#it should be at least more manageable

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[shrugsinchinese]

Silly comic I started LAST winter that’s pretty ooc now cause of the new episodes haha

I just wanted to play with silly dnd fashion so here u go

[fuumiku]

It was Maid Day today yesterday a week ago so I got struck by inspiration to draw the worsties, and it ran away from me into a whole AU where they’re coworkers at a maid cafe. She’s a med student & this is just a part time job, and this is his depression job while he gets his life back together. He needs something he can be workaholic about to forget what it’s like having a personal life and personal issues. He’s actually the accountant, but the new hire janitor (Izutsumi) doesn’t show up for half her shifts and is a sloppy worker, so he gets the extra work of doing her job on top of his because he’s undervalued and overworked. Of course, janitors also have an uniform to keep the aesthetic cohesion as they go about cleaning the place, of course.

Senshi’s the part time cook you only see slivers off, he’s kind and warm when you do see him and have a chat but most shifts he’s in and out the kitchen without a trace. Laios and Falin are regulars because Falin and Marcille are besties & in the same med school, Laios accompanies Falin as she visits her friend at work and gets hooked on the food. Chilchuck has to remind Marcille to work instead of chatting with Falin for an hour, and next thing he knows she’s distracting him from work too. That’s it that’s the AU. Inspired by this idol AU fanart a bit <3

This was not meant to be birthday gift but well…… Happy bday Chil!!!

Read from left to right

[moeblob]

cute? D: (thank you so much!)

[chiropteracupola]

"Are you finished with my portrait yet? Show me!" "Cipacton, I can't draw you if you keep moving!"

[vaguely-concerned]

just had the thought 'in the end the most important thing varric taught rook was how to make a home for, with, and in other people' and then I had to go lie down on the floor and clutch at my head in unceasing agony for a few hours, as you may well imagine. hawke and the kirkwall crew........ in the end you kind of saved the world a bit in the most characteristically indirect and chaotic of ways. not by anything in particular that you did or achieved or accomplished (lmao imagine!), but just by -- having existed, and by the love that was always there, despite it all, in all its imperfections, even when no one was saved by it in the end. you're not here right now and you're not quite haunting the narrative but I hear your voices bickering and arguing and laughing from the other room. (and so, I think, does varric. all the time.)

'did you think you mattered, hawke? did you think anything you ever did mattered?' yeah actually, varric says with da2 and keeps saying through the series. you were here. and I loved you. and as it turns out that mattered more than almost anything in the world, no matter how long it lasted or how fucked up it was at the time or what else happens, because varric manages to pass that feeling, that intangible... home, that echo of you all as you were together, that love, hopefully the best parts of it, on to someone else for them to bring with them on their journey, with their family. and maybe the world will be kinder this time. you never know. merrill's line of 'Everything affects everything. We were born, a bunch of things happened, and now we're in a mess with our friends.' varric's greatest fear of becoming his parents. even through the wreck and the ruin of the world, ghosts upon ghosts upon ghosts of love -- malcolm hawke, who we never even see, but his life touched hawke's and hawke's touched varric's and varric's touched rook's and rook is passing it on to the family they're creating. the unbroken legacy of love shines through in ways that are stronger and stranger than any magic. help

[wyvernity]

sss day my favorite national holiday WOOOOHHHH

bonus

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Secondo and Alpha be nastyyyyyyy (I LOVE their dynamic. This situationship is all I live for these days)

It's such a twisted thing to want, Alpha thinks, arms crossed in front of his chest in a way he's desperate not to qualify as defensive. Him, proud and independent as he is, craving what he knows is to come...fucking ironic. Alpha squares up his shoulders, hands flexing against his own biceps.

It's subtle, but telling. He's fidgety. Alpha's never fidgety. But they say exceptions make the rule, and this one might be it. It's infuriating, really, especially given that Secondo hasn't looked up from his paperwork once, in the twelve minutes Alpha's been there. He counted. The scratch of the pen against paper, the flickering light of the old desk lamp, the familiar scent of old wood and expensive cologne, it would be relaxing, if it weren't for the burning pit of anticipation in Alpha's stomach. As it is, it's just part of the agonizing torture Secondo is putting him through just by making him wait.

In any other situation, Alpha would have no issue standing stock still in complete silence for hours, but this setting, the reason he's here doesn't let him slip into the depth of his mind to cheat boredom. He has to stop himself from bouncing his leg, him. Alpha is definitely going insane.

The second the pen stops dancing across paper, Alpha straightens, internally wincing at the popping sound from somewhere in his back. Secondo finally, finally sets his paperwork aside, taking off his reading glasses with a relieved sigh. Alpha, unfortunately for him, finds his tongue too late to ask him to keep them on. Another time. A click of tongue refocuses his attention on the man behind the desk. Without a word, Secondo snaps his fingers and points down, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

The shame boils up in Alpha's throat, coats his mouth in a bitter taste, but guilty arousal sparks in his guts. His legs take him toward the desk, make him round it up until he's standing between it and Secondo's chair. Maybe if he words it like that, if he blames his knees for bending until he's on them before the second Emeritus brother, Alpha can pretend he doesn't have any choice, that something made him do it, but the truth is that he's totally in controll, muscles, joints and sinews perfectly responding to his lust-addled brain. Yes, Alpha is totally in control of himself, and is willingly handing over that oh so precious control to none other than Secondo Emeritus.

It's worth it, though, for the leather clad hand raking through his hair, thumb drawing circles on one of the shaved sides. Secondo hums, parts his legs a bit more so Alpha can scoot closer. The hand travels further, wraps around a horn, pulls Alpha's head back in one fluid motion. There is strenght in Secondo's grip, despite his human nature, something that almost feels unyielding, even though Alpha knows better. Knows that he could, technically, shake it off, lean away from it. He won't. He wouldn't even dream of it.

The base of his horns must glow especially bright tonight, because Secondo's mouth twitches before he hums.

"Long day ?"

Alpha groans when Secondo's touch shifts again, thumbs now digging into the tense muscles at the back of his neck. And if he arches into it like a giant cat, well. That's his problem, and his only.

"Long week. You ?"

"I'm considering arsenic poisoning. For myself."

The dry answer makes Alpha huff as he leans closer, nuzzling his face in Secondo's thigh, looking up at him through his lashes.

"Want some help unwinding ?"

Though his touch is still gentle, Secondo huffs, mask of disdainful coldness falling on his face in an instant. Alpha takes in a a lungful of air, far too aware of what that means for him. He shouldn't rejoice in the idea. (He does.) The switch has just been flipped, game on.

"And you are offering to provide said help ?"

The mocking tone has Alpha reajusting his position, definitely not squirming. Secondo clicks his tongue.

"Oh, you are. Cute."

It doesn't sound like a compliment, in his mouth. The word is venom-clad, sinking into Alpha's flesh like a shard of glass. He snarls in answer, but when Secondo takes the opportunity to hook a thumb in his mouth, sliding it along his gum, testing the point of thick fangs, Alpha goes against every single one of his instincts, staying still and docile, not even one attempt at biting Secondo's fingers off.

The leather taste of the gloves coats Alpha's tongue when the former Papa pries his jaws open, pushing down on the forked appendice with a hum. The way he looks down at Alpha- with that kind of dissmissive amusement one would direct at a stumbling puppy, still gauche on its too-big paws- anyone with half a braincell would know there is no metaphor less inadequate that this one to describe Alpha, and yet, it is indeed how Secondo treats him.

And the worst part ? Alpha likes it.

Drool pools under the fire ghoul's tongue, some starting to dribble from the corner of his mouth, making Secondo tut.

"So messy. But, luckily for you, I like it sloppy, and I'm willing to give you a chance to prove yourself useful. Aren't you grateful ?"

His brain now too foggy to wonder what in the living hell is wrong with him to want this kind of treatment, Alpha nods, eager for the former Papa's taste, skin burning and insides churning in the best way, the way he chases everytime he steps through Secondo's threshold. There is something weirdly freeing about being unable to do anything but nod, trusting the man holding him put to handle him. Handle him. Like the good guard dog he tries to be. Except right now, he doesn't have to make decisions, to look out for someone else, to be on high alert. He can slump under firm hands and let someone lift the weight of the worlds from his shoulders, at least for a little while, a small reprieve he needs so much more than he's comfortable admitting.

The hands leave Alpha, Secondo finally reaching for his belt, expensive leather making a soft sound against no less precious fabric as it's slipped out of the loops. Try as he might, Alpha can't help the way his ears twitch at that, tail traitorously wagging a few times. Secondo's condescending chuckle is back to taunt Alpha.

"Eager."

Alpha hums, too focused on the rasp of the former Papa's zipper, itching to fish the man's cock out of his boxers himself. Still, he let Secondo do it, until he's salivating at the sight in front of him, pleased to see the former Papa is already well on his way to hardness from just the sight of Alpha on his knees. Licking his lips, the fire ghoul looks up at Secondo, finding mismatched eyes already on him.

"Make it good, and maybe I'll make you cum tonight, mmh ?"

You don't need to tell Alpha twice. It's a powerful thing, want, the way it overrides everything when just at the right intensity, reducing a powerful hellbeast fuelled by infernal flames to a desperate little thing kneeling at the feet of a human man, a prayer in his eyes that for once has nothing to do with his religious beliefs.

Alpha cannot hold back his groan when he gets his mouth on Secondo, lips wrapping around the head with a wet sound. He isn't Dew, he isn't foolish enough to try and fully take him in one go. he has plenty experience, which is precisely why he doesn't do that. While the concept of a completely wrecked voice is sexy, he doesn't need to give Omega even more ammunition when the quint will inevitably corner him with glistening eyes asking him if he had an interesting night. So, Alpha takes his time, eases himself into it, coaxing Secondo to full hardness with careful licks as he gradually takes more and more of him, until the head hits the back of his throat, eliciting a low hum from the former Papa.

That may be what Alpha prefers in all this, the lack of urgency, how Secondo will make sure to call on him at the oddest hours to make sure they won't be interrupted, that they have all the time in the world.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are quiet groans and soft huffs, coupled with the wet noises of Alpha working his mouth around Secondo, letting it get a bit sloppy - for the enjoyment of them both. It doesn't matter that Alpha's hard and dying to get a hand on himself, something Secondo won't let happen, it doesn't matter that his knees ache dully or that his jaw is challenged and will certainly hurt afterward ; all that matters is that the fire ghoul's head is blissfully empty, his skin finally not feeling too tight for him.

There's no urgency, yes, but when Alpha hums low as he steadily bobs his head, Secondo's hand scrambles for a fistful of red strands, forcing the fire ghoul down with a breathy "just like that". Alpha's tail wags briefly, knowing the man's tells enough to understand he's starting to feel his climax approaching. It hasn't been so long, all things considered, which only makes pride fill the fire ghoul's chest. He did that. The thought has him being more thorough, hollowing his cheeks and teasing the head with his forked tongue.

"Fuuuuck," Secondo groans, "you might get something out of tonight after all."

It's close enough to a praise for Alpha to perk up, too relaxed by now to be embarrassed by such a response. It just is so hard to feel anything but contentement like this, Secondo heavy on his tongue, his scent all the fire ghoul can smell, his sounds all he can hear. Eyes half closed, muscles finally loose, Alpha hums again, and swallows, throat constricting around Secondo's cock, which earns him a string of italian curses his brain barely processes.

"C'mon, c'mon," and that breathy tone does catch Alpha's attention, ableit with some delay, "c'mon you mutt, almost there-"

The fire ghoul's eyes shamefully roll back at being called that, moan ripped from him before he can even register it, and it seems to be all Secondo needed to cum down Alpha's throat with a loud groan.

The fire ghoul let him come down from the high at his pace, taking the opportunity to watch Secondo's chest heave, his sweaty throat, the fluttering of his eyelids, the way his face went lax, creases and tense lines smoothed out by bliss. Once Alpha decides he's given enough time to the former Papa to recover, he takes to direct his attention back to himself with a cheeky flick of tongue against the oversensitive tip of his spent cock. Alpha is treated to a delicious hiss as Secondo flinches, gloves creaking as he white knuckles his armrest, glaring without real heat at the fire ghoul knelt between his legs. Alpha finally releases him, smiling unapologetically. Fuck, he's so hard still, and the sight of Secondo looking good enough to eat isn't making it any easier. The former Papa rolls his eyes, almost prompting Alpha to serve him some snark, until a perfectly blacked shoe lands on his crotch, sole grinding against his straining cock, and he forgets anything that doesn't have anything to do with the white-hot pleasure shooting up his spine.

Secondo smirks, eyebrow rising.

"Let's see how long it'll take for you to cream your pants, shall we ?"

[lord-squiggletits]

On the MegOP fandom trend of saying "Optimus should apologize to Megatron"

(Speaking specifically for IDW1, though it applies to a lot of MegOP especially ones that do continuity soup with heavy reference to IDW1)

I was talking to a friend in DMs and they mentioned a common headcanon/fanfic trope that I also concurred with, and both of us said it's something that bothers us: a common take in the MegOP fandom goes basically along the lines of "If Optimus had just apologized to Megatron, the war would've ended" (or other variants including "if he'd tried harder to understand Megatron/work in collaboration with him").

And firstly, this is incorrect for a number of reasons:

There were attempts at peace negotiations during the war, but they fell through. So Optimus WAS trying to work with Megatron to the point of participating in formal diplomatic meetings.

Optimus tried multiple times on page to convince Megatron to just stop fighting and work with him for peace (Autocracy, Chaos Theory) that Megatron rejected. Given that these on-page examples take place at the start of the war and at the end of the war respectively, it makes sense that Optimus asking Megatron for collaboration is something he was trying/willing to do the entire time. So again, Optimus was always willing AND ATTEMPTING to work with Megatron and find a joint solution

Even before the war when Optimus was still Orion, he was very explicitly inspired by Megatron's writing and names Megatron as one of the people who "opened his eyes" to the wrongs of Cybertronian society. So how is it that people claim "the war went on for too long because Optimus never tried to understand Megatron" when OP literally named Megatron as one of his biggest idols, thus implying that OP does understand Megatron's ideals

But the primary purpose of this post wasn't to defend Optimus, actually. Even though I personally think Optimus did plenty (dare I say, everything) to try to end the war, there are some who may still think otherwise, so instead of arguing about whether Optimus did "enough", or who should apologize to whom, or who "deserves the blame" for starting/continuing the war, I'd actually rather talk about this:

No matter who is most "to blame" for the war, it's my firm belief that neither Megatron nor Optimus would even expect/demand the other to apologize to them at all.

On Megatron's side, he would never seek to judge Optimus negatively for the decisions to the point of saying "you wronged me, apologize." Whether it's evil Megatron who doesn't care about atrocities and revels in an opportunity to expose Optimus as a hypocrite, or post-war/Autobot Megatron who knows that his own evil actions are irredeemable, the idea of Megatron judging Optimus and demanding an apology for the war specifically strikes me as out-of-character. Why would Megatron demand or even want an apology from Optimus when Megatron knows fully well that he has his own sins to bear, he prolonged the war for his own selfish/material gain, and that he is responsible for an untold amount of suffering? Demanding an apology would imply that Megatron sees himself as the wronged party and Optimus as the wrongdoer, but by the end of the war, Megatron is too aware of his own part in the war to ever demand such a thing of Optimus. Even if he DID think that Optimus was "equally to blame" for the war (which he doesn't/wouldn't, btw), Megatron's own feelings of guilt would prevent him from trying to seek the petty satisfaction of the moral high ground or making Optimus beg for his forgiveness.

Additionally, Megatron knows Optimus very well as a person: he knows that the position of leadership is full of "loneliness [and] agonizing self-doubt" for Optimus (Chaos Theory) and that "when Optimus hurts others, he hurts himself" (MTMTE). Another reason that Megatron wouldn't demand nor want an apology from Optimus is because Megatron knows Optimus so well that he already knows that being a war leader fills Optimus with immense guilt and suffering. Given that Megatron knows about Optimus' self-doubt and guilt, why would he even need an apology when he already knows how much Optimus regrets the war and desperately wishes/wished for it to end?

Then, as established in the previous paragraphs, Optimus is too full of guilt for his part in the war (both before it started and in being unable to stop it sooner) to demand an apology from Megatron. Again, demanding an apology would put Optimus in an implied position of moral superiority and/or victimhood, but Optimus doesn't see himself as morally superior or as a victim (or rather, he sees himself as being responsible for these bad things happening and internalizes this as a duty to do better/fix wrongdoings). In other words, Megatron and Optimus both share this view of themselves and each other: Their hands are so dirty, and they both feel such guilt over this, and they know each other well enough to know that the other feels this way as well. Because both of them feel blame for the war and are acutely aware of their own flaws/part in suffering, both of them feel far too responsible for the war happening for them to ever blame their archnemesis for "not trying harder" or "being responsible for the war."

Hell, if you even look at the socio-political climate of Cybertron before the war started, neither Megatron nor Optimus were the ones who put this conflict into motion. The corrupt legacy of the Primes, Functionism, class issues-- all of these things existed before Megatron and Optimus did. Even once they started doing things like writing about social issues (M) or fighting against the Senate (OP), both of them were "underlings" in sense that they weren't leaders:

Megatron's writings may have inspired the Decepticon movement, but that movement existed as an independent entity with its own leaders and speakers long before Megatron became the "official" ruler of the Decepticons. He wasn't even the leader of the 'Cons until he took control of the gladiator arena and the nonviolent sections of the Decepticons were (presumably) subsumed into the underground, exploitative battle culture that Megatron created.

Optimus-as-Orion was a police officer to start, but even once he started going against the Senate, he mainly worked in collaboration with others like Senator Shockwave and Zeta (later Zeta Prime), who he either saw as his idols or who were literally superior to him in rank due to government/military structures.

So with this in mind, even from a social level, while Megatron and Optimus may have been "catalysts" of a sort that caused the war to escalate to an outright planetary/galactic level, the scenario is too complex to solely lay the blame for the war at either of their feet. I'm not confident in saying that Megatron/Optimus would explicitly think of this when talking to each other, but what I'm trying to say is that M/OP were just catalysts in a long chain of brewing tension that exploded into a war. Even if one could claim that one of them "started" or "escalated" the war, the social issues that caused the war and the positions of power that allowed them to become leaders in the first place were falling into place before either of them actually BECAME leaders.

In other words, this shared fate of being the final reaction that exploded a societal conflict into outright war... Megatron and Optimus both have that in common. And because of this, I really don't think either of them would even think to ask the other to apologize because they're both in such similar positions, with such similar feelings of guilt and responsibility, that they understand each other's feelings without words. To demand an apology would be akin to taking that shared vulnerability/guilt and stepping on it, attempting to claim that one is right/superior and the other is wrong/inferior, and that the inferior one needs to grovel and take responsibility for the bad things that happened.

[yoosung-ah]

Can we talk about how talented Jihyun is? Everyone talks about Jumin and Saeran being talented, but this man somehow managed to drive with reckless abandon, keep up with and stalk Zen, all while trying to take pictures with his professional camera? Fast and the Furious who??

[watermotif]

the way art historians speak and write is so insufferable man

[swagging-back-to]

it should be a cut and dry case if you go to a restaurant and get glutened by them. and by case i mean criminal. not just suing for damages and distress.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy time....

[iniziare]

/sits on hands with the ferocity of Solas' determination so that I can't put my salt to 'paper'.

[moeblob]

My children are so stupid and I love them. The fact Right uses nicknames that are indeed Just Like That makes it even harder to differentiate which one needs to be eliminated. (Brent is pretty sure it's his head on the chopping block.)

[aqueousammonia-art]

maybe somewhere we’re still in the summer