it all feels so dirty, the hem of your gown trapped around your waist as your husband pulls you down by your hips, driving himself into you. Your hands try to grapple for purchase at the wall beside your head, but then settle for resting your wrists at Aegon's shoulders, tips of your fingers clawing and scratching at the back of his neck.

"Please, Aegon…we don't have long. Someone might come looking soon…" At this point, you don't even care if you climax, as long as Aegon's seed finds its home deep inside of you.

In response, Aegon nods, hips now moving even faster as he feels your nails digging into his neck. He can feel his own release building, evidenced by the way his chest heaves and his face has gone pink all over. The need to give you what you want is overwhelming for him.

"D-Don't worry, my love," he gasps. "I won't last long like this."

And with that, he gives one final, powerful thrust, burying himself deep as he empties himself inside of you, shouting your name like a war cry.

There are few things in this world you enjoy more than the feeling of Aegon's warm seed splashing inside of you. You hum, eyes rolling back, as the king spends himself inside you.

He pulls you close, holding you tight against his chest. "I love you," he gasps, with a kiss to your temple. "And I love our daughters. Fuck a male heir. Syryn will be queen."

Capturing his lips in another kiss, you run your hands gladly up and down his chest. "Syryn will make a great queen. She already bosses the other girls around like it's her job."

Aegon chuckles, pulling back to look down at you with a gleam in his eye. "I think she takes after her mother in that regard."

#aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney #aegonstradwife #smut #my writing #request fill #aegon targaryen

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lovecla · 29 days ago

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EAT YOU LIKE A PREY | luke hughes.

nhl masterlist, nsfw, @lovecla’s kinktober collection, single chapter:

— pair: luke hughes x fmc (mila)

— synopsis: after finding out that her friend, the shy, cute luke hughes has a crush on her, mila decides that she will do anything to make him confess his feelings for her out loud. but what do people say about biting more than you can chew?

— word count: 4.3k

— chapter warnings: lowkey mean softdom!luke, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, size kink and degradation if you dig deep, p in v, fingering, squirting (not super detailed tho), edging, pet names, drinking (just a shot but,) dacryphilia.

from me to you: happy halloween, my loves 🤍 i have a few things to say today so buckle up. 1st of all, thank u so much for 400 followers and 10k likes! this means so much to me, and it’s not about the numbers but about people liking what i write— something that not even i do sometimes. 2nd, thank u all for all the compliments on my smut writing heheh i’m really trying to improve my skills so whenever u guys compliment me i’m like ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა so thank u again. 3rd and last, this is just a single chapter but TM(HTMHC) chapter 5 is already in the making 🤍 this is a lot different from what i’m used to write but i hope it’s still good? lmk what u think 🐰

𖧷

LUKE HUGHES was the sweetest, most adorable guy you have ever met.

Falling for him wasn’t anything out of this world, you were just another person to fall in love with his wholesome personality, and even though you had certain advantages over the other girls— because you knew him personally— you never really did anything.

When Jack told you that Luke had a crush on you— yesterday, literally—, the first thought that came to your mind was: “How?”

He always acted sweet and shy around you, besides treating you with utmost respect and affection. He takes care of you whenever you need, he knows your favorite drinks and your favorite TV shows, knows that when you’re bored you like to watch Disney Channel’s cringe ass shows just to laugh at the actors’ lines.

So him, having a crush on you, wasn’t at all that much of a surprise.

The fact that he hadn’t done anything about it, though? Yeah. That was a big, unexpected surprise.

Now it was Thursday, and while you got ready in your room, and waited for your best friend, Suzy, to pick you up, you thought of ways of making Luke want to confess to you.

You wouldn’t be the one doing it first, no. You had too much pride for that, and with every reason. You were gorgeous, you didn’t need anyone to tell you that. You could say that you’re too much of a princess and you don’t like to run after boys, but in reality, it was just that all of the men you had relations with were just a bunch of assholes.

They wanted you to be the first to make a move, they wanted you to decide where you would have dinner, or what movie you would watch. And that just doesn’t work for you, at least not anymore. You want them to work for getting you, not the other way around.

But with Luke, things were different. You can’t just know that Luke Hughes has a crush on you and not do anything. So you would have to be smart, and make him want to tell you how he feels, without asking him to.

Is this some way of gaslighting?, you ask yourself, applying some more blush to your face, I don’t know. But it has to be done, I guess.

Suzy didn’t take long to get to your house, and you got inside her car, complementing her Snow White costume. Now, you’re even more glad that you spent hours trying to choose the perfect costume for Mercer’s party. Usually, you’d go for something that showed less skin and was more scary than slutty, but something told you that this year you needed a change; and if that change was shortening your skirt and wearing a corset that squeeze your tits and push them up higher, then so be it.

𖧷

“SOMEONE SHOULD’VE told me that Dawson was planning on throwing his Halloween party at a fucking haunted mansion.”

You laugh, getting out of the car and feeling the cold breeze hit your skin, the sight of the tall, dark house in front of you making you shiver.

The party was happening inside a huge mansion that looks like it had been abandoned for years even though you know it’s all just play pretend. The front of it is highly decorated with skeletons, coffins, trash and signs that read:

“YOUR FINAL STOP,” and “WELCOME TO YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE.”

You thought it was all super funny, while Suzy whined beside you, and held your arm like her life depended on it. Entering the house after showing your ID and giving your name to the security guard at the front door, you saw that the interior is just as decorated as the outside, if not more.

“How much do you think Dawson spent on this?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Suzy started rambling about how he probably spent a lot of money and how there were thousands of people inside the mansion and how you were never going to find Jack or Nico or anyone for that matter because everyone were wearing costumes and makeup and—

“It’ll be fine,” you cut her off, shouting over the loud music. “I mean, are there hundreds of people here? Yes. Will we be able to find them? Very unlikely. But it’s fine, right?”

“I guess?” She cocks her head, her curls going everywhere. “Can we grab something to drink, though? You know I need my daily dose of beer…”

“You’re crazy. But yeah, we can.”

Moving through the sea of bodies, you greeted so many people that your head was starting to get tired. You didn’t even know all of them properly, but since Jack, Quinn and Luke knew so many people, and you were always with them, people said “hi” to you anyway.

Finding the drink section had been like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert, and while Suzy grabbed a can of beer, you had a shot of vodka before grabbing a non-alcoholic drink, wanting to be very aware of your actions through the night.

You got back to walking, listening to Suzy’s long complaints about how much time you spent talking with people she didn’t know and how she wanted to dance.

“Fuck, Mila, this is Drake!” She shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the side, where a bunch of people were dancing.

“I was talking to Elliot, you know,” you shout, laughing.

“I don’t care, baby, this fucking song makes me want to go crazy and make out with you!” Suzy throws her arms up, jumping.

“Baby, that’s the alcohol speaking.” You smile, giving up and moving with the beat.

You need to get done, done, done, done at work, come over

We just need to slow the motion

Don't give that away to no one

Long distance, I need you

You danced with Suzy, not letting your mind think of Luke or anything else. Moving your hips was way easier when you didn’t have to worry about anything.

When I see potential I just gotta see it through

If you had a twin, I would still choose you

I don't wanna rush into it, if it's too soon

But I know you need to get done, done, done, done

Suzy’s hands caressed your body, as she goes to the floor, making you smile as she runs her hands through your bare legs, mouthing the lyrics to the song, singing Drake’s verse with a flirty tone. She got up and you turned around, laughing as you grind your ass on her, placing your hands on your knees and moving your hips while she held your waist, playfully.

I spilled all my emotions tonight, I'm sorry

Rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin'

How many more shots until you're rollin'?

While you danced, and while Suzy sang to you and hugged you tight, you felt a weird sensation in your chest. You were constantly getting goosebumps, and the left side of your neck burned. But no matter how much you looked around, you couldn’t find anything weird.

You knew so many people there, you could see Nico, Cole, Matt; and yeah, some of the guys were watching you and Suzy dance but that’s just normal, expected behavior from men.

Until you saw him.

There, standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and holding a typical American red cup, wearing a full black outfit and.

Was that a ghostface mask?

You couldn’t be sure of who was behind the mask, but for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes off him— and it looked like neither could he. While you ground on Suzy and danced with her, you made eye contact with the mask, feeling the hair on your arm going up; the hotness that before only covered the left side of your neck, was now running down your body, making you feel warm all over.

Which is weird, so weird.

Suddenly, the lights are off, and now everyone’s screaming with excitement and exhilaration, making you jump slightly, trying to find Suzy’s body. Once you do, you shout at her— or at least at what you hope is her ear.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She yells back, and you can tell that she’s having a lot of fun for someone who was just complaining about how scary the house looked. “This is so fun!”

“It is, yeah,” you reply, as they turn the lights back on, the music somehow louder and the people even more animated.

“We need to dance more and then,” she gets closer, biting her lips. “I’ll find someone to fuck me.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

You laughed before moving your body with the next song again, dancing for what felt like hours, but not as thoughtless as you were before, no. Now all you could think of was the man that stood in the corner of the room and that now wasn’t there anymore, vanished as soon as the lights were on again.

Even if you had already looked around the entire room and you were one hundred percent sure that that man wasn’t there anymore, you could feel his presence around you, making your skin crawl with need.

I’m fucked up. Probably.

𖧷

YOU DON’T know where Suzy is.

Sometime between dancing and drinking, she found someone and disappeared like she had never been here in the first place.

You were tired, and you wanted to go back home, but, unfortunately, Suzy was your ride, so you’d have to wait until she’s done to go back to your apartment.

Of course, you could always call a taxi, or even one of the people you knew, or maybe try to call Jack or even Luke—

Luke. You hadn’t thought about him since you arrived at the party, too worried about having fun to even think of doing anything else.

But he’s not here anyway, you find yourself pouting, standing in the middle of the huge, fancy bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror. At least I don’t think so.

But Jack had told you that he would be there, and Jack could be many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. So, Luke probably is here, just hiding in a corner, like he usually did, always the shy boy.

Corner. Man. Black outfit. Ghostface.

Right, you take a deep breath. I’ll try to find him. Maybe I’ll manage to kiss him before leaving.

The thought of kissing Luke motivated you to get past the ocean of people, looking for curly hair and thick thighs. It didn’t help that you didn’t know what he was wearing or who he was with, but you were determined.

You walked the entire first floor, feeling your legs burn with how many steps you had already taken, especially after wearing high heels for so many hours. Luke definitely wasn’t there, and you were starting to feel frustrated.

You went up the stairs, regretting almost immediately. Dawson didn’t just decorate the first floor and the outside of the mansion, but the second floor as well. And if you thought the first floor was bad, this was even worse.

It was empty, it looked worse than the fucking Haunted House at Disneyland, and it was creepy as fuck. You started walking down the hallway, looking around while wrapping your arms around your middle, listening to the muffled sounds from downstairs.

Why isn’t anyone up here?

You walk past closed doors, until you stop in front of the only open one. Curious, you get inside the room, finding out that it was some kind of office: a big, dark wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, with an expensive looking chair behind it, and tons of books decorating the bookshelves against the walls.

A couch decorated the corner, and so did a lamp and a coffee table. You were just about to leave and go back to the party when you saw it— there, laying on the couch, the mask from before.

You hold in a gasp, feeling the left side of your neck burning again.

He’s here, he’s here. He’s here and he knows I’m here too.

“Took you long enough, bunny.”

You let out a scream, turning around to face the same man from before, who was now standing right behind you.

“L-Luke,” breathing fast, you mumble his name. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry. Not my intention.”

He walks inside the room, sitting beside the mask— his mask.

“It… it was you.” You whisper, eyeing his clothes. The exact same outfit the man who watched you dance with Suzy and made you feel hot all over was wearing.

“Me?” He cocks his head, like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

“You,” you nod. “Downstairs. When I was dancing with Suzy.”

He stays quiet, not saying anything to confirm nor deny.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been looking for you for a while now.” You ask, confused.

“You looked like you were having so much fun,” there’s some kind of sarcasm in his tone, but you can’t really tell why. “I didn’t want to ruin your fun, that’s all.”

Usually, you’d just play around and tell him something funny. But you remembered what Jack said, and you also remembered that you had a plan. Make Luke Hughes confess his feelings for you.

Smiling and walking further inside the bedroom, you start your plan.

“You know you could never ruin my fun,” you say. “I missed you.”

He smirks, spreading his thighs on the couch.

“Yeah?” You nod. “I missed you too. You look cute with your little bunny outfit.”

You give him a little twirl, placing your hands on your hips. “D’you like it? I also think it looks great.”

He hums, before getting up, standing in front of you, his 6’2” figure making you feel small, even though you were 5’4” yourself.

“Why were you looking for me, Mila?”

His tone is so different from what you’re used to. He doesn’t sound sweet and adorable anymore, and for some reason, it has you intrigued. His eyes, looking darker with so little lighting in the room, staring down at you.

“I just wanted to see you. ‘Been a while, no?” Sweetening your voice to the max, you blink twice. “Perhaps we could, I don’t know, have some fun?”

His smile only widens at that, and just when you thought you were about to get what you want, his next words make you freeze.

“Do you think I’m dumb?”

You frown at his words, gulping.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper.

“Bunny, bunny,” he clicks his tongue, stepping closer to you. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything—”

“I know Jack talked to you,” he whispers. “He isn’t exactly subtle. And I’ve seen you with boys before. You use those pretty, sweet eyes to make them fall for you, do whatever you want, beg for just a little bite. Am I wrong?”

You bite your lips, holding the hem of your skirt, looking for some kind of support. Luke’s breathy voice makes all of your tiredness leave your body.

“I asked you a question, cutie.”

“No,” you whisper. “You’re not wrong, Luke.”

The smile he gives you is brighter than the moon shining in the sky.

“I know I’m not, baby,” he gets closer, placing his large hand on your waist, on top of your corset. “So, if you want to have some fun with me,” he continues, using the same words you used not even five minutes ago. “It will have to be the way I want it to be, right?”

You nod with your head, scared that he would find out your underwear is slowly getting wetter and wetter.

He gives you a forehead kiss before stepping back, walking towards the door, letting you wonder if he was just being silly and was in fact leaving the room. Which he doesn’t, just closes the door and walks back at you, eyeing you like a wolf would look at a bunny.

Luke kissed you as if he was hungry, thirsty for something he could only get if he stuck your lips together. His hands, warm and large, encircled your waist and pushed you until your back hit the large bookshelf that decorated the wall of the office.

“Fuck,” Luke moans against your mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

You wanted to tell him that you had too, but you didn’t even have time; Luke kissed you again, making you stand on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, messing up the curls that decorated his head.

His mouth moved against yours, his lips sweet and soft, different from the way he kissed you: bruising and desperate, holding you so close that you feared, for a second, that the two of you would become one.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he warns, his green eyes, now a darker shade, looking into yours and showing all the impure thoughts he was having. “I’m gonna fuck you hard against that table, Mila, and I swear to God I won’t stop. So, if you don’t want that, tell me now and I’ll take you home.”

“No,” you say, desperately and shamefully wet. “I need you.”

“I know you do,” he says, his voice full of malice. His hands roam your body, touching only the top of your breasts, not lingering on them for more than a minute.

Then, Luke’s hands find the middle of your legs, and you close your eyes, embarrassed that he would now know how turned on you were.

You can hear Luke’s ragged breathing as he pulls the wet fabric of your panties up, making you moan as the fabric touches your clit, splitting your two outer labia.

“You’re so wet, bunny,” He murmurs against your skin, playing with the thin and—now—soaked fabric of your panties. “I bet I don’t even have to prep you before slamming my dick into you with how sloppy you probably are.”

You moan loudly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Luke—”

Your speech is cut off when he shoves your panties to the side and thrusts two fingers inside you, thrusting them with urgency and need.

“I knew it,” he chuckles. “So. Fucking. Loose.”

You grip his arm, feeling wetter than you had ever felt in your life. Luke had always been sweet and loving, and you loved that face of his. But this? This is so much better.

Two of his fingers were moving in and out quickly, while his thumb was touching your clit quickly, making you see stars. The wet sounds filled the room and made you close your eyes in shame.

The weight of Luke's body on yours was comfortable and overwhelming at the same time, the height difference only making you feel even more like prey that had just been captured.

“Luke, fuck.”

“It’s a shame that a cute bunny like you has such a dirty mouth,” he makes a tsc sound with his tongue, not once stopping moving his fingers. “Did no one teach you manners?”

You shake your head, moaning loudly and forgetting that the door wasn’t locked, and that there was a party going on downstairs, with hundreds of people who at any moment could open the door and see the obscenity happening in front of them.

“I’m gonna come, Luke, please, I will—”

Tears immediately form in your eyes when Luke suddenly removes his fingers from inside you. “What? Why did you stop?” You sob.

“Because I wanted to.” He simply says, kissing your cheek, the sweetness of his act contrasting with the harshness of his words.

He comes closer again, running both hands behind your thighs, picking you up with ease. Then, he walks towards the table in the middle of the room, stopping in front of it and placing you on the floor gently.

He kisses you again, biting your lips right after.

“Turn around, cutie,” he smiles, before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear, making you sigh.

Luke is big. Like, bigger than any of the guys you’ve been with before, probably thicker too.

“What?” He smirks. “Did the little bunny bite off more than she can chew?”

Gulping, you shake your head. “Y-you’re… big.”

“Mhm,” he shamelessly grabs his cock, stroking the head a few times, spreading the precum all over his length, as you watch with awe, his hand size matching his dick. “Think you can take it?”

Even though your brain screamed for you to run and hide, your the unstoppable throbbing between your legs was too hard to ignore.

“Yes, but… even if I can’t,” you tilt your head up, staring at his lustful eyes. “You’ll make me, right?”

“Smart, smart bunny.”

He kisses you again before turning your body around, placing your hands on the table and lifting your skirt. You can feel him removing your panties as he spreads your legs wide with his feet.

He runs his cock over your lips for a few seconds, the wet sounds echoing off the walls of the room, and when he finally enters, it’s like everything you’ve been searching for finally makes sense.

“Holy fuck, Mila,” he groans, resting his torso against your back.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust before pulling his entire length out of you and putting it back in, thrusting hard and precisely. Your hands grip the wood beneath your fingers tightly, and your eyes meet the back of your head.

You can feel the tears decorating your face, as Luke grips your waist with an incredible force and pushes his cock hard inside you, moaning loudly.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he says, and you bite your lips, holding back a loud moan. “You’re getting my dick so wet.”

“Luke.”

You didn’t care about anything anymore. All you wanted was to cum, and preferably on his fingers.

He seemed to have heard your thoughts, as it didn't take him long to support one of your legs on the table, entering even deeper inside you, hitting places no one had ever hit before. Then, moving his fingers over your engorged clit, he rubbed it mercilessly, your orgasm building faster, since he edged you not even ten minutes ago.

“Luke,” you sob, calling out his name. “I’m gonna come.”

“Are you going to make a mess?”

“I-I don’t know—”

“Then hold it,” he says, as he applies even more pressure on your sensitive nub, slamming his dick deeper onto your g-spot.

“I can’t, I need to—”

“Baby, you’re not the one in charge here,” his voice is soft, gentle and calming— it didn't stop your tears, though. “If you’re not gonna make a mess, then why should I bother letting you come anyway?”

“Please, Luke, please,” you hiccup, feeling some pieces of the wood get under your nails with how hard you were scratching the table.

“Make a mess, Mila. That’s the only way you’re coming tonight.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is empty and you only need to let Luke ruin you, and everything you believe. When you finally reach your peak, you come, wetting his fingers, your thighs and the table, but none of that is enough for the curly haired boy behind you.

He keeps rubbing you, biting your neck, fucking you into pure oblivion, overwhelming you to the max. And when you feel himself pulling away, you shake your head, crying louder and clenching your hole around his dick.

He hisses. “Mila.”

“No,” you cry. “Inside— ah, please.”

“You’ll drive me insane,” he jokes, but there isn't a hint of playfulness in his tone. He keeps slamming inside you, until he finally comes, painting your insides white with his release.

It’s dirty, raw and human. It’s oddly comforting and overwhelming at the same time; it’s maddening.

People have been put in mental institutions for feeling much less than you right now.

“Mila.”

Luke’s voice is far, and as you rest your forehead against the cold wood of the table, you can feel him pulling away from you.

“Bunny?”

You feel his hand on your hair, and you can feel his presence everywhere. Wiping your cheeks, cleaning your thighs with his shirt, putting your underwear back on, pulling your skirt down. You can feel his warm, burning body behind you as he gets you up and rests your back against his toned abs, kissing your neck gently.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you can tell he’s trying so hard not to freak you out. “Mila, baby.”

“‘Gimme a minute,” you whisper, smelling his perfume, a mix of sandalwood and patchouli.

He lets out a quiet laugh, caressing your thigh with the same hands that held you so strongly not even five minutes ago.

“Do you want to sit?”

“I don’t think I can move my legs right now,” You chuckle, and he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up again, walking you to the couch, laying down with you on top of him. “Feels nice.”

“I know,” he hums back. “Listen, I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” you ask, closing your eyes. “I wanted this.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize for fucking you,” he laughs, and you feel his chest moving under you. “I was going to apologize for not telling you sooner.”

“Telling me what?”

“That I like you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I guess I was just scared.”

Now he sounded like the boy you knew.

“Same. I like you too much to screw things up.” You confess, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

You snuggle closer to his body, ignoring the wet clothes and the fact that there was a party happening downstairs, and that Suzy was probably looking for you.

But it was fine. You could deal with her tomorrow.

𖧷

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strawberryfatstuff · 1 month ago

Text

escape

Imagine being stuck in a cell, with a ginormous feast being placed in front of you every day and only allowed to leave once you can eat it all in one sitting

You wake up, disoriented. you look around, nothing in your dark surroundings but a bed and a table. suddenly, you hear a commotion of people in robes, faces covered, rush to bring something onto the barren table in your cell. They disappear in a flash, all that’s left behind is an absolute banquet. A feast that could overfeed about 30 people at a buffet, piled with junk food. Rich creamy pastas, pizza stacked upon pizza, a plate of burgers piled high enough you wondered how it hadn’t fallen over, and piles upon piles of sugary desserts with the most delicious smells filling the room. You wonder if this was supposed to be your last meal, but your thoughts were cut short, by the greedy rumblings of your belly. You were starving, and decided there was nothing else left to do but dig in.

Almost a year has gone by, but to you it had felt like a lifetime. You would wake, stuff yourself with reckless abandon with no fear of judgement or consequences, and go back to sleep. There was no way to tell how often the meals were being brought to you, in fact the only way to tell that time had passed at all was what it had all been doing to your body. When you had first woken up, you had been reasonably thin, maybe a small potbelly from the occasional lack of willpower from time to time but nothing to worry about. Now however, you had grown immensely. If there had been any chance of holding back in attempt to save your figure it had long since flown out the nonexistent window. Your belly had swelled outward, inflated, and sagged lower, you had noticed any sights of what had been your feet had become less and less frequent. Your legs had become heavy with fat, the fat on your thighs threatening to overlap your knees, and the beginning signs of cankles showing on your calves. Your tits had grown substantially, with rolls forming along the sides making your puffy arms rest a little higher than they had before. However, you had certainly done a number on that buffet, having before only been able to stomach a pizza at most you had started to get creative, wrapping burgers with entire pizzas and shoving them into your rapidly swelling gut with as much force and speed as you could. It was the only pastime you had really, so you made the most of it by constantly testing the bursting point of your greedy gut.

It had been a few years of endless feasting before you had begun to notice your mobility diminishing. You were now able to eat enough to feed a large family before slowing down, but your travel from your bed had begun leaving you winded, and took great deal of effort to take your lumbering waddle over to your meals. Your stomach of course, the culprit. Its rolls had swelled with fat so much it now hung down past your knees, fighting your wobbling thighs for space. your knees and feet had long since been covered by the swell of constant calories you had been shoving in. Your elbows had long since disappeared under the size your upper arms had ballooned to. The next day you had woken up, with the familiar smell of food filling your senses, and attempted to get out of bed. You struggled to gasp for air, trying with feeble attempts to propel yourself with enough momentum to get forward, and more importantly, your meal. Each attempt was rather hindered by amount of gut covering your lap. Suddenly, the masked people reentered into your room, and instead of leaving the food on the table, they pick it up piece by piece and began feeding it to you. One after another they stuffed greasy food straight into your greedy belly. The speed they each filled your mouth was almost too fast to chew, forcing you to swallow bigger bites as quickly as you could. “Please, go a little slower” you tried to call out between bites of food, but only one of them replied, “Too bad, you should have never been as greedy as you were in the first place. Fat fucks like you don’t get a say in this matter.”They continued to stuff your face, and once you had eaten enough to feel sick of your usual feast, you cried for them to stop. They fed you their last handfuls, and quickly as they had came, they left. One lingering long enough to instal what looked like a hose coming out of the ceiling.

The next time you awoke, you expected to to greeted by your usual meal of the table, but you noticed that the table had been removed from your room entirely. The only thing that caught your eye was the hose they had left the day before. Starving, you placed it in your mouth and began to suck out of desperation. You were instant met with what tasted like the blend of greasy food you had been eating for years. you noticed at the corner of your bed they had also left a small device, with words _ out of _ eaten. The lights being too dim to properly read, you cast it out of your brain and begun swallowing. It felt so good, the constant flow of calories filling your overstretched gut. You watch it rise with every gulp you fill it with, greed and lust overpowering you with the desire to fill it as big as possible. There was no way to tell how long you spent swallowing, only the rapid expansion of your body. each time you took a nap you would awake with your belly before you looking visibly larger then it had before.

This continued for what felt like eons, a never ending cycle of consuming and growing. your feet had been consumed completely, your arms stuck at a permanent angle, the fat surrounding your head keeping it in place, and your belly. So large it had grown over your swollen feet, and threatened to cover the rest of the bed. One day, as you swallowed, you heard a beep. You wondered if it had been the strange device that had long since been hidden under the concerningly large rolls swelling out from your massive gut. Just then, you were blinded by a bright light, as the door to your cell cracked with dust and opened, with the masked people watching you from the hallway connected. A familiar voice from among them, “You’re free to to go whenever you want fatty, the doors wide open.” And laughed. They all had begun laughing, shook their heads, and walked away. You paused swallowing to see if you could still escape, and tried to move your feet for the first time in ages. The response you received was a ripple of fat that jiggled your whole body. What had been so great about the outside world away? Your belly growled, it’s lust to be filled overpowering any thought you had remaining. You caress your growing belly, and continue to swallow.

#extreme feederism #force feeding kink #fat humiliation #immobile #death feedee #fat belly #glorify obesity #death feederism #feed me #dying from obesity

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reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

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African poverty is partly a consequence of energy poverty. In every other continent the vast majority of people have access to electricity. In Africa 600m people, 43% of the total, cannot readily light their homes or charge their phones. And those who nominally have grid electricity find it as reliable as a Scottish summer. More than three-quarters of African firms experience outages; two-fifths say electricity is the main constraint on their business.

If other sub-Saharan African countries had enjoyed power as reliable as South Africa’s from 1995 to 2007, then the continent’s rate of real GDP growth per person would have been two percentage points higher, more than doubling the actual rate, according to one academic paper. Since then South Africa has also had erratic electricity. So-called “load-shedding” is probably the main reason why the economy has shrunk in four of the past eight quarters.

Solar power is increasingly seen as the solution. Last year Africa installed a record amount of photovoltaic (PV) capacity (though this still made up just 1% of the total added worldwide), notes the African Solar Industry Association (AFSIA), a trade group. Globally most solar PV is built by utilities, but in Africa 65% of new capacity over the past two years has come from large firms contracting directly with developers. These deals are part of a decentralised revolution that could be of huge benefit to African economies.

Ground zero for the revolution is South Africa. Last year saw a record number of blackouts imposed by Eskom, the state-run utility, whose dysfunctional coal-fired power stations regularly break down or operate at far below capacity. Fortunately, as load-shedding was peaking, the costs of solar systems were plummeting.

Between 2019 and 2023 the cost of panels fell by 15%, having already declined by almost 90% in the 2010s. Meanwhile battery storage systems now cost about half as much as five years ago. Industrial users pay 20-40% less per unit when buying electricity from private project developers than on the cheapest Eskom tariff.

In the past two calendar years the amount of solar capacity in South Africa rose from 2.8GW to 7.8GW, notes AFSIA, excluding that installed on the roofs of suburban homes. All together South Africa’s solar capacity could now be almost a fifth of that of Eskom’s coal-fired power stations (albeit those still have a higher “capacity factor”, or ability to produce electricity around the clock). The growth of solar is a key reason why there has been less load-shedding in 2024...

Over the past decade the number of startups providing “distributed renewable energy” (DRE) has grown at a clip. Industry estimates suggest that more than 400m Africans get electricity from solar home systems and that more than ten times as many “mini-grids”, most of which use solar, were built in 2016-20 than in the preceding five years. In Kenya DRE firms employ more than six times as many people as the largest utility. In Nigeria they have created almost as many jobs as the oil and gas industry.

“The future is an extremely distributed system to an extent that people haven’t fully grasped,” argues Matthew Tilleard of CrossBoundary Group, a firm whose customers range from large businesses to hitherto unconnected consumers. “It’s going to happen here in Africa first and most consequentially.”

Ignite, which operates in nine African countries, has products that include a basic panel that powers three light bulbs and a phone charger, as well as solar-powered irrigation pumps, stoves and internet routers, and industrial systems. Customers use mobile money to “unlock” a pay-as-you-go meter.

Yariv Cohen, Ignite’s CEO, reckons that the typical $3 per month spent by consumers is less than what they previously paid for kerosene and at phone-charging kiosks. He describes how farmers are more productive because they do not have to get home before dark and children are getting better test scores because they study under bulbs. One family in Rwanda used to keep their two cows in their house because they feared rustlers might come in the dark; now the cattle snooze al fresco under an outside lamp and the family gets more sleep.

...That is one eye-catching aspect of Africa’s solar revolution. But most of the continent is undergoing a more subtle—and significant—experiment in decentralised, commercially driven solar power. It is a trend that could both transform African economies and offer lessons to the rest of the world."

-via The Economist, June 18, 2024. Paragraph breaks added.

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pinkslaystation · 5 months ago

Text

No longer a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 2] Read [Part 1] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he did feel the same.

When Ghost was asked about his emergency contact, he mentioned Soap's name.

"You can't put down another soldier, mate. Gotta be yer ma or summit." His higher-ups informed him.

"Why no'?" He grumbled, leaning against the wall in the dingy office.

"Wot if you're on a mission with 'im? Wot if he's injured too? Hm? Just do me a favour and put down yer missus, will ya."

Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance, slamming the door shut as he walked out. With an important mission coming soon, it was vital that everything was in order before they left.

He just doesn't get it. Why does a skilled killer like him need an emergency contact? He's only been fatally injured once, and when they contacted his previous emergency number back then, was it really a big deal with someone at the nearest Maccies picked up?

Gaz frequently laughs at him, "Tried to call your mother, ordered a quarter pounder instead." It's a running joke in the team.

Ghost skims through his phone contacts, and he's embarrassed to see how few numbers he has: 5 being his teammates including Gaz, Soap and Price, one being KFC, one being his mother which he had saved under Slag. He scrolls up and down rapidly, debating to himself, should he just give them a fake number?

No...they'd find out again.

He clicks under the spam numbers.

His eyes shift to a familiar number.

It was yours.

The monotonous ticking of the clock paired with the irregular typing of the keyboards were burnt into your brain unknowingly. You've lost count of the number of days you've been in the menial job now, your first job since graduating university. How long have you been with that company, 2 years? 602 days now? You're counting the days 'til the weekend but even during that, you've got no one to come home to.

What a pathetic life.

Sometimes you wonder what Simon was doing in that exact moment was he working like you? Was he also in London? Did he...think of you, the way you think of him? It's possible he's forgotten, I mean after 5 years you've lost contact with the majority of your classmates- so much for best friends for life.

You check your phone, 9:28 P.M. 2 more minutes and you're running out of there.

By the time it hits 11 P.M., you're tucked away in bed a movie playing the background as you're aimlessly listening to reddit stories on TikTok whilst watching a minecraft speedrun.

You switch to using Instagram, by that I mean stalking. Your friends seems to be growth further away from you, one sending you an e-invite to their wedding, one welcoming their 1st child into their families, and yet you're still hung over about the last day of secondary school. The way the last time you had seen him had been in form, when he glances at you walking in late. The way his hands would purposely linger against yours when you were asked to hand out sheets to the class.

The mere thought of him jolted you. That, and the sound of your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number.

There's a hitch in your breathing. Was this a sign? What's the phrase, speak of the devil and he has appear? Was it perhaps...Simon?

You wait for a minute before picking up, not wanting to come across as desperate.

"...Hello?" You murmur.

"Hey." The voice is harsh and cold. It reminded you of Simon.

"Simon?" You whisper, a smile appearing on your face.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"What? No- Alan. From Accounting. You left some documents here at work, they seem important. You gonna pick 'em up?"

You blink. Once again your're stuck in another fantasy. In what world would it be Simon? The man who couldn't even reply to your texts in summer holidays. The man who wouldn't even attempt to return a full smile when you locked eyes in the corridor. The man you shouldn't have feelings for. Because, well, it's not like they were ever reciprocated.

What a pathetic life.

Alan, the dickhead from Accounting interrupts yet again. "Yo, you there? Wan' me to bin them?"

You sit up in your bed, sighing deeply uncomfortable, "Pull up your pants man, I'll be there in 30, Jesus. Just leave them on my desk."

Question. What's short but intense, most people dislike it, but you find it thrilling? One would think a conversation with Simon. But the answer is: London traffic.

You'd assume the usually busy roads to be dead and empty at 11:30 P.M. ish, but you're heavily mistaken, my friend. Seems like London nights are the life of the party. Driving past busy clubs and lit up pubs, whilst listening to One Of The Girls by The Weeknd [SUCH A GOOD SONG-] made you feel like a movie star in a coming of age film.

One where the guy gets the girl.

Of course, the majority of the drive you've being beeped at, or you're doing the beeping, but it's what really appealed to you when making the move to the heart of London. Life moves on whether you want or not, might at well be at the capital of England. Though sometimes you feel you're more likely to run into Simon in the north...

By the time you reach the entrance of your workplace, you begin regretting your outfit decisions, making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the glass doors: A black hoodie and flared joggers. Nothing wrong in the clothing of course, but compared to the Data Analysts and Investment Bankers that are judging you right now, it makes you feel like the smallest person in the room.

Just a elevator ride up, grabbing your shit, another ride down, brisk walking to the car, and you can go back to the comfort of your bed. Easy, no?

You're in the elevator finally. The weird look from the receptionist really was the cherry on the cake.

Soon enough, the doors open again at the 9th floor, and you're met with the dark room of your department, which only had 2 of your colleagues slaving away at their desks, one which you're 99% sure is rotting away as they type on their keyboard.

You briefly nod at the two as they look up from the elevator doors opening, to which they returned.

Where's that file, where's the fucking file. You mumble to yourself, sifting through all the papers from your desk. The rotting lady looks up to you, shushing you for the noise.

Yeah, if only you had the courage to shush your toxic-ass husband...You think. Soon we'll hear your reddit story next to some trashy ass run on Subway Surfers on Tiktok...

The way down the elevator was excruciatingly slow, which was odd considering it was working perfectly fine 5 minutes ago.

The doors open again, at the 8th floor and 3 analysts walk into the once quiet elevator, and now you're face to face with the loud chatter of clients, and business meetings and...who left a mess in the men's toilets...

A phone rings again, and the analysts all search their coats, thinking it was theirs.

Not me.

Neither.

How is there service in this elavator-

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes from drowsiness, the 3 business musketeers silently urging you to pick up your from and rid them off that irritating ring tone.

Silently apologising, you bring your phone out of your hoodie pocket. It's another unknown number.

With no hesitation this time, just pure frustration and fatigue, you pick up the call, "Alan, I swear to God, if you're calling me again-"

Correction. There is service in the elevator. It just wasn't good.

The line breaks at the other person on the phone speaks.

"He- Co- It's an emergen- He- -mon Ril- -jury-"

"Huh?" You respond, partially not hearing as the line breaks every now and then. but also because the other 3 people decided it was okay to talk on full volume.

You try once again, "I'm sorry I can't hear you."

"Missi- crash- 3 dead- -husba"

You snort, you wish these 3 analysts were dead right now-

"-Rile- Come- t- -ocation- sen- -by text- -sband-"

The line goes dead, and you're stuck staring at your phone with more confusion than you had started. Husband?

What was that? Wrong number? No, they had addressed you by your full name. You couldn't hear much, but from what you gathered...an emergency? I mean, that alone you could tell from the shrill from the speaker's voice.

The elevator door opens again and this time, it's the ground floor and all 4 of you walk out. It looks like the scene where the rich, popular characters make a grand entrance, straight out of a K-drama, except one person clearly missed the memo about dressing formally.

You check your phone's call log, debating whether to call them back.

Before you can lock your phone and shove it back into your phone, it dings again, a text from the very number. They've given you a location. A quick search on your phone, shows you google images of an army training ground. You check the time. It's just past midnight.

Looks like you're going on an adventure.

The drive to the army grounds was shorter than Google Maps had said, and now you're parked on the side of the roads waiting for the gates to be opened.

Theories are racing through your head right now, who do you know that's in the military currently?

Your coworkers? No.

Your university friends? No.

Your secondary school classmates? No.

Simon? Can't be.

The gates open, and you drive to the 2 men standing by the doors to the building, one is dressed like a doctor, the other? Like Stalin.

You get out of your car worried, "Hi, someone called over the phone?"

"Aah, yes. Mrs Riley. A pleasure to meet you. I mean I didn't think you were even going to come." He turns to the doctor.

You don't fail to hear the words exchanged between the both of them.

"What if she works at Maccies as well...she's dressed like it-" he murmurs, smiling at you widely.

The doctor on the other hand, seems to be more tense about the situation, "Sir, can we just send her in already, it's 1 A.M., I got a family to go home to-"

"Wasn't your wife cheating on you though-"

"Sir- How do you know- Okay, Miss. Mrs... Riley, was it?" The doctor turns to you.

You raise an eyebrow at him, "No. Um, no. My first name's not Riley, it's-"

"Will you just follow us. Please."

The inside of the building was almost the opposite than the outside, a loud brightly lit environment with crowds of doctors and nurses rushing around, compared to the silent dark grounds.

"Sorry, where are we going exactly?" You question, as the two men walk in front of you.

"You're handling the news better than I expected, Riley." The military leader (?) notes.

What news?

"What news?"

There's no follow up answer, instead they lead you to a quiet corridor, just outside a room, to which they gesture you to open. The doctor reads from a file, "He's going to be fine, just a few cuts and bruises-"

You interrupt, "I'm sorry?"

"What he's trying to say- we found him unconscious, seems like he inhaled too much of the gas. Thought he was in grave danger. Wasn't responding to anything. Broken rib cage, but he'll be fine. He always is, this man."

The doctor agrees with the solider.

"Indeed, a few months of bed rest, and he's be back in better shape."

The two stare at you, as you look at them with an unreadable expression.

"...And...I'm here because?"

They share a confused look.

"You're his wife, no? His emergency contact? That's what Simon said at le-"

"Si-Si-Simon?"

One second you're at home, the next you're a work again, and now you're in the bathroom with your head in your hands, sitting on the toilet lid, panic pulsating through your blood. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to tell the truth, that you're not Simon's wife, so instead you pussied out and excused yourself to the nearest bathroom.

The good thing is, the 2 men believe you're crying over Simon's injuries, the bad thing is that he's awake. And he's been made aware of the call to his emergency contact: his wife.

"Good to say you mate. Called your wife. Sensitive one, that. Rushed-"

Simon breaks out of his dazed look. "Wife?" He barks.

The doctor shares a knowingly glance to the solider, Simon's higher up. "Yes...the one under your emergency contact?"

"Wot- Oh. Er- Yeah." Simon clenches his jaw, rubbing his temple, "Did she pick up or sum-"

"No Simon, she's here. In the bathroom."

The minimal colour in Simon's pale bruised face drains out in a click, and he's staring dead straight in front of him. For a second, no one talks, there's no movement, not even a breath is exhaled. Simon's not religious but he prays the 2 can't hear his beating heart thumping rapidly.

How was do when he sees you? A smile? A wave? A 'haven't seen you in so long'? No...he selected spouse when he put your number down for his emergency contact, if anything, he's got a role to act in front of the staff and higher-ups.

There's a knock on the door that breaks the silence. The door creaks open awkwardly, and a small head peeps out.

Simon's breath hitches.

When your parents instructed you to get out fairy land, you did. You were called delusion by your friends throughout adolescence, and you're teachers feared your expectations in life were always too high.

You remember the first time your parents told you the story of how they met. In your mind it was a romantic story, two doctors meeting together for the first time in the hospital, locking eyes and blushing furiously when their fingers touched through gloved during a high-risk heart transplant surgery. So when they mentioned that it was mere 'marriage of convenience' type relationship to you, your belief of love at first sight hit the iceberg of reality and sunk. Sunk deep.

So mustering the courage shouldn't be that difficult, right? Love doesn't exist...

The first step into the hospital room felt like walking into every exam hall you've ever entered in your entire life merged into 1...times 10. Nerve-wracking was an understatement.

Your goal was to just lie and act at his wife, play pretend and hope Simon plays along with it. It's all acting.

A marriage of convenience, you could say.

"Hey, Si-"

Your breath breaks, cutting off your own words as your eyes lock with Simon's. The room seems to shrink, and the bustling noise from the hospital corridor fades into the background. Simon's gaze is intense, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. It's something the doctor and the soldier haven't seen, given the 5 years of knowing SImon.

He reaches an arm out, without speaking a word.

"Oh, erm." Taking his hand, he gently drags you, motioning you to sit on the chair beside his bed. Small electric shocks course through his fingertips and into yours, a warm feeling bubbling through your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way his eyes lock onto you, as his fingers gently caress your hand.

Simon’s grip tightens ever so slightly as you sit down, his touch simultaneously reassuring and questioning. You swallow hard, nerves prickling your skin. It feels like a minute has passes by the 2 spectators in the room feel like their watching a slow-burn romance movie.

The soldier clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We’ll give you two some privacy," he says, gesturing for the doctor to follow him out. As the door clicks shut behind them, the heavy silence continues to fall over the room.

Simon’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that feels both foreign and familiar. His mask of stoicism cracks, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "I didn’t think you’d come," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, the hints of his northern accent peaking through the harshness of his voice.

You smile. "Well, here I am," you reply, attempting to sound casual despite the thundering of your heart. "Guess I couldn't ignore the call of duty." Your attempt of a pathetic joke makes him grin.

Simon interlocks his fingers with yours, and you swear your body changes to manual breathing. "SImon...You don't have to act, they're not here..." You mumble.

Simon chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually so guarded, now seem to search yours for something unspoken. "I'm not acting... and...I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What for?" Both of your hands gently hold Simon's and you notice the way just one of his hands dwarf both of yours.

"That day...the last day. I tried to come, I swear, love. I was late-"

"I waited for you Simon." You blankly state. Simon freezes at the slight frustration in your voice, "I waited so long for you, hell, the teachers nearly kicked me out."

Simon nodding understandably, grinning slightly at the thought.

"I know. I asked our form tutor, missed ya by 15 minut-"

"Then why didn't you call me Simon? Hm?"

The lack of response let's you continue, the heat from your hands warming Simon's.

"I called you, I texted, I reached out to your friends-"

"-but it's difficult when I had none, right?" Simon cuts you off, his eyes urging you to look at the situation from his perspective, "The moment I saw you in that classroom on that first day, you were the only person that smiled at me. When I forgot my lunch, it was you that shared with me by your desks. Fuck, it's always been you, and I was too fucking embarrassed with myself to even be around someone as perfect as you."

Simon squeezes your hand as he continues.

"I didn't want you to be seen with me, because...you deserved better, love. You've always had. Good grades, good school, good life, didn't was you to be dragged down by a dick like me." He huffs out, turning away, "Signed up for the military that day, y'know. Remember when you said you wanted to just give up on your dreams of uni and jus' join the army. Just use all your frustrations on a gun or sumthing... I bulked up over that very summer."

You stifle a warm tear as it escapes and runs down your cheek.

"Wanted to be someone for you, swear down. So I signed up for the military...and I- that day. I was going to tell you...and ask you out."

Raising your eyebrows, you feel the atmosphere shifting, he continues.

"Yeah," Simon chuckles, reminiscing, "Wrote a letter cos I didn' know how to get my feelins across. But uh, I was too late. And when I asked your friend, and they told me you were moving out for uni...I just thought it was better to let my feelins die out. Didn't wan to drag you down any further..." He mumbles the last part.

A mix of emotions flood through you as Simon's words settle in the room. The weight of the years apart, the misunderstandings, and the unspoken feelings hang in the air. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tear that escaped earlier.

"Simon," you begin softly, your voice trembling with a blend of sadness and hope. "You never dragged me down. If anything, I felt lost without you."

Simon's gaze shifts back to you, eyes searching for any hint of resentment or anger. Instead, he finds warmth and understanding, a look he's not seen in years. "I thought you'd be better off without me. That you'd move on and find someone who could give you everything I couldn't."

"But I never wanted someone else," you confess, your voice firm despite the quiver in your heart. "I wanted you, Simon. Even when you weren't there, I kept hoping you'd come back. Do you know how many times I've looked at my phone hoping it was you that was calling me?"

Simon laughs, moving ever so slightly closer to you, his thumb continuing to stroke your hand, his touch grounding you both in the present moment. He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I'm here now," he says finally, his voice steady. "And I'll call you ever chance I get. Don't want to waste any more time."

You squeeze his hand in response, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Neither do I."

Simon presses a chaste kiss against your forehead and you lean against him.

"The name Riley really does suit you, y'know." Simon whispering into your hair.

"One step at a time, Si." You whisper back, burying your smirk into the crook of his neck.

Maybe your parents were wrong, maybe love at first sight does exist.

Outside the room, the 2 men straight in awe at the couple. The doctor sighs, "No more trouble in paradis-"

The solider nudges the doctor, "You wish that was you, huh."

me rn

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk, @spankmydepression, @yourfavbabigirl

#call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #ghost #ghost angst #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon angst #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff

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ihaechans · 1 year ago

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Impatient || L.DH

PAIRING ▸ Lee Donghyuck x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut

WARNINGS/CONTENT ▸ profanity, clingy and whiny Hyuck, oral (f), groping, fingering, unprotected sex (don't be reckless pls..), jealous hyuck, multiple orgasms, creampie, nothing TOOOOO crazy tbh

SUMMARY ▸Your boyfriend Donghyuck just wants you all to himself.

WORD COUNT▸2k

A/N: This has legit been in my drafts since last year and I just finished it now. Wanted to release something before Die 4 You since I sadly won't have time to make any Halloween fic this year </3 please know this is not proofread so ignore mistakes, PLEASE...

“Alright, just let me know if you come up with any other ideas for the project. I’ll start my assigned section right away. Bye Jisung.” You sigh, quickly hanging up the phone without hesitation.

You love Jisung, you really do... but sometimes he really gets on your nerves. Both of you had decided to be partners for a project, and if you knew he was so clueless about every little thing maybe you should’ve just partnered up with Jaemin instead.

You huff, visibly irritated at the number of times Jisung has called you for instructions or help within the past hour, nearly screaming when you get another call from him not even a minute after you had just hung up.

Donghyuck laughs from beside you, the sound barely audible due to his face being buried into your side. “Jisung. He’s so cute.” your boyfriend mumbles sarcastically, smiling when you raise your voice at the poor boy on the phone.

You hang up once again, letting out a sound of exasperation.

“Don't get too mad Y/n, you know that’s just how he is,” Donghyuck whispers, pulling you closer into him as he caresses your side.

“You’re awfully touchy today. What’s up?”

“Hm?” he hums, nuzzling his face closer to your side as his wandering hand finds place on your stomach. “I just love my girlfriend.” He sighs, continuing his ministrations.

You’re suspicious but continue typing away on your laptop while trying your best to ignore Donghyuck’s suggestive touching.

“I swear to god,” you mutter, staring at your phone as another incoming call from Jisung appears on the screen. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“Then ignore it.”

Your boyfriend’s voice takes you by surprise. “What?”

“I said ignore it. He’s been interrupting my sweet time with my girlfriend. He’ll be fine on his own for a while.”

You laugh, the seriousness of his statement slipping past your mind. “Sweet time with your girlfriend is watching me do my project? Cute.” Smiling, you run your fingers through his hair a few times before resuming to type at your laptop, unknowingly annoying Donghyuck.

He huffs but you don’t seem to notice, too busy talking with Jisung on the phone, explaining something Donghyuck couldn’t care less about. He would get your attention sooner or later, he was sure of it.

His soft touches against your skin turn more suggestive within the next few minutes. You don’t mention it to him out loud, but he knows that you noticed.

His fingers dance across your thighs, grabbing and squeezing at them before you place your hand on top of his, stopping his mischievous actions. “Hyuck. What are you doing?” You whisper, making sure your mouth is far away from the speaker of your phone where Jisung was still on the line.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to be done. Why don’t you just cut it short for the day? Hm?” He doesn’t let you answer, getting up from his position so he can slot himself in between your legs.

Mouthing “no” and “stop” aggressively at him doesn’t work, his wandering hands already trying to slither under the bottom of your shorts. “Stop!” you whisper-yell, gaze demanding and stern.

Donghyuck simply ignores you, continuing to massage your inner thighs as he makes his way higher and higher.

You try to ignore him and carry on with the conversation with Jisung, a surprised gasp leaving your lips when he shifts your shorts and panties to the side, licking a fat stripe up your pussy.

“Take these off for me baby. M’ gonna make you cum so hard for me.” There’s no shamefulness in his words and he says it loud and clear, the younger man on the phone pausing to ensure he heard that correctly.

“Are you sure you’re home alone?... I swear I just heard-”

“Yup! All alone!” You exclaim, accidentally drawing out your words to avoid moaning out. You bite your lip painfully hard, trying to conceal the sounds that were threatening to leave your mouth as your boyfriend continues to play with your cunt. He thumbs away at your clit, soft tongue placing kitten licks teasingly on your core as you shiver.

Giving in, you allow him to remove your shorts and panties, wasting no time to immediately bury his face in between your legs. “Jisung,” you breathe out, “I might have to call you back later…”

The boy on the line sighs, whining, “But Y/n, it’s an emergency and I need your help.” You could practically see the pout on his face through the phone, a sigh of annoyance and pleasure leaving your lips.

“Fuck…” you whimper, hips bucking up into Hyuck’s mouth as he continues to devour you, his tongue fucking inside of you as he thumbs at your clit.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks Y/n! I’ll be waiting for your call.” Jisung doesn’t wait for your response, hanging up almost immediately after he finishes his sentence, which was more than great for you.

Donghyuck seems to take that as his cue to speed things up, his tongue abusing your clit at a much faster rate. Your free hand searches for something to hold onto as your phone clatters onto the floor, legs wrapping around your boyfriend’s head to hold him in place as your back arches off the bed.

“Oh my god. Hyuck…” You’re not able to protest much, his tongue too busy licking up everything you have to offer. You moan loudly, voice louder than you had intended.

Donghyuck chuckles before quickly replacing his tongue with a finger, tongue licking at your swollen clit as he, plunges his index finger as deep as it will go into your tightness before pulling out and repeating the action.

The sensation of having his tongue against your entrance as he fucked you was overwhelming, a gasp leaving your lips as you found yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm. “Yes Hyuck… yes…” You whimper, hips jerking up into his face as you cum on his tongue, his finger still fucking your pussy at a relentless pace.

You call out his name over and over again as he licks up everything you give him, face soaked in your cum as he looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, I was trying to finish up my work so we could fuck later,” you whine, pouting at the boy as he stands up. He licks his lips, smirking as he licks away at your juices before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I was trying my best to be a good boy,” he muses, lifting your hips up from the bed as you wrap your legs around his waist. “But the more you denied my advances, the harder I became.” He continues, kissing your collarbone.

“That’s not fair, baby,” you breathe out, biting your lip. “I was just trying to get him off the phone, you know that." He hums, not bothering to reply as his lips immediately find yours again. Your hands fumble with his shirt, tugging it off of him as his tongue dances into your mouth.

He was much more aggressive than usual, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was being a little bit needy. Though you kind of wanted to tease him, you couldn’t keep the grin from crossing your lips as he kissed you deeply, hands roaming your body as you moaned into his mouth.

“God… I missed you…” you whisper, biting down on his bottom lip lightly as he pushes your back down onto the mattress softly.

“I think I can let this pass since you’ve missed me so much,” he muses, climbing on top of you as he grinds his cock against your soaked pussy. “You’ve been teasing me all day.”

“I have not,” you protest, gasping as he grinds against you once more.

“You’ve been working and not paying attention to me.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “First of all, I’m working on my biggest project to date. Second of all, you’re the one who’s been teasing me.” Your breath hitches as his cock, still clothed in his jeans, grinds against your clit.

“That’s because I want you so bad.”

“You know you don’t need an excuse to touch me, right?” you point out, hips swaying as you try to push yourself further into his cock.

“You can touch me as much as you want.” Donghyuck chuckles, slipping his hand down between your bodies to unbutton his pants.

“Mhmm,” the boy hums, licking his lips hungrily as he watches you. He wastes no time in taking his cock out of his boxers, the end of it damp with pre-cum. “I think it’s better if I just show you how much I want you.”

Donghyuck wastes no more time, thumbing the head of his cock as he brings it down and slides the wet tip against your entrance. He looks you in the eyes before pulling back and thrusting in fully, the thickness of his cock nearly making you scream.

“O-Oh my god…” The boy lets out a deep moan, thrusting into you again and again in a quick, steady rhythm. The feeling of his cock sliding inside of you is enough to make you let out a high-pitched whine, hands searching for anything to hold onto as he pounds into you.

You grip onto the sheets, bodies colliding as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. “You’re so tight,” he mumbles, thrusting into you harder. His hips grind against yours, pelvis pressing against your clit and sending pleasure rippling through your body.

“Donghyuck…” You moan out, a fire building in your stomach as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You’re so fucking hot…” The boy breathes out, thrusting into you deeper. His cock slides in and out of you, tongue licking your neck as he pumps into you harder. “I can’t hold back anymore, baby...” he groans, hips jerking against your own as he pants into your neck.

“Fuck don't stop…” Your breathing hitches, shoulders tensing up as he thrusts into you at a quick, steady pace. You feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm, his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Come on, Y/n…” He breathes out, thrusting into you with more force. “Cum for me.” His fingers dig into your thighs, nails scraping at your skin. “C-Come on baby-” His voice tenses, urging you on as his thrusts quicken. “Cum, Y/n.” Your back arches off of the bed as you're sent over the edge, an orgasm tearing through your body.

“Oh my god, Donghyuck….” You moan out, hips bucking up into his as he pumps into you with more force. You feel him twitch inside of you, letting out a deep moan as he fills you up with his cum.

With a groan, Huck pulls out, smiling proudly at the mess he had made of you.

You could feel his cum seeping out of your pussy and down your thighs, an audible gasp leaving your lips as you let your head fall back onto the sheets. Donghyuck pants into your neck, pulling out of you as he wraps his arms around your waist.

"Can't believe all of that was because of that nerd Jisung. Didn't know he bothered you that much babe." You conclude, your boyfriend smirking down at you in return.

As you lay panting on your bed, naked as you stare at the ceiling with your arms spread out against the bed, your phone goes off again, and you're immediately reminded of why you were so irritated in the first place.

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ellecdc · 9 months ago

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Hi!! I saw your requests were open and I’d love to take a shot with one!

So I have a partner that I’ve been with for almost a year and it wasn’t until the last few months that I’ve realized how toxic and horrible the relationship is. So- I was hoping that I could request a poly!marauders x reader (starting platonic and then romantic?) and reader has a partner that’s really toxic and the boys help the reader figure out how to break up and take care of herself (or themself/himself!) and then once the reader and the partner break up, the marauders take care of reader and then eventually admitting their love to reader and etc etc etc you take away the rest!!! Thank you so much!!!!!! I love love love your work!!!!!!

ok first of all: if you haven't already, please dump them? they're not worth it babes. if it costs you your peace - it's too expensive thank you for your request; hope you love it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: brief mention of previously toxic relationship, grief over end of relationship

You knew this was for the best, but it didn't make it any less painful.

It'd been about a month and a half since you and your...ex broke up, and exactly 12 days to the minute of no contact. Your mind was still reeling from the previous few weeks since you'd decided to finally end things before you finally blocked their number.

It proved to you that you had done the right thing; they were not good for you, and they're behaviour only proved that.

So why did you still feel so incredibly wrong?

You felt a mixture of things. Overwhelming grief at not only the loss of someone that was a huge part of your life, but also grief over the loss of everything you ever hoped your life would be with that person.

You also felt guilty; guilty for ending things (even though it was the right thing to do), guilty for spending so long trying to force a relationship that wasn't meant to last, and guilty for falling in love with the potential that someone had - which only left both of you disappointed.

It was probably overkill to have turned your phone off completely, but after blocking their number, you couldn't help but jump every time your phone went off - thinking, hoping, dreading that it might be your ex. You also couldn't handle scrolling through instagram to see all of your other friends, happy, smiling, in love, and not feeling like their world was falling to pieces.

Your pity party was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. You were considering ignoring it when a less gentle knock followed which you recognized to be Sirius'.

"You don't have to bang, Sirius." You could hear James chide quietly as you unlocked and swung the door open.

The somewhat terse conversation ended abruptly as the three figures beamed at you: James widely, Remus kindly, and Sirius cheekily.

"Well hello, gorgeous!" Sirius cheered at you as he pulled you into a quick embrace.

"Uh, hi!" You said back, though your voice sounded higher than usual. When was the last time you'd used it?

"Mind if we come in?" Remus asked gently before James and Sirius were shouldering their ways into your apartment anyway.

"Uhm, yeah. Sure." You said as you followed them in.

James pulled you into his side as Sirius made himself at home on your couch and Remus sat at your kitchen table. "How've you been, sweetheart?" He asked.

You blushed at the nickname and ducked your chin to your chest. "I'm alright, James. How have you guys been?"

"Miserable." Sirius answered immediately. "Completely miserable without our favourite girl around. It's been too long."

"You don't have to apologize," Remus interjected as you began to defend yourself. "We just wanted to check in, that's all."

You smiled at the three boys, suddenly very self-conscious of your apartment and your outfit - neither of which had been tidied nor changed in the last few days.

"Come sit with me." Sirius said as he patted the couch beside him and then opened his arm for you to sit under.

You moved towards him obediently and he quickly pulled you in tight to his side and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

"So, what can we do? Can I help you tidy?" Remus asked enthusiastically.

You immediately shook your head no as your eyes widened in horror. "Absolutely not, no. Thank you, but honestly, I'm fine."

Sirius groaned as he leaned to whisper into your ear conspiratorially, you startled and turned to face him, only to have your noses centimetres apart.

"Listen, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: Rem here has been just sick with worry, and it would really make him feel better if you let him feel like he's helping you." He stage whispered as he motioned toward the said worried boy with his head.

Had you not been so shocked by the lack of distance between you and Sirius, you may have seen Remus gently roll his eyes at Sirius' theatrics.

"Help the poor sod out, give him something to do." He encouraged you with a salacious wink.

"I, uhm... I guess I've been meaning to catch up on the dishes?" You stated as a question, grimacing at the days worth of dishes in your sink.

Remus jumped up happily throwing a "Got it!" over his shoulder.

"What about me, gorgeous? Anything I can do? Maybe laundry?" James asked eagerly.

"You are not doing my laundry, James." You answered bluntly.

"Got it, got it. Okay, maybe I can clean your bathroom?"

Somehow, that was worse.

"Okay, you can do my laundry." You acquiesced.

James whooped, actually whooped, like a cartoon character before he started down the hallway he knew lead to your bedroom.

"See? Look how happy you made them." Sirius said as he kneaded at the flesh of your thigh with his hand.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's your job?" You asked.

You suddenly felt like it was the wrong question when Sirius' grin grew exponentially. "Oh, I get to sit here with my favourite girl."

"We're taking turns, Pads!" James called from down the hallway.

"Semantics." Sirius muttered before he turned his attention back to you.

"Listen; I won't make you talk about this if you don't want to, but I need you to know that we're here for you, alright? Like really, really here for you; whatever you need. I know you've probably convinced yourself that you're all alone and unloved. But we need you to know that's not true. You're not unloved, never could be; not with us around."

Your sinuses filled painfully behind your eyes as you moved to hide your face into Sirius' shoulder.

"What did you do?" Remus asked Sirius, sounding (gently) horrified.

"Just told her we loved her."

James came out of your room at Remus' concerned tones. "We're supposed to be making her feel better, Pads." He sighed.

"You are." You muttered from your place in Sirius' shoulder.

It was true; you had convinced yourself you were all alone and completely unloveable. If even your ex couldn't manage to love you, how would anyone else?

But with Sirius' arms around your shoulder and his lips pressed into your hair, James coming up behind you two and giving your hand a comforting squeeze, and Remus running to put a pot of tea on for the lot of you like that might be what stitches your heart back together; you certainly felt loved.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #the marauders #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #ellecdc fics

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the-artist-grimm · 2 months ago

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Crimson Angel AU - The Three Crown Bearers

(Text updated as of Nov 8th, 2024)

More Crimson Angel Lore! This time thinking about some of the previous/current vessels.

(credit to @/waokevale for the inspo! Its from their posts head-cannoning Forneus as a former crown bearer where I got the idea to have her in the lineup!)

Over the course of 1000 years Narinder had in total 13 vessels who bore the red crown, and each were chosen upon their deaths for displaying potential upon arrival into the Gateway. Though the prophecy stated that a lamb would be the final bearer, Narinder did not want to sit idle, and had hoped that others could clear a quicker path for the chosen liberator while he waited.

Currently named bearers (featuring my SYMBOLISM obsession, deaths/numbers are somewhat related to the character as closely as I manage)

Forneus - #7 (Lady Luck)

The 7th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately 300 years ago. Captured by heretics after drawing their attention away from a family in trouble whilst on the road, Forneus caught Narinder’s attention for both her fighting prowess and fierce sense of justice, and proved to be one of his more efficient vessels. Quick-witted and clever, she was a seemingly kind leader to her cult, but a ruthless warrior to all others, with her mission being to decimate the Bishops’ higher-ranking witnesses as opposed to taking them on personally. She also appeared to possess a remarkable amount of luck, hardly ever dying whilst on crusades. Yet despite that her term as vessel only lasted approximately 80 years, whereupon finding herself pregnant via one of her lovers, she willingly relinquished the crown so that she could raise her children in peace, not wanting to put them at risk.

Narinder, though somewhat irked, accepted her choice, as she’d managed to kill enough witnesses to set the Bishops internal hierarchies back by several decades of experience. Unbeknownst to him, however, the very children Forneus relinquished the crown for would join him not long after, with the cat herself being bestowed a golden skull and an open promise of reunion with her children in the distant future by the God of Wisdom and War.

Forneus died of her heart-in saving those sheep, her heart was cut out during her sacrifice

7 is considered a lucky number

The Chariot is the 7th Tarot Card, representing triumph through determination, self-control, and overcoming obstacles.

Became vessel at approximately age 20, is now over 400 years old

Ratau- #12 (The Shepherd)

The 12th bearer of the Red Crown, and bared it approximately over 40 years ago. Killed by heretics after refusing to acknowledge the threat they posed to all within the Lands of the Old Faith. Hailing from a village that willfully ignored the lambs and their warnings of slaughter, it was not until heretics arrived to razed the place to the ground that Ratau realized their threat, yet by then it was too late to act as he was slain. Upon his arrival in the gateway Narinder initially had no plans to make him a vessel, yet the rat’s anger towards both himself and the Bishops appeared to make him an easily manipulated enough target to try. And with the dwindling lamb’s population heralding the final liberator’s rise, the death god was desperate to have a vessel prepared to take on the role of mentor.

Though a remarkably fast learner, Ratau proved inadequate in regards to his ruthlessness, unwilling to push his followers or himself to their limits. And upon being forced to sacrifice a follower following an incident with a mysterious fox, the resulting guilt led to Ratau relinquishing the crown within only a decade, much to Narinder’s frustration. He left the grounds with his disciples and isolated himself to a self-imposed solitude within the woods, only ever visiting his friends from time to time and trying to put his previous cult-life behind him.

Yet as fate would have it, twenty years later Ratau would chance across a young, newly orphaned lamb within the woods, and though aware of the prophesied fate ahead of them, decided to take the little one in. Fourteen years later, that little lamb would rise as the final vessel.

Ratau died for turning a blind eye to the world around him, and thus, lost his left eye in turn. It was a slash and a stab through which killed him

12 is considered a number of stability and order, fitting for a mentor

The Hanged Man is the 12th Tarot Card, representing ultimate surrender, sacrifice, and patience.

Became a vessel at age 25, is currently in his mid 60s.

Anthea- #13 (The Lamb/Unlucky Thirteen)

The 13th and final bearer of the Red Crown. Anthea was killed by heretics upon sacrificing herself to save the life of her guardian, Ratau, and had been a willing sacrifice due to a belief that she already lived on borrowed time. Of all prior vessels Anthea was the only one to have worshiped The One Who Waits prior to resurrection and vesselship, and proved to not only be highly devoted, but also far more empathetic and aware of his situation beyond those who came before them. When it came to their interactions with the god, Anthea often expressed a kindness to not just him but his typically overlooked disciples as well, bring them gifts and befriending the three to try and ease their imprisonments. Though coming from a genuine place of care, it was also born from Anthea’s own lack of self, with the lamb preferring to put everyone but themself first.

It was through aiding The One Who Waits that Anthea’s perspective of self began to change, as Narinder slowly began to challenge their self-sacrificial tendencies the more he got to know them, with the two growing closer and eventually falling in love. Yet it was right before Anthea planned to confess her feelings that The One Who Waits seemingly betrayed them, ordering them to sacrifice themself just as they finally started wanting to live.

Anthea died for being unable to express their own will beyond giving themself up for others, sticking their neck out so long as it mean someone else benefited from it. Their death was via beheading.

13 is considered a number of bad luck, yet also of the ending of one cycle and the beginning of another, a transformation

Death is the 13th Tarot Card, and represents the ending of one phase of a life and the start of another, change, and new beginnings.

Became vessel at age 26, and finished slaying all the bishops in 3 years, making them 29

Trying to go through and whip the game’s admittedly open-ended-ish/slightly vague lore into something more fleshed-out is really fun lol. Might make more vessels but thus far the only three who remain are 7, 12, and 13-which Narinder doesn't even realize that Forneus is till kicking about.

Also Weapons notes!

Forneus gets a hammer because it in a way represents justice (see a court gavel) and though it hits slow it hits HARD. In an RPG its the tank who usually gets it within the party.

Ratau I gave a staff since he's implied to be somewhat cowardly, or at least appears to not like killing to an extent with how he gave up the crown after sacrificing a follower, and since he gives us the curses in-game (yeah they're on Nari's orders but Ratau's the one handing them out), essentially making him a mage seemed fitting-plus in fantasy the mage is usually a mentor. He also has a staff in-game so it maintains that silhouette, albeit I made this one look more like a shepherd's hook considering it's meant to be his weapon as a cult leader.

Anthea, the Lamb, I gave a sword since it's the weapon of a knight in shinning armor, since their personality is that of someone always saving others after all.

And lastly a little doodle of everyone's death scars!

(Also if anyone wants to send asks about the AU or to the characters go ahead hehehe, this AU is taking over my life :3 )

Boarders are by @lambouillet

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #cotl fanart #sketch #my art #crimson angel au #anthea #cotl au #cotl ratau #cotl forneus #cult of the lamb ratau #cult of the lamb forneus #crimson angel au lore #crimson angel au art

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togglesbloggle · 1 year ago

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Why do you think tumblr will die in only a few years?

Answer with jargon: a strong correlation between recent economic shifts and chaotic choices by major tech companies is most easily explained if the 'traditional' social media platforms of 2005-2020 are mostly a zero-interest rate phenomenon.

Longer answer, with less jargon: Even though Musk's takeover is making all the headlines recently, the last year has in fact seen major shakeups at many social media platforms, so Twitter is actually part of a trend. Almost inevitably, these are cases of social media companies trying to find a way to squeeze more money out of their userbase (Reddit), cut costs dramatically (Twitter), or both. This marks a sudden departure from a much more relaxed attitude towards revenue in the Pictures Of Cats industry, where the focus was historically more on expanding the userbase to a global scale and then counting on world domination to sort of <????> and then the company would become profitable eventually.

We joke, correctly, that Tumblr has never been profitable. But the entire structure of ad-supported content curation between human users is deeply suspect as a business model; IIRC Twitter was never profitable either, and Facebook has been juicing its numbers in very shenanigany ways. Discord was actually making money on net last I checked, at least a bit, so they're not all completely in the hole. But even if you take the accounting figures at face value, none of these companies has anything like the amount of money that their cultural prominence would suggest. Instead, they're heavily fueled by investment dollars, money given by super-rich people and institutions in the expectation that fueling the growth of the company now will pay off with interest later.

So what changed?

I'm not an expert here, but I'll do my best to muddle through. The American Federal Reserve has one mandate that dominates all others (sometimes called the 'dual mandate'), and one primary tool that it uses to enforce that mandate. The goal is to maintain low (but nonzero) rates of inflation and unemployment, which in their models are deeply interlinked phenomena. The tool is 'rate hikes', or more specifically, tweaking the mandatory rate of interest that banks charge one another when making loans.

As a particular consequence of this, hiking the rate also means that bonds start paying out much better. When the rate hike goes through, that affects people who let the government borrow their personal cash- that is, people who buy bonds- as well as institutions like banks that lend to one another. A rate hike means that you, personally, can make a little extra money by letting the government borrow it for a while. The federal government of the US is a rock-solid low-risk choice for this kind of moneymaking scheme, so the federal interest rate sort of defines the 'number to beat'; to attract investors, a company has to give those investors money at a better percentage than whatever the feds are offering. Particularly since a company is a lot more likely to go out of business than the state!

To wrap this back around to the Pictures Of Cats industry: the higher the rate hike, the better your company needs to be doing (or the less risky it needs to be as an option) to attract big investment dollars. Very high rates make it very hard to convince people to invest in business activity rather than the government itself, and very low rates put moonshots and big dreams on the table, investment-wise, in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible. Social media companies were one of these big dreams.

In the great financial crisis of 2008, the Fed took the dramatic step of reducing their rate to zero, trying to juice the economy back to life. And ever since then, they've kept it there. This has produced an unprecedented amount of funding for very crazy stuff; it's part of what has allowed so many weird new tech companies (Uber, streaming services, etc.) to get so much money, so quickly, and use that to grow to massive size without a clear model of how they're ever going to make money. This state of affairs kept going for quite a while, with no clear stopping point; that zero-interest environment has been one of the shadowy forces in the background that shaped fundamental contours and limits in how our Very Online World has grown and developed. Until COVID.

Or rather, the bounce back from COVID: we suddenly saw a massive spike in inflation and an incredibly strong labor market, as employees quit in record numbers, negotiated higher salaries, and found better work, and at the same time supply chain issues and other economy stuff caused prices to climb dramatically. Recall the Fed's 'dual mandate', to control the employment rate and inflation. This was, basically, kicking them right in the jooblies. They responded in kind, finally finally raising their rates for the first time in 15 years. For some of the people reading this, it'll be the first significant shift in their entire adult lives.

The goal, as I understand it, is to fight inflation by reducing the amount of outside investment into private companies, forcing them to hire fewer people and pay smaller salaries, ultimately drawing money out of the working economy and driving prices back down by lowering demand for everything. You get paid less, so you eat out less, and buy at cheaper restaurants when you do, so restaurants have to compete harder by lowering their prices; seems pretty dodgy to me as a theory, but it's the theory. And the first part will almost certainly work- companies are going to see less investment.

For social media companies that are still paying most of their salaries with investor dollars instead of revenues, this is especially catastrophic. Without outside investment, they're just a massive pile of expenses waiting to happen, huge yearly costs in developer salaries and server fees. This is why, all of a sudden, every social media company is suddenly making bonkers decisions. They're noticing that nobody wants to give them any more money! So they're trying to figure out how to live a lot more cheaply, to actually somehow for reals turn their giant userbases in to some kind of actual revenue stream, or both.

Tumblr is kind of the ur-example of this kind of thing, supporting a very large userbase with no coherent plan whatsoever to start paying its staff with our dollars instead of investors' dollars. When interest rates were low and Scrooge McDuck had nowhere else to hide his pile of gold coins, a crazy kid with a dream was the best alternative available to him. But now, unless something changes, he's going to notice he can just buy bonds instead, and that crazy kid can go take a hike.

That's why I think Tumblr is living on borrowed time, though I don't know how much. Like all cartoons, the economy doesn't really fall off a cliff until somebody looks down and notices they've been standing on thin air this whole time. But they always fall eventually; that's the gag.

#I am not an economics #so if somebody wants to grade my accuracy here #that would be welcome #this is the situation as I understand it but my models are hazy

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iid-smile · 3 months ago

Text

can't get rid of me , fushiguro toji

a strong legacy to be left behind , chapter one

the series masterlist. | previous | next

cw: profanity, mentions of pregnancy (pills) but filtered for megumi's sake, mentions of violence in prison, you're broke, smoking cigarettes

author's note: sigh... im out of my fluff era 😞 (sorry guys) kinda wanted to write something that i think would actually happen in some sort of alternate jjk universe and um idk how far to go because this kind of stuff does happen in the manga, but writing it feels illegal??? idk...

"mom?" megumi peeks out from around the corner in the hallway. "who was calling?"

another groan escapes your lips, around the fifth one in the last three minutes, and you silence your phone once again. "your— excuse my language, shitty deadbeat dad keeps wanting to call me." you slap your hand across your forehead and lean back on the couch, a small creak coming from somewhere below. "apparently he's getting aggressive in prison. shut off the house phone, but they still found my number..."

your son comes closer to you, and you scoop him up, placing him by your side. he glances up at you, and you swear your fight or flight instincts nearly kicked in, (not that you'd be able to fight of a guy as big as toji anyways) flinching slightly from his sharp gaze. it sucks how he looks so much like his dad, because you loved megumi so much. but the image of that guy was almost too much to bear, and he's the spitting image.

"shitty?" he repeats. for a well-behaved kid, he really doesn't respect your words.

"don't say that megs, it's bad language." you swear around him all of the time, so what's the point in scolding him? "only your mama can say it."

"don't tell me what to do."

wow. okay. why do you feel threatened by a six year old? "damn, you've got his attitude too." you mutter, but you've only got yourself to blame for that. you knew you were never cut out to be a mother, so your ways of parenting weren't the best.

he snuggles closer to you, and you openly accept, moving your free hand to his hair to rub over it. "why can't i see toji?"

ah, this lovely story again. "because he left me as soon as you were born, love." really, you couldn't and didn't want to stop yourself from wrapping him up in your arms, feeling the need to protect him. "at this point, he's dead to me. seems like he doesn't feel the same though... i'm so sick of his ass." you also knew it wasn't good parenting to rant to your child about adult issues, but you've only got him to talk to.

that hug was out of comfort then. why are you lying to yourself?

he looks up at you with an irritatingly cute but blank face. "why?"

"god, i hate how many questions you ask." you speak under your breath once again, looking up at the ceiling from any sort of help from a higher being. the amount of times you've had to family-friendly-ify things that have happened isn't even funny. you're not naturally rated u for universal. it's more embarrassing when he recites those same stories to his teachers, and you get called into the school for a little talk.

yikes... here we go. "he lied when he said he gave me the right magical candy after we visited the stork. tried to make it drop you off back to where babies are made in heaven, but i wanted it to deliver you to me, whether he liked that or not." the story's got to be a little filtered somehow. you'd rather not get yourself in the principal's office again. "you're my little hero; a miracle to me. i would've given up on myself ages ago. your dad is a bad, bad man."

the type that would kill. if he found where you lived, or perhaps where megumi goes to school...

"and now i'm left broke in an apartment that barely functions, yet i still spoil my little hero." you sing-song, leaning your head back. "and with what money? i'm broke as hell, megs. can't even make both of us breakfast in the morning cuz your elementary school is too damn expensive."

"is this my fault?"

"...no. no, baby, of course not." you furrow your eyebrows more, a small pout in your lips. "if anything, you made my situation a bit more fortunate."

it's a selfish way of thinking, using your child to avoid solving your problems, using your child to wail and complain about how much you hate your life, but you've got nothing to lose. nothing to lose except for the one person you love.

you can feel your phone buzzing again.

"you stay here and watch tv, okay? mama's gonna go to the kitchen and talk to her friend." he seems a bit relieved as you let go of him, and you stand up.

you hear him mutter. "it's only playing the news though..." no shit it only plays the news, you can't afford to get a good television company that has any kids shows. that is, unless you wanna get scammed out of all of your money.

begrudgingly, you make your way to the kitchen, confirm that you closed the door completely, and answer the vibrating device. "hello?" you sigh, placing the device over your ear.

the other person on the call replies quickly. "is this miss—"

"yeah, yeah, it is. what the hell do you want?"

"um... we apologise, but we strongly suggest that you come to the prison building. he—" the guy's voice cracks. must be really nervous. "pardon me. he's been physically assaulting other inmates and guards, he doesn't follow orders, he never leaves his cell unless it's to visit the closed visits room. you know, in hopes that you'll come..."

obsessed much? where was this energy six years ago? "that's got nothing to do with me."

"please, ma'am. he won't listen to anyone, and we are unable to place him into special facilities as he doesn't emit any cursed energy." ah, he's begging? that's a first. you never would've thought you'd hear a person who works at a prison begging.

cursed energy, cursed energy, this talk again and again and again. "urgh..." you take a deep breath. your options are limited, and they won't stop calling until they can get that lunatic to calm down... surprise, surprise, you really don't want to go.

but if you were really uninterested in him, wouldn't you have already spent the bail money that's been sat on the counter for ages, neatly concealed in an envelope? wouldn't you have paid off all of your debts already? "will i— hm..." choose your words carefully, goddamn it. "can i get a reward of some sort if i go? money?"

"yes, yes! please do visit. there's nothing we can legally do to him in check anymore." ...you think this guy sounds a little too eager.

damn toji and his "supernatural powers", or else you wouldn't get yourself into this mess. finally, after your moment of silence, you respond. "okay. i'll visit."

"thank you—!" you cut off the line.

"fucking bastard..." you drop your phone on the counter, running your hands through your hair and over your face. "stressing me out for what? you don't even love me." your words turn into whispers. with haste, you rummage through your back pocket, trying to find those last few cigarettes, but as your hands were occupied, your eyes moved over to the ashtray that was collecting dust on top of the microwave. oh, right... you don't smoke anymore because there's no ventilation indoors.

you'd have to head out if you wanted to, but then megumi would be in the apartment on his own. and nobody can babysit, because you don't have anybody to ask to babysit. great, you can't smoke until monday. it's a friday afternoon. you have two whole days to get through!

you know for a fact your addiction won't hold out for that long.

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mellxncollie · 5 months ago

Text

Part 2 — this time with a focus on the flashbacks

(Check out the first post for some background info that will be useful)

When we’re looking at the cinematography of any piece, once we’ve established what the norm is (which is the use of anamorphic lenses, as per the last post) we can then look to see where it diverges. As far as I can tell, the only part of Dead Boy Detectives that doesn’t use an anamorphic lens is Edwin’s flashback scene.

Now this is particularly interesting since not only is it filmed with a spherical lens, but it also is the only scene with a different aspect ratio, and the only scene in black and white. Everything about this scene is glaringly different. The easy and obvious reason is that it sets this scene apart as something important to pay attention to, as well as emphasizing the difference in the time period. But I want to highlight how exactly it does this since it is quite clever.

It also raises the question: Why not film Charles’ flashback scenes differently?

Like last time, let’s start with a review of history and technical information.

What is an aspect ratio?

This is just the ratio of the width to height of the frame. 1:1 is a square, whereas 2:1 is a rectangle twice as wide as it is high. In film, aspect ratios are usually listed as a ratio of x:1, so you get common formats like 1.85:1 and 2.39:1 (the second being a super-widescreen format, i.e. a long rectangle). Other common ratios are listed with different numbers, like 4:3 and 16:9. Any time I write an aspect ratio with other numbers, I’ll also list it at least once with the x:1 format so you can compare things easily.

What are some common aspect ratios and what have the standards been across the past 100+ years of film and television history?

Brief history of aspect ratios in Film

The original silent films were mostly filmed in 4:3 (1.33:1). This aspect ratio persisted until the late 20s/early 30s when the Academy Ratio, 1.375:1, was introduced and somewhat standardized (at least in the USA) until the 50s. Then, widescreen became pretty popular and was used to draw audiences to the theaters. At this point, we get tons of variation in aspect ratios in films. But, for American theaters, common projections are 1.85:1 (which became super common) and 2.40:1 or 2.39:1, whereas in some European theaters, 1.66:1 is a more common ratio.

Some other common ratios deal particularly with 70mm film:

Standard 70mm film is usually 2.2:1. However, using anamorphic lenses will create a higher aspect ratio, and unless using a specific format common in the 50s and 60s (Todd-AO), this wasn’t often the aspect ratio that viewers would see. (The Sound of Music was shot with Todd-AO in 2.2:1, but until recently, most people only saw the general release in 35mm, which had a different aspect ratio)

IMAX, which is 1.43:1 (if IMAX is shot on film and not digital, it uses 70mm film)

Brief history of aspect ratios in Television

Pretty much all televisions until around the 1990s-2000s used 4:3, and broadcasters would show content in that aspect ratio. If a movie was broadcast over TV, sometimes there would be letterboxing (black bars), but pan-and-scan was common, where they would crop the movie to the 4:3 ratio, and pan around to wherever the action was happening. Starting in the 90s, widescreen televisions started to gain traction, and the 16:9 (1.77:1) format prevailed, and TV broadcasting had some more wiggle room for aspect ratio.

**Side note: Computers are often at this ratio, so if you watch older TV shows on your laptop, you’ll probably see pillarboxing (black columns on the sides), whereas newer movies are often shot with higher aspect ratios so they have letterboxing (black bars on the top and bottom)**

A note on widescreen

Movies are usually considered widescreen if they’re any higher than 4:3 (or 1.33:1). However, because of the aspect ratio of modern TVs and computers, and the even higher aspect ratios of most smartphones in landscape mode, a lot of people (especially younger generations) won’t consider things “widescreen” until they’ve got a much higher aspect ratio.

Streaming and Aspect Ratios

A weird effect of streaming services, and in particular Netflix, was the rise of a new standard in aspect ratios, 2:1. It’s used in shows like Stranger Things. It’s widescreen enough that it feels cinematic but it displays well on lots of devices. There’s minimal letterboxing (or none) on your phone, and more letterboxing on your computer and TV, but not enough to seem like you’re watching a movie instead of a show.

Netflix (and Amazon) really like this aspect ratio. In 2017, one of the production requirement documents from Netflix stated that any aspect ratio greater than 2:1 had to be subject to further approval (though now they state “Aspect ratio choices should be discussed with Netflix for approval”). It’s become increasingly common, and these companies have a pretty set standard for 1.9:1 and 2:1. If we see those ratios on a streaming show it isn’t always a creative choice, similar to the way older TV shows were required to be in 4:3.

A brief reminder about lens types with some extra bits about the timeline.

That 2.39:1 aspect ratio that movies use? That’s the standard for anamorphic lenses (discussed in Part 1). Anamorphic technology was developed around 1915 (for military reasons), but wasn’t used for films until 1927, and didn’t become commonly used until the 50s.

So, with that, let’s look at Dead Boy Detectives.

Aspect Ratio

The whole show is shot with anamorphic lenses, but instead of a 2.39:1 ratio, they use a 2.2:1 ratio. This is a really interesting choice since it is an uncommon ratio. It’s more widescreen than Netflix shows (they started shooting before being acquired by Netflix though so we can ignore any impact Netflix may have had on this decision) but not quite the widescreen that anamorphic lenses typically use.

Movies and shows can use almost any aspect ratio today, but it is still common to stick to the standards. When they choose something else, it’s not because of technical limitations, but because of a creative choice.

The one caveat I have is that Doom Patrol used 2.2:1, so it’s possible that HBO and DC originally just chose this for continuity between the two, before the show was shifted over to Netflix and the Sandman universe. But for this post, I’m going to assume that they were sort of starting from scratch when choosing the look.

If we consider what a 2.2:1 ratio has been used for, and what viewers have been “trained” to associate it with, we end up with Todd-AO 70mm prints and a few others from the 50s and 60s. It’s the kind of aspect ratio you don’t see often unless you’re lucky enough to live near a theater with a 70mm film projector. There are a few notable movies shot in this aspect ratio: Lawrence of Arabia and 2001: A Space Odyssey. Some more recent movies that used 2.2:1 include Dunkirk, Tomorrowland, Nope, and the non-IMAX parts of Oppenheimer. It’s also occasionally used in recent TV, but not a ton, and not with many popular shows.

This is an aspect ratio used by large-format, high-budget movies. As mentioned in the previous post, anamorphic lenses are associated with a romanticized notion of “cinema” and this aspect ratio only serves to further that, associating Dead Boy Detectives with the limited pool of content made in this aspect ratio. It may be a TV show, but it’s being shot like a movie.

Another really interesting point that follows up on the previous post is the idea of using cinematography to enhance the sense of the supernatural and separate the characters from the normalcy of the real world. The aspect ratio is a bit unnatural too, which serves to complement and augment this.

Let’s briefly look at what the show would look like in different aspect ratios. As a baseline, this is the 2.2:1 aspect ratio that the show is in:

If they had gone for a 2.39:1, a very typical aspect ratio for the kind of lenses they’re using, it would look like this:

When we see things shot with anamorphic lenses, we’re used to seeing it in a frame like this one. Especially in shots like this with the dramatic lens flares, this is going to look and feel familiar to people who watch a lot of movies. It has more of that Star Trek (2009) look, and feels kind of glossy and polished.

Next up, we have 2:1, the aspect ratio popularized by Netflix. It’s a reasonable possibility that if this show had been produced by Netflix from the very beginning, this is what it would look like.

Over the past few years, this has become the “streaming platform” aspect ratio. With the extra vertical height, it’s got some extra space to breathe. We would get less of the background and more of the characters, especially since Dead Boy Detectives favors centered shots of single characters over group shots like this one.

Finally, I’ve got the scene in 1.85:1, a ubiquitous film aspect ratio, yet one that is not used often on TV.

This is considered to be standard widescreen and it’s a great aspect ratio. Given how many creative decisions in this show were made to emphasize the supernatural, this could have been another good option as an aspect ratio, since we’re not used to seeing TV shows like this. However, they’re using anamorphic lenses so this would have required a lot of cropping. Because of how the anamorphic lenses work, this would also necessitate a lot of additional attention during the shoot. If they had gone with 1.85:1, we likely would have gotten a show shot on sphericals instead.

So what about Edwin’s flashback?

This section is shot in 4:3 (1.33:1). It’s the only part shot in a different aspect ratio. Sure, changing the aspect ratio forces us to acknowledge the difference in time period, but why exactly does it work so well?

Remember the history part? 4:3 was used for most of the early silent films. If we are to consider the “historical accuracy” of shooting the different time periods in this show, anamorphic lenses and 2.2:1 make sense for the present-day parts and Charles’ flashback.

But in 1916, widescreen cinema wasn’t a thing. If Edwin had ever been to see a movie while alive, it would have been in 4:3. The first time he would have ever gotten to see something in widescreen (if we assume he watches any movies at all) would be after he escaped Hell.

Using this aspect ratio is not just a vague decision that a lower aspect ratio and black & white looks older. It is, like many other aspects of the show, historically informed. They could have used the academy ratio here, but they didn’t. They used 4:3.

Not only does the aspect ratio switch for this scene, but also the height of the image changes.

This transition also sort of mimics the breathing effect of anamorphic lenses:

Something you may not know about how Netflix usually works is that regardless of the aspect ratio of the picture, the video file you see is part of a larger container, which is usually 16:9 (1.77:1). The black bars on top and bottom are part of the file, as shown in this screenshot of how it looks when you load up some screencaps in photoshop.

If you make gifs, edits, or are otherwise just used to having video files you are probably familiar with this. The Dead Boy Detectives files have letterboxing that is cropped out whenever people make fan content with it, whereas if you have a file for an independent movie, it usually does not have those black bars. Those black bars being part of the file make this transition possible.

We don’t usually realize that the container extends beyond the picture. For all we know, that’s the edge of the frame. But then it changes and forces us to reconsider what we previously thought to be true. Breaking out of what we think to be the image height is jarring, especially considering that this is the only time it happens (other than the brief flashbacks to the same footage later in the show).

Here’s a mockup of what it would look like if they kept the same image height, and just moved from 2.2:1 to 4:3 without expanding vertically. I find that it doesn’t have quite the same effect.

This would look so cool if it was being shown at a movie theater on a huge widescreen, but we’re not watching this show in theaters. We’re watching it on screens where this would make it look small; what they do instead retains the feel of watching something big and cinematic.

So back to the actual transition:

In breaking out of the perceived container, it’s as if it were breaking the fourth wall, an acknowledgment of the video’s format and its true container. This story is addressed to the audience in a way that the rest of the show is not, and it uses the aspect ratio to let us know that.

Spherical Lens

(I would highly recommend you read pt 1 if you haven’t already)

Edwin’s flashback is not only the sole scene with its own aspect ratio, it’s also the only scene shot with a spherical lens. Like the aspect ratio, this is a historically informed choice. Anamorphic lenses technically existed during the last year or two of Edwin’s life, but movies were not being shot on them.

How do we know that a spherical lens is being used, and how does this affect the show?

One of the quickest ways to identify the lens is to look at the shapes of the bokeh. There’s not much bokeh in the flashback, so I apologize for the intensity of my first example. But here, look behind Edwin’s head, where the lights from above reflect on the wet basement floor. They’re all circles, instead of the ovals that we get with the anamorphics.

The lens flares are also really different. Remember that the anamorphic lens flares are horizontal lines. Spherical lenses don’t do that, but they can produce lots of different kinds of lens flares. In this shot, the flashlight pointed at the lens lets off lines in lots of directions, kind of like sun rays.

This shot has another cool flare, in much more detail this time:

The next shot shows us more of the circular bokeh and another kind of lens flare.

For the bokeh, look at the lights on the ceiling as well as the corners of the out-of-focus architectural details (the semi-arches).

The lens flare here is the bouncing, blurry circle near the middle, as well as the brighter shape near the center bottom.

We can then look at the things that are not different, but absent when using the spherical lens: barrel distortion and focus falloff.

In this example, look at the windows in the background, as well as Edwin’s chair. An anamorphic lens would distort the vertical lines, bending them into a gentle fisheye. It would also make that chair and the lines of the window frames a bit blurry, as they’re close to the edges of the frame. Instead, the lines are straight and clear throughout the whole shot.

In this next example, not only do we get a great view of the lack of focus falloff, with clear lines throughout the shot, but we can see more of the difference in perspective and distortion of lines.

You may notice that the windows and doors are not perfectly straight up and down. But is this barrel distortion? If there was barrel distortion, the walls would curve back towards the center of the frame at the top.

Spherical lenses are often the ‘default’ lens. They’re wonderful and used in a lot of media because they are neutral. They distort less, thus representing the world closer to how it actually is. If we consider the anamorphic lenses in the rest of the show being used to enhance the sense of supernatural and story, changing to a spherical lens enhances the sharp reality. This is Edwin, alive.

The image breaks out of its perceived container, reaching out to the audience, and then changes the lens to be more ‘real.’ In these two changes, not only do we have a more historically accurate image, but it's as if the creators are issuing a warning to us. Maybe the demon isn’t real, but bullies are. Kids can be cruel. Classmates hurt their queer peers. This is not fantasy, and this is as true in 1916 as it is today.

Using a spherical lens in this instance, juxtaposed to the rest of the show, is a dramatic shift to make, as it alters just about everything in the image. In using a less distorted picture, for this, we are reminded of reality and life and the mundane.

On Charles’ Flashback (and an experiment)

Edwin’s flashback got the Cinematography Treatment™ but what about Charles’ flashback? It’s shot with the same aspect ratio and lens as the rest of the show. From the perspective of historical accuracy, this is fine. It’s a scene that could have been shot in 1989, cinematographically speaking. The reason I suspect that it wasn’t given any stand-out look is because, unlike Edwin’s flashback, Charles’ flashback scenes are closely tied to the present-day plot. They aren’t just scenes of Charles remembering things, they are a direct result of the Night Nurse’s “memory magic.”

Maybe changing something here would separate us too much from the plot. Both flashbacks (in episodes 4 and 7) are induced for a specific purpose related to other present-day characters. It wouldn’t make as much sense to have them be standalones.

However, if I were simultaneously the showrunner, screenwriter, and cinematographer, I would give Charles a standalone flashback scene. In that flashback scene, here’s how I would shoot it:

There would be a much deeper depth of field/smaller aperture than the rest of the show, so the background would be more in focus.

There would be harder, less-diffused lighting. This would also impact the coloring, and I’d maybe add some more saturated lights.

I’d try to make an argument to shoot that scene on film (and then argue to do Edwin’s on film too).

There would be a different aspect ratio; 2.2:1 isn’t out of the realm of possibility for the 80s, but it wasn’t common, and it wouldn’t have the kind of impact I’m searching for if it didn’t change.

There are three different aspect ratios I would choose between, and the lens would change depending on my pick.

I’ve made some mock-ups for how these would look, though I cannot adjust things like bokeh and depth of focus, and I can only do so much with the lighting.

2.39:1 with anamorphic lenses (specifically Panavision lenses) This is a super standard widescreen, with a popular lens from the time. We don’t have lens info for the rest of the show, but I think they’re using Panavision anamorphics anyway so the lens may not be a change. Big, blockbuster action movies from the 80s would often be shot in this (perhaps most relevantly, Ghostbusters), and it’s a style that kind of faded in popularity in the 90s and 2000s, so it can have more of a retro look, especially if shot on film. One downside to this would be the aspect ratio change would not be as dramatic.

Movies from the 80s shot with this combo: Raiders of the Lost Ark (and other Indiana Jones movies), Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (as well as Episode 4, which came out in the 70s. Episode 6 used the same ratio and did use anamorphic lenses, but not Panavision), Ghostbusters

1.85:1 and spherical lenses. This is also ‘widescreen,’ but the advantage of using this aspect ratio is that we could get another dramatic breaking of the image container, just like in Edwin’s flashback. It’s an incredibly common setup, so it’s not really unique, but it would look different from the rest of the show. Given how pervasive ultra-widescreen still is today, I think a lower aspect ratio would also ramp up the ‘nostalgia’ factor a bit. Using a spherical lens we’d end up with the same sense of stark reality that we get for Edwin’s flashback as well (the warning that kids are cruel, but this time to people of color), and I like the idea of that as a parallel.

Movies from the 80s shot with this combo: Back to the Future, Dirty Dancing, The Princess Bride, An American Werewolf in London, Clue, Another Country

1.66:1 and spherical lenses. This is a ratio that was used widely across Europe, but has never been a common ratio in the USA. However, by the 80s, filmmakers were going for a more widescreen look so it was fading from popularity everywhere. The 80s liked widescreen, so it’s maybe not the best pick for making a scene look “80s”. However, my main motivation for this ratio is that my personal picks for the most Edwin-coded and most Charles-coded queer films are both 80s films shot with a 1.66:1 ratio. We would also get the same benefits from using the spherical lens as I mentioned in the 1.85:1 section.

Movies from the 80s shot with this combo: Maurice, My Beautiful Laundrette, Law of Desire (La ley del deseo), and an honorable mention to Chungking Express, a 90s film that really exemplifies the kind of look I'm going for here

Giving Charles’ flashback a special treatment would probably do a lot to more firmly establish his character as a co-protagonist rather than a deuteragonist, which is definitely not the case but does seem to be how some people view him.

With the impact of the spherical lens and aspect ratio in Edwin’s flashback, the final two options for Charles flashback would be the closest in terms of echoing Edwin’s flashback, and would probably provide the most gravity and sense of crushing reality to the scene.

Setting a single scene (or two scenes) aside like this, with a unique aspect ratio, lens, and color grading (which I didn’t explore much for the Charles flashback), makes us consider a scene more independently from the rest of the show. Edwin’s flashback is a striking moment with a very different look, and that’s deeply memorable. It comes together to push how tragic and unjust Edwin’s story is.

—————

This concludes the planned portion of my cinematography analysis. I had a ton of fun researching and writing this (and making all the graphics) and I hope you all find this interesting/helpful/informative :)

Finally, I want to give another name drop to the cinematographers, Marc Laliberté, Craig Powell, and Pierre Gill. They’ve really nailed it from the very first episode to the last, and there’s so much intention and thought given to every aspect of how they shoot this.

#dead boy detectives #dbda meta #dbda #edwin payne #charles rowland #cinematography #dead boy detectives analysis #cinematography analysis #mygifs #dbdagifs

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thisisnotthenerd · 10 months ago

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the ratgrinders' potential levels

cannot believe i was right about the xp reqs. the bad kids & the seven get 'special treatment' (milestone leveling and saving the world), while others have to work with xp. which tells you a lot about why people fled during prompocalypse.

ok getting into the algebra now: the rat grinders have gone into the far haven woods every day for the last two years, for 3 hours after school, and 9 hours/day on weekends. presumably they keep this up during the summer.

they have supposedly defeated 80,000 or more of three types of creatures: rats, spiders, and twig blights. there are some variations to what these could be, so here's a list of what this could encompass, assuming the ratgrinders are not facing creatures over CR 1.

giant rat: CR 1/8, 25 XP

swarm of rats: CR 1/4, 50 XP

giant wolf spider: CR 1/8, 25 XP

swarm of spiders: CR 1/2, 100 XP

giant flying spider: CR 1, 200 XP

giant spider: CR 1, 200 XP

ice spider: CR 1, 200 XP

twig blight: CR 1/8, 25 XP

needle blight: CR 1/4, 50 XP

thorn slinger: CR 1/2, 100 XP

vine blight: CR 1/2, 100 XP

razorvine blight: CR 1, 200 XP

thorny: CR 1: 200 XP

the full list is a little difficult to do calculations on, so let's condense it. assume a quarter of the 80000 creatures were CR 1/8, a quarter were CR 1/4, so on and so forth.

how much xp would they earn? how much would they level for the amount they ground? grinded? for?

critical assumption here: in the games i've played, we've always done milestone or zeroed out xp with each level, i.e. after earning 300 xp to get to level 2, you have to earn 900 xp to get to level 3, not 600. this analysis assumes that you have to earn the next levels xp reqs on top of your current total. i'm including the xp chart here to clarify:

level 1: 0 XP, +2, total 0 XP

level 2: 300 XP, +2, total 300 XP

level 3: 900 XP, +2, total 1200 XP

level 4: 2700 XP, +2, total 3900 XP

level 5: 6500 XP, +3, total 10400 XP

level 6: 14000 XP, +3, total 24400 XP

level 7: 23000 XP, +3, total 47400 XP

level 8: 34000 XP, +3, total 81400 XP

level 9: 48000 XP, +4, total 129400 XP

level 10: 64000 XP, +4, total 193400 XP

level 11: 85000 XP, +4, total 278400 XP

level 12: 100000 XP, +4, total 378400 XP

level 13: 120000 XP, +5, total 498400 XP

level 14: 140000 XP, +5, total 638400 XP

level 15: 165000 XP, +5, total 803400 XP

level 16: 195000 XP, +5, total 998400 XP

level 17: 225000 XP, +6, total 1223400 XP

level 18: 265000 XP, +6, total 1488400 XP

level 19: 305000 XP, +6, total 1793400 XP

level 20: 355000 XP, +6, total 2148400 XP

if we went cumulatively, based on the number of creatures the bad kids have defeated, they'd be getting up there in xp. we know they've had opportunities to defeat creatures outside of the quests that we've seen, given the oneshots. thus, i'm going with the second explanation, because otherwise the ratgrinders would be 19th level, and i don't think they are, because it would make any pvp setups super unbalanced, which are neither fun to play nor watch. this puts them on a little more even ground and emphasizes the amount of work it takes to xp grind to level against milestone leveling.

for the CR 1/8s: assuming roughly 20,000 creatures, they'd get 25 XP per, which means 500,000 xp. that's cumulatively enough to get to level 13, on just those creatures. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 83,333.33, which is enough to get you to 10th level cumulatively and 8th non cumulatively.

this scales up to the 1/4s, 1/2s and the 1s since the xp gains double for each challenge rating rather than plateauing as they do at higher levels.

for the CR 1/4s: 1,000,000 xp. that's cumulatively enough to get to level 16 on just those creatures. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 166,666.66, which is enough to get you to 15th level cumulatively and 9th non cumulatively.

for the CR 1/2s: 2,000,000 xp. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 333,333.33, which is enough to get you to 19th level cumulatively, and 11th level non cumulatively.

and for the 1s, 4,000,000 xp. well over what you'd need to get to level 20, on just the CR 1s. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 666,666.66, which is well over 20th level cumulatively, and 14th level non cumulatively.

using this estimate and adding all of this up, each member of the ratgrinders would have gathered enough xp to be level 20 cumulatively, and level 17 non cumulatively.

obviously the actual numbers would scale differently; initially, they would likely have to tackle these creatures as a party, but over time would take care of them individually. this is a bunch of kids doing the intro to class assignment for every assignment for two years straight.

level 20 seems extreme for the aguefort adventuring academy; let's scale it down a bit. the creatures specifically mentioned are probably giant rats, giant wolf spiders, and twig blights, based on the descriptions from jawbone.

all of these are CR 1/8, or 25 XP each. 80000 would give an xp total of 2,000,000, which would put each of the ratgrinders at around 11th level, a little higher level than the bad kids at the moment. however, since their fighting prowess scaled up, and they're probably going out in elmville and actively hindering the bad kids in some way, that level is very likely to increase.

what we saw in the episode

now the sticking point is mary ann rolling a 35. we know she got some kind of transmutation buff. a little tricky wording from brennan; fabian had enhance ability on, which is a transmutation spell. he did not say it was enhance ability.

mary ann is a barbarian, so she already gets advantage on athletics if she's raging, which i assume she was. the buff probably wouldn't be something that grants advantage.

assuming the lower estimate of 11th level, mary ann would get a +4 proficiency bonus, and i'm assuming she has 20 in strength, so +5 to her strength based skills, for a total of +9. at the high estimate of level 17, she would have a +6 to her proficiency bonus, which would give her a total of +11 to athletics. this is still not high enough to get a 35, even on a nat 20, which brennan would have declared if he had rolled one. she could conceivably accomplish this with the brawny feat, which allows for expertise in the athletics skill, which would give her a +17, meaning she could hit a 35 on a 18.

or, the buff was something like skill empowerment, which is a 5th level transmutation spell that gives the target expertise in a skill that they already have proficiency in. this spell is available to bards and wizards, among other classes, both of which we presume are in the ratgrinders. ruben could have cast skill empowerment on mary ann and given her bardic inspiration (lower estimate: d10, higher estimate: d12), both of which would have enabled that 35.

judging by the implication that she could not accomplish that feat without some kind of buff, i'm going with the latter explanation.

anyway i did too much math for this to not go in the stats series, or the school series. so this will be added to the spreadsheet later.

i hope this is useful.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #musings on the solisian school district #dimension 20 meta #dungeons and dragons #milestone vs xp leveling #thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #ratgrinders #the bad kids #dnd mechanics #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #d20 spoilers #d20 #d20 fantasy high #the perils of xp leveling

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