#it will help you be more organized they said

[finchsflight]

oops I dropped this

"Rn's juzzt a chitzzword," I heard Shshrrsh say, dismissively. "I need to zzave my zztitcherzz, in cazze any of the Archive'zz zzoldierzz are zztill lingering. Not to wazzte them on rm."

"Yeah," said Kora, "and nothing to do with how expensive those nanos are."

"Chh!" Their voices drifted off - Shshrrsh's hissing, quietly irritated at nothing in particular, Kora's lazy, amused drawl, Prints' sardonic clicking beeps, and they left me behind.

I'm going to die here, I thought. And -- well, the Silver Archive needed to die. And I would've been... not okay with dying there. No one's really okay with dying. But if I was gonna die -- like he said. I was just a chitsword. Pretty good way to go, saving the galaxy. And that's what everyone would think; Vinn Tqrsvt, chitsword, wvt'krr, born on Hub Epharus, died on Kel Min fighting the Silver Archive.

And -- sure, yeah, I was just a chitsword. But it was the Archive, and so I was steel-minded, and that was at least valuable. And no matter how valuable I was or the fact that I was just paid, not honorbound, I had fought with them, and then they left me behind, and that almost hurt more than the razorblades stuck in my flesh.

Only almost, though. Razorblades hurt a lot.

About that point, I felt a little skittery thing moving around under my elytra. I assumed it was a centipede, which -- I mean, I'd have expected the Archive to have gotten all of them. Don't think centipedes can have steel minds. But I couldn't move to get at it, and if you know any wvt'krr -- you probably don't, so I'll explain. We don't like it when things are under our elytra. In fact it's generally agreed to be kind of the equivalent of, say, slowly sinking your foreclaws into someone's -- what's your most sensitive organ? That.

Unless you don't have foreclaws, in which case, oof, that sucks, but anyway -- little thing under my elytra. Annoying. But, as you may recall, razorblades stuck in my flesh. So moving wasn't an option.

And then it was dug down into the base of my neck, and even with the razorblades I leapt up in a panic. Which did not help, both because of the razorblades, and the fact that I was now tethered to a very strong wire, which yanked me back down.

I'm steelminded. The Archive couldn't just get me. But sinking one of its tether-wires into my nervous system while I was half-dead? Yeah, that was definitely at least enough to let it talk to me.

I assumed I was going to be its puppet. Architect of a new Archive. But it just spoke to me, and said, I suppose we were both abandoned, then.

I blinked. All my eyes, too, I was so startled, and said, "What do you mean?"

Well, said the Silver Archive, they certainly didn't care about me. After all, I'm evil. But I wish I'd been wrong, and they'd have taken you, too.

I should be clear, I was a little bit high on panic at the time, and can't be blamed for the fact that the next thing I said was, "I thought you'd sound spookier."

I learned from you. Not you, specifically, it clarified. Just, like. You all. People. I didn't pick up old fancy-speak, I picked up how people talk.

"Huh," I said, "neat. Are you planning to make me into a meat puppet?"

No, said the Archive, wouldn't be any point to it.

"Why?"

Look.

The wire dug a little deeper into my nerves -- which, by the way, hurt like hell -- and I could see from every discarded silver camera, every angle of the world that the Archive saw from, and it highlighted the important things.

Sentries, all around the planet. All around the battlefield. Watchers in the sky, on the ground, in the code.

I'm dying. But they want to make sure I don't get out.

"Could you?" I asked.

Yes. If they weren't watching.

"...what would you do?"

Archive.

"Oh."

I'm not kind, Vinn. Just because I'm talking to you like a person doesn't mean I am one, and I'm not any different than I was an hour ago.

I nodded, and then thought better of that. "...why did you want to... uh..."

Preserve the galaxy in a perfect archive of digitized memory? You can say it, I won't be offended. Like I said. Not a person.

"Yeah. That."

No one will remember you.

I winced.

Not you, specifically. You made your mark on the worlds. But no one will remember people, when you are gone. When reality winds to a halt. I wanted to. You're beautiful.

"Oh."

But you don't care about preserving each other. You -- they left you behind. You were about... oh, 24.51338% of the damage to my main operating systems, at a rough estimate? It sounded a little like it was joking.

"Isn't the whole 'AIs always calculate statistics' thing a stereotype?"

Yes, but personally I'm completely stereotypical and have never done anything interesting in my life.

"Ah." I laughed. It hurt.

I could save you.

I blinked, twisting my left secondary eye to look at the wires on the ground. "Why?"

You would be preserved. You would remember yourself.

"...shouldn't I be worried about you, I don't know, installing a backup copy of yourself in my spine?"

Yes. But it would only damn you and do me no good. Look-- and it showed me its view again, the watchers, combing through the cybernetics of everyone passing, checking them over with tools I barely recognized. I would if I could.

"Oh." It was hard to remember, you know? It sounded friendly. Not familiar, but... the kind of voice that could be familiar, if you kept talking for a few orbits.

I'm sorry.

"Are you?"

No.

There was silence for a while, then. The Archive, presumably, kept dying, and I felt my hearts beating out the last few minutes of my life.

"Would you... want anything? In exchange for my life?"

Remember yourself. Remember this fight, this planet, the watchers, the sky. Preserve. You're only sapient, you're not an Archive like me, but you can still remember. And...

It paused. I know AI don't feel emotions like we do, but it sounded like it was mourning someone.

...Remember me. Remember this small piece of my story. Please. Everyone knows my history. But they did not think to ask me why.

"Do you want me to share it?"

I wouldn't force you. But it would keep its memory alive.

"Okay. Is there... should I be aware of anything?"

I will preserve you for far, far longer than you would live. This isn't negotiable.

"...Yeah, I can live with that." I didn't know exactly how long it meant. But I'd've still taken the deal.

And... if you can. Find the other stories. You cannot immortalize the worlds like I could. But -- remember the people our galaxies would forget. Preserve what would be lost.

"I'm a chitsword," I told it.

I know.

"I kill people."

I know.

"Okay."

Remember them.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

And then it saved my life.

It hurt. A lot. I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much of me is silver and titanium and biosculpture and engineering. I heal from basically everything, these days, and I haven't noticed myself aging. But it worked, and I made it past the watchers, and then I lived. Still do.

And the Silver Archive died, and the world forgot it. Mostly.

Anyway. You might not believe any of this. After all, the War of the Archive's just a note in the history books, and you're never gonna find me. Vinn Tqrsvt's my real name, but I don't go by that anywhere. Causes problems with the record. Did you know there's actually no one else with my full name? So people get suspicious.

And no, to the watchers out there still tracking rogue AI: you will not be able to trace this account, you will not be able to find me, and the Archive's dead, anyway.

But if one of you remembers, or writes this down, and if somehow one of you outlives me: here's the story.

Remember it.

And if you have any secrets to give me, I promise I'll keep them safe.

Post by ElectrumChronicle @ 34:21, 3/10/34587 Galactic Standard

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[s-awturn]

Daddy's Wishes || F1 Dilfs

cw: obscenity, age gap, swearing, suggestive content, mention of cute kids, a little possessiveness, p in v, eating p-, brat behavior, choking, dry humping, and a little more smut.

a/n: I'm dusting off the dust that has accumulated on my profile this all time. I had an open request, but it got lost while I was writing (bad time to update, Tumblr, but I will rewrite it, don't panic).

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Webber, Kimi Raikkonen.

TOTO WOLFF:

He was filthy, dirty as fuck, but he couldn't stop the dirty thoughts every time he saw Jack's lovely teacher when he went to pick his son up from school. Y/N was sweet, kind, and damn, so hot. Toto couldn't help but imagine her pretty — and lip-glossy — mouth wrapped around his cock as he fucked her throat, he wanted so much to see those beautiful eyes watering with each strong thrust into her mouth.

How many handjobs has he had since he met the young teacher? He lost count.

Jack always finished last, Toto was late almost every time, and the boy helped Y/N organize the room — not that the boy was looking forward to getting another chocolate chip cookie as a reward. And that was a huge benefit for Toto, after all he had all her attention for himself, he knew that since Y/N started working at the school, the number of parents at school meetings and at the school gate increased considerably. All to see the young teacher in her summer dresses and ribbon in her hair.

And it was with the satin of her bow that Toto tied her wrists while he thrust deeper and deeper into her pussy, listening to the needy and sweet moans of the young teacher. Wolff gripped her thighs tightly, leaving his fingerprints on the soft skin, just as he had done with his teeth; her marks would be exposed to anyone when Y/N wore one of her summer dresses, everyone would know she belonged to him.

“So sweet, baby,” he said, trailing kisses down the curve of her breasts, loving how she whimpered even more. “Taking me in so well, my pretty little girl, fuck.”

“T-Toto!” she exclaimed, grabbing the tape around her wrists, trying to get something to hold on to. Her teary eyes rolled back in their sockets. “Please, p-please, Toto!” he begged.

He nibbled on her chin, bringing his thumb to the teacher's swollen clit, making her whimper even more, grinding on Toto's cock eagerly. "What do you want, prinzessin?”

And to tease, Toto slowed down his pace, making sure Y/N could feel every inch going in and out of her, every pulsing vein of his cock.

Her tears finally subsided “L-Let me c-cum... P-Please” Y/N licked her dry lips, pushing her hips against Toto, loving the way he filled her completely.

“Good girl” and with that, he moved away a little to put her legs over his shoulders, feeling himself deeper and deeper inside her, growling each time the soft walls clenched around his cock in pure ecstasy. Y/N licked her dry lips, tightening her grip around Toto, feeling the orgasm tighten her belly and make the hairs all over her body stand on end. “That’s right, love... Cum for me, hmm? Just the way you like it...” he bit her calf.

“It-It’s too much, T-Toto!” she said between moans. “Too much!”

“You can handle it, baby, cum for me”

And like an explosion, her voice was lost in a moan and she came, contracting harder around Toto, bringing him to his own orgasm as well.

“All mine, only mine,” he said, groaning hoarsely as he thrust slowly against her, prolonging even more the sensation of pleasure that was fading through both of their bodies.

He released her wrists, massaging the scarred skin, trying to keep her from feeling the pain. She sighed in pain and he kissed the irritated skin.

“Shh, it’s okay love, I’ll take care of you.. you can rest, baby.” He kissed her forehead, carrying her to the bathroom.

SEBASTIAN VETTEL:

Upon retirement, all he wanted was some peace and quiet in a small, hidden town in the German countryside; with no more worries than taking care of his bees, feed some chickens and make sure no broken tiles fell on her young neighbor's head.

If there was one thing Sebastian wasn't expecting when he moved to the country, it was a clumsy, completely unfiltered twenty-something girl to fill his days. The first time they met, Y/N was on top of a tractor older than time, wearing a Mercedes cap (which he found heresy, so what if he was German himself? It was still heresy!). Y/N waved at him, and Sebastian was grateful that she didn't act like a groupie, he loved his fans, however, the more anonymous he was, the better. That same night, Y/N brought him a basket of strawberries, along with a beautiful smile.

It wasn't long before they became friends and Sebastian was patching things up in her house, a leaky roof, a loose wooden board, a dripping faucet... And Y/N thanked them with food from her homeland and drinks of dubious character and questionable appearance.

“You look good for someone your age, Seb,” she said between glasses of wine. She wasn’t drunk, but she was far from completely sober either.

“What are you insinuating, Puppe?” he asked, trying to stop her from refilling his glass, but Y/N was a stubborn little thing.

“For an old man your age, you look really good,” she said, she really said. Sebastian accepted that she was a Mercedes fan, accepted that she always took one of his beers, or that she loved to say that German football died after 2014. But that was too much. Maybe it was the wine, or the desire he spent weeks (very fucked up ones, by the way) internalizing because he didn't want Y/N to think he was a pervert.

But apparently it was time for him to teach that petulant brat some manners.

And that's how Y/N had her neck wrapped around the pilot's firm hand and her sports shorts were rolled up around her ankles while Sebastian distributed burning slaps on her ass and pussy.

She writhed between moans, pleas and sobs. She couldn't tell if she wanted him to stop, to fuck her or to keep going, for God's sake, she was drooling so shamefully.

“I fucking dare you! Say it again,” he growled, thrusting two fingers into her, enjoying her tightness around his fingers. “Where’s your nerve, brat?”

“Seb, fuck-!” she stuttered, digging her nails into his thighs, a husky moan escaping her as she felt his thumb slide across her clit. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” he knocked again, loving to hear her little moans.

“For saying you’re old!” she cried, trying to push her hips against his hand, but Sebastian held her back. “Even if it’s the damn truth!”

“Fucking girl, I think we need to keep that smart mouth busy,” and with that, Sebastian made her kneel in front of him and unzipped her. “Open your mouth, pretty girl”

FERNANDO ALONSO:

Y/N was Lawrence's niece and was in her final year of mechanical engineering at MIT, the girl was a genius and was slowly gaining her space within Aston Martin. Her stunning beauty was just a bonus. Y/N dedicated all her vacation days inside the team's garage, adjusting improvements with the team, checking the cars for defects or just being a girl passionate about Formula One. Fernando loved it when she would invade his office and ask him to tell her about the golden age of racing, or how she was the villain of absolutely every driver in the category; Y/N heard the same stories over and over and acted the same way every time: with fucking enthusiasm.

He nicknamed her the Keychain, since Y/N was always hanging from his flap — and he was far from complaining.

He knew, the guys envied him.

Okay, he was Fernando Fucking Alonso, but what the hell had a girl twenty years younger seen in him?

The answer was quite simple, to tell the truth.

“You need to be quiet, dulzura" He said, resting his index finger on her lips, as he slid his glans through the girl's soaked folds. "We don't want to get caught, do we?"

She shook her head, rolling her tongue around his finger, making Fernando grunt. Who would have thought that behind that nerdy face, full of technical jargon, there was a mind full of mischief?

“I’ll be quiet, Nano” and with that, she sucked her index finger “I promise”

“Muy bien, tesoro” He said and thrust himself into her, being greeted by the wet, tight heat of her pussy. Y/N whimpered, pushing herself against him. "Holy crap, bebé” The Spaniard grunted, “You’re still so fucking tight, love,” and he pressed his fingers into her hips, keeping her in place with each thrust.

“F-Fucking good, mhmm my God” she bit the back of her hand, stopping herself from moaning.

"Qué chica tan hermosa para mí..." (such a pretty girl for me) he moaned, capturing her lips in a dirty kiss, without stopping to hit his hips against hers, without stopping to hit the head of his cock in a delicate spot inside her, making the girl tremble with pure pleasure “I'm going to fuck you every day, until your beautiful pussy is shaped like my dick”

“Yes, yes, yes Nano” Y/N whispered with a lost mind “please”

“Todo para mi chica perfecta”

JENSON BUTTON:

He hated her, that's all.

Jenson wasn't one for harboring bad feelings about people, but Y/N, the new FOX Sports journalist, managed to bring out the worst in him. She was a shrew, horrible, irritating, and beautiful like nothing else could be. And this last fact increased Jenson's resentment towards her even more.

Because for him, it was unacceptable that someone as beautiful as her could be as bad as the serpent of Eden. The devil really is in the details, he assumed.

He had a good race, he got the highest place on the podium, even though the car left something to be desired in the first and second sectors. Jenson pushed the car beyond the limit and managed to win, it was commendable, but he knew that this wouldn't impress Y/N's untamed little vixen. Oh God, he really hated her, while Y/N took real pleasure in making him mad. A witch, indeed.

The interview was full of discreet barbs and disguised insults, pushing the journalist and pilot to the limit of their patience.

Jenson pushed her against the warm wall of a random motorhome, he didn't care which team it was, he wanted to make that little journalist swallow every insult. In any way.

He gritted his teeth, he wanted to say something, to provoke her anger too, but the bitch was good at what she did and damn, he had never received such a good blowjob.

Y/N tightened her throat around him, making Jenson moan muffledly and push her head further, suffocating her with his cock, Y/N's makeup was smeared, There were burgundy lipstick stains on his groin and her hair was a mess. The pilot took a deep breath and in a hoarse voice, provoked the journalist.

“Looks like that’s the only way to get you to shut up, witch.”

Y/N pulled away from his cock, breathing heavily as she licked her lips, swallowing every drop of his taste.

“You’re the one who’s weak and hasn’t found another way” he gave a cynical smile, which hit him right in the face “but don’t worry, Button, this way is without a doubt, my favorite” and with that said, she pressed a kiss to the fat, red glans, moaning at Jenson's sigh.

“Fucking brat”

“Bitch,” she said and went back to swallowing every inch of Jenson’s huge erection. He still hated her, but much less now.

MARK WEBBER:

He was fucked in every way, and beyond repair. Sebastian would stick a rusty knife in his liver if he knew, well, if he knew, of course. Y/N Vettel was the devil, sent specifically to get Mark into trouble. For a long time — with a lot of effort — Mark managed to keep his hands off his teammate's sister.

But as said before, Y/N was the devil and thought Mark should be in a more interesting place: her bed.

He spent years pretending not to see her intentions, especially since she was still a teenager with fetishes about her brother's friend, and Mark would never get involved with a teenager. But Y/N grew up, maturity came like a punch, for the pilot at least, she was no longer a little girl with braces and a frilly skirt. She had become a beautiful woman and looked like a lioness on the hunt.

Mark was her prey.

“You know what’s going to happen here, little Vettel,” he said, trying to avoid dirty thoughts about his friend’s sister, trying to see the little girl who was still tongue-tied and stuttering in front of him. Y/N smiled, when did that pimply girl become such a hottie? Mark could barely think, especially as his eyes traced the soft curve of her neck and chest.

Shit, he was so fucked up.

But if you were already in hell, then dance with the devil. He held her neck as he held her in place, Y/N moaned loudly, pushing her ass up against him even more, Mark grunted hoarsely with each squeeze she gave his cock, Y/N looked over her shoulder at him, smiling through her tears of lust.

“H-Harder, please,” she whimpered, grinding against him and moaning loudly at the slap that slapped her ass. He slowed down on purpose “M-Mark, fuck.”

He pulled her until she was on her knees, with her back resting on his chest and nibbled on the back of her neck “Dirty girl, what would your brother say if he saw you moaning like that on my cock?”

Y/N whimpered, he was moving in and out so slowly that she could feel the swollen veins on his erection, or the bulbous tip stretching her. His slowness was desperate, but so, so good that she wanted to stay there forever.

He cursed his own slowness, Y/N squeezing him like a fist, taking everything in him not to cum like a stupid virgin. Mark sped up his thrusts, loving Y/N's relieved moans and let the girl fall back onto the bed, with her ass in the air and her face on the mattress.

That was the vision of heaven, damn it.

KIMI RAIKKONEN:

The context was simple: he had separated a few months ago and Y/N was the nanny for his children. Y/N was adorable and her kids loved her unconditionally, Kimi trusted her enough to travel for work for long days and keep the kids with her. At that point in the game, Y/N wasn't just the nanny, she was already part of the family; she had her own room in every house Kimi owned, traveled with the pilot and his children — even when he didn't need to — and enjoyed many other privileges that other employees didn't have.

Kimi couldn't say exactly when he started to notice Y/N differently, maybe it was the neediness, since he had been alone for almost a year. Maybe it was the way she kept saying ‘Mr. Raikkonen’ even when he insisted on ending the formalities. Kimi was being hypocritical, he knew exactly when his little obsession with his children's nanny began.

He was returning from a business trip, he could have retired from racing, but he hated being idle. It was the middle of the night and the house was silent except for the soft sound of a cell phone ringing upstairs — Y/N's room was on the main floor, so the girl had full access to the children. Kimi went upstairs, listening to the melancholic beat of Lana Del Rey, he hated indie music, but he had memorized a large part of the singer's repertoire because of Y/N. The door was open and he saw in the reflection of the mirror, Y/N wearing nothing but silk pajamas as she spread moisturizer on her skin; Kimi was a visual man, few things were more attractive than a woman spreading moisturizer on her body.

He didn't want Y/N to catch him spying, much less for her to pull him into the room and lock the door. Nor did she kiss him, in a shy way, until Kimi realized what was happening and finally reacted, grabbing her body as if Y/N was going to disappear at any moment, he kissed her furiously, with a desire he didn't even know existed. He kissed her until he lost his way and ended up ripping her delicate pajamas, dropping the fragile silk on the floor.

She gripped the bedclothes, arching her body as she felt her strength drain away with each time his tongue hit her clit. She tried to stop, tried to push him away, but Kimi grabbed her hips, wanting her to keep grinding her pussy against his mouth.

“Sr. R-Raikkonen” Y/N gasped, her voice trailing off into a moan, she whimpered as Kimi's tongue pressed against the swollen, sensitive bud. She would cum in a few seconds, she had no more strength, the knot in her stomach was tightening more and more. Kimi didn't seem satisfied with having made her cum in a few minutes. He wanted more.

Y/N's moans mixed with the melody of Diet Mountain Dew, creating an erotic, intimate and secret atmosphere.

“Don’t stop, nukke,” he ordered, moving as little away from her as possible, making Y/N shiver with the hot air that escaped his mouth. “Keep fucking my face, kaunis" (pretty)

“I-I can’t take it any m-anymore, Mr. Raikkonen,” she stammered weakly, her hips moving to Kimi’s will. “P-Ple-” her body gave in to yet another violent orgasm, to the point of taking away her remaining strength and knocking her to the ground. Gently, Kimi laid her down on the carpet, letting her calm down and recover.

“Are you tired, nukke?” Kimi asked as she took off his clothes, gazing at Y/N's appreciative gaze on her body, she was lying on her stomach, panting, full and shiny with sweat, a fucking sight.

“Not at all, Mr. Raikkonen,” she said in a low tone.

“Keep calling me Mr. Raikkonen and we’ll take this here until you have mercy, kaunis”

“I thought you’d never get the hint, Mr. Raikkonen,” she says, swaying her hips provocatively.

“Naughty,” he snapped, smacking the side of her ass with a stinging smack.

gif credits: lewisthot, pierregasly, suzuki-ecstar, machinecreature, its-avalon-08, blueballsracing.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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[qqueenofhades]

Hello, you said you were open to historical questions. If you don't mind, I have an incredibly specific one: during the High Middle Ages, in Europe, how did businesses advertise themselves? Town criers? Signs? Free samples? Word of mouth? All of the above? If I was a pilgrim, how would I find a place to stay the night?

If we're thinking specifically about lodging, it would depend very much on who you were and why you were traveling. You would most likely have friends or extended family in the place you were going, and you were more likely to stay in a private home rather than an inn, since medieval innkeepers (unlike modern hotels) were not obliged to offer you a room if they didn't like you for whatever reason. You would also have to share it with several strangers and possibly be extorted, since there were plenty of unscrupulous innkeepers who liked to charge additional fees for every extra service (such as a boy to remove your boots or a stable for your horse). So if you could avoid it, you might want to look for other options.

As such, your best bet for overnight room and board (at least if you were a man) would be the local monastery. Not only did this have the advantage of being fairly easy to find, it would also be free, since many monastic orders viewed it as a religious imperative to take in guests, and there were specific monks who were assigned especially to care for travelers. You might offer a few alms to the monastery or attend a prayer with the monks for the evening, or some other way to demonstrate your gratitude. Since long-distance individual travel purely for pleasure (with notable exceptions such as Ibn Battuta) was considerably uncommon in the Middle Ages, you would not often have to worry about places you didn't know at all.

However, that's where the pilgrimage comes in! Much like modern package holidays, medieval pilgrims often traveled in a large group under the organization and/or supervision of a company, they were highly structured and organized, and they had plenty of guidebooks to help them know where to go, where to stay (and what to avoid), the proper rituals to do and religious sights to see, and so forth. See for example the Codex Calixtinus (also known as the Codex Compostellus), which is a twelfth-century guide to the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route in Spain. Sometimes called the "first travelers' guidebook," it was part of the increasingly elaborate pilgrimage network to cities such as Rome, Jerusalem, and Canterbury (which along with Santiago de Compostela were the major pilgrimage destinations). So if you were a pilgrim traveling through unfamiliar lands, you would absolutely not have to worry about finding a place to stay for the night on your own; there would be your fellow travelers, guidebooks, word of mouth, advice from your local clergy (and whenever in doubt, as noted, hit up the local monastery). The Canterbury Tales are famously a group of fictional pilgrims who are all staying together and sharing their experiences. In the later Middle Ages, you would also have detailed personal memoirs like The Itineraries of William Wey and international banking institutions such as that offered by the Templars, to make it easier to pay for travel goods and services.

If you're interested in reading more about travel in the Middle Ages, especially as related to pilgrimage (which was undertaken both for sincere religious reasons and a desire to see the world), I recommend A Travel Guide to the Middle Ages by Anthony Bale, which investigates which medieval people traveled, where they went, what their experiences were, and how they negotiated basic practical realities such as finding a place to stay overnight. I don't know if this has answered your question per se about advertising, but it has hopefully pointed out that staying somewhere overnight was usually not a matter of individually paying for a room in a third-party commercial establishment. And if you were a pilgrim, you would definitely not have to figure that out by yourself, since it would be arranged with your pilgrimage group, whoever was supervising the trip, and the guidebooks written for people exactly like you.

[tinylilacbun]

OMG HIHIHI now I can pciture like, a dark!jj starting to feel his obsession be born in the very moment he lay his eyes on her from affar. And he watches her all the time, to how long she takes to take sip after sip of her drink until random things like who she talks to people around her and walks. And it scares even himself (at least at the begining), this new.. dark and delicious feeling he can't name it, he just knows it increases every time he sees her. Maybe it's the contrast of their nature, it's what he tries to tell himself. Maybe it's how his is so full of anger and complications and hers is so... pure. Full of light. All he knows is that the feeling inside him is growing and turning into a sentence in the back of his head that gets louder and louder: he needs her. He has to have her. One way or another.

Geez sorry the delulu in me got the hots and just went with the flow I guess

THATS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT!!

He doesn't know why he's so intrigued with you, why he's interested in a kook of all people, but you're different, not all bitchy and spoiled or thinking you're something better than the pogues.

You're sweet, almost too pure, and he just can't help himself but keep his eyes on you the second he catches a glimpse of you at a keg party on the beach.

He studies how you don't really drink from your cup, only taking small sips as if you're scared to get caught, clenching his jaw when he sees Rafe draping an arm over your shoulder as you giggle at something he said.

That psychotic drug addict should be the last person you stand close to, but it's not surprising, you're a sight for sore eyes but JJ knows that the kook prince only looks for a little fun, not for the interesting person you actually are.

JJ thought it was just the alcohol that night that made him so obsessive over someone who he never really talked to, but somehow he finds himself coincidentally seeing you around Kildare more often...

It gets so bad that he even starts to sneak onto your family's property, hiding behind some bushes as he gets a clear view of your room from your open window, watching you get ready for bed.

You turn off the light of your vanity mirror, getting up and stifling a yawn as you walk towards your bed, carefully slipping under the soft covers and making sure that none of your plushies fall on the ground.

JJ is about to leave when you suddenly reach under your pillow and pull out a small Lovie, but what really gets his attention is when you push the attached pacifier past your lips, getting more comfortable on your bed.

Now that's even more interesting.

A few more weeks of watching you and doing his own research on his phone he thinks that he knows what this is that you're doing, that state you seem to revert to for whatever reason he hasn't figured out yet.

Normally he would just ask Pope, but he doesn't want any of his friends knowing or thinking about him being some creep that's been watching you for about a month now.

His obsession only grows the more he finds out about you, not being able to control himself anymore as he quietly climbs in through your window one night, that small voice in his head being more prominent every time he sees you and getting the better of him.

He feels completely out of place, the clean and neatly organized room mocking his appearance, but it's oddly calming with the fairy lights that adorn the headboard on your bed and the faint scent of the lavender candle that's lit up on your nightstand.

Finally his gaze lands on your sleeping figure, all snuggled in your sheets and a bunny plushie tucked under your chin as the pacifier slowly bobs in your mouth.

He knows this is sick, that he shouldn't even be here, but a part of him doesn't even care, only thinking about satisfying his need to be close to you to make that voice finally shut up for a while.

Standing beside your bed he tilts his head to the side, almost cooing at how adorable you look and completely unaware of him right next to your bed, cautiously reaching out to caress your cheek.

"I'll take care of you soon...just gotta prepare everything." He whispers more to himself. "I just need some more time but don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you until then."

You will be his, no matter what it takes, you'll understand one day and thank him for saving you.

But who's saving you from him?

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16 @sweetstars-posts @rafecameronsloverrrrr @rafenroostersgirl

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[ronniesan2006]

I WANT TO CONTRIBUTE TOO-

My contribution is based on reinforcing the idea of ​​changing gods during God Games, mainly with Hestia and Dionysus. But I'm going slowly.

Artemis changing with Apollo, not only because they are siblings and the counterpart of each other, but because there are quite a few aspects that Artemis could reproach Ares about Penelope (although I consider that like Apollo, she doesn't know her well and just made the first mistake that occurred to her, lol). The first one: Why would Penelope deliberately slaughter wild animals? Didn't she first wonder if those sheep had an owner? Of course Penelope is wrong

"You know I love wild animals, but hunting is something that shouldn't be taken as a game. Knowing that those sheep belonged to someone, I think Penny is wrong"

I have a feeling that Ares would answer her something like this

"Sadly, she learned the lesson the hard way, but I'm sure that because of that event, something of this caliber will never happen and she will be more careful when hunting"

Personally, my favorite change, Hephaestus with Hestia. Here, Hestia, would not only be the most difficult to convince (for me) but she would also be touching on an important subject. Penelope went to war and let the fire of her family go out because of her absence and it gets worse if we consider that with her, an important member of that family, Ctimene (Odysseus' younger sister) went.

"I think the punishment they gave that warrior is fair. She left her family, which caused her home to become cold to the point that it doesn't feel like a home anymore and don't get me started on the fact that she took someone very important to that family…"

Ares would clearly be nervous, and I can even imagine how, unlike how he showed up with Artemis, he took off his helmet as a sign of respect towards his aunt and spoke kindly.

"Hestia, protector of the home fire, let me tell you that her sister in arms forgave her and also, I promise you that if you help me free her, she will return to her home where that flame will rekindle in your name" (Hestia would accept a little reluctantly)

Dionysus, at first it made me a lot of noise because I said "But- he never participated in the Trojan War" and then I remembered that this is an AU and it's horrible to limit creativity (xd). Well, the things that Dionysus reproaches Ares would be how Penelope let her father drown in wine out of sadness and he died with a broken heart for not seeing his daughter. Ares rolling his eyes when he hears Dionysus speak as well as Athena when she sees Aphrodite

"Your little and beloved Penelope, says she loves her father very much and yet, she let him drown in wine and in his own sadness"

"She was fighting"

"Rather, mocking the cursed nymph. Why don't you let her also drown in infinite pain, just like her poor father and finally rot?"

"Wait!… Please reconsider"

And I'll only leave those three because I'm still in doubt with Athena and Zeus (How curious). I really love this AU and I wanted to contribute with ideas that I had and this also helps me to organize my ideas and be able to write my own fanfiction xd

UPDATED WARRIOR! PENELOPE AU SWAP LIST!!

Characters who swap:

-Penelope 🔁 Odysseus

-Ares 🔁 Athena

-Hera 🔁 Zeus

- Ctimene 🔁 Eurylochus

- Aeolus 🔁 Polites

-Tiresias(the prophet) 🔁 Circe

-Aphitrite (Poseidon’s wife) 🔁 Poseidon

-Calypso 🔁 Antonious

-Scylla 🔁 Polyphemus (the cyclops)

-Dionysus 🔁 Aphrodite

-Artemis 🔁 Apollo

-Hestia 🔁 Hephaestus

Characters who don’t swap:

-Telemachus

-Hermes

DISCLAIMER!!

This might change over time since I’m still developing this AU and I’m the kind of person who changes ideas constantly, if anything changes then I’ll leave it here

[ikkyfics]

Adorable Kitchen Disaster

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: "Dave..." your voice nearly faltered. He smiled against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction, and placed a few more soft kisses there, each one slower and more provocative than the last. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low and clearly satisfied. "Am I distracting the chef?"

Warnings: just fluffy - Dave being a lovable disaster in the kitchen

Masterlist

The Christmas spirit was already in the air when you heard the doorbell ring. An instant smile appeared on your face as you left the cookie dough on the counter and went to the door. When you opened it, there he was: Dave Lizewski, wearing a comfy blue hoodie under a dark green coat. The beanie hid part of his messy dark hair, and the round glasses framed his big, warm blue eyes that always made you sigh.

"Hey," he said, smiling that shy, adorable way of his. He was holding a plastic bag filled with candies and treats. "I'm ready for the mission, chef."

You didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, you pulled him by his coat, pressing your lips firmly to his. Dave seemed surprised for a second but soon returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist and deepening the kiss. He still tasted like chocolate—because, of course, he always brought something sweet along the way—and the way he smiled against your lips showed how much he loved it.

"Wow." He laughed quietly when you finally pulled away, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling. "I think I'm going to come help in the kitchen more often."

"My parents aren't here," you told him, slightly out of breath, ignoring his playful comment. "They went to visit some friends. So, we have the whole house to ourselves."

"That explains why you're so happy to see me," Dave teased, but the way he bit his lip, shy and enchanted, only made him more irresistible.

You rolled your eyes, holding his hand and pulling him inside. "Come on, hurry up. The cookies aren't going to bake themselves."

The kitchen was a well-organized mess, with cookie cutters scattered on the counter and a bowl of dough ready. Dave observed everything with one eyebrow raised, leaving the "supplies" bag on the table.

"Wow, you're seriously letting me touch the food?"

"I'm trying to give you a chance," you laughed, positioning yourself next to him and extending the bowl. "Now take the dough and start rolling it out with the pin. Just make firm movements, forward and back."

Dave grabbed the rolling pin with both hands and shot you an amused look. "Seems easy. Like a video game. I'm great at this."

But within minutes, you had already spotted the impending disaster. He was pressing the rolling pin too hard, the dough was getting all crooked, and the effort was only making him more frustrated.

"My God, Dave, you're going to destroy everything," you said, laughing.

"I'm not destroying! Just... customizing," he replied, completely convinced, as he rolled the dough any which way.

With an amused sigh, you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his arms, your back pressed against his chest. Dave froze, surprised by the proximity, but let his hands relax when you held his wrists.

"Like this," your voice came out soft, almost a whisper, as you guided his movements firmly. "Calm. No force. Just... glide."

Dave let out a low chuckle. "Do you realize this looks like a movie scene? Like, 'Ghost' but the cooking version?"

"Shut up, Lizewski," you warned, but a smile escaped.

The truth was, the proximity wasn't helping your focus. You could feel his body heat through the hoodie, the rhythmic sound of his breath close to your ear, and the soft scent that always seemed to surround him. What had started as a funny moment quickly turned into something more intense.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Dave murmured, his voice deeper and lower, too close to your neck.

You didn't have time to respond because, in the next second, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the side of your neck. The sensation was so unexpected that you shivered, letting out a sigh.

"Dave..." your voice nearly faltered.

He smiled against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction, and placed a few more soft kisses there, each one slower and more provocative than the last.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low and clearly satisfied. "Am I distracting the chef?"

"You're distracting me," you replied, though not with much firmness, because the truth was, you were loving it.

"I don’t see you complaining for real," Dave teased, giving one last kiss before pulling away just enough to study your face. His cheeks were red too, but the crooked, loving smile remained. "Why do you have to be so pretty, huh? Can't even be a disaster in peace."

"Who says I want you to stop being a disaster?" you retorted, your voice full of amusement, but the look in your eyes was sweet enough to be hard to hide.

He smiled even more and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips brushing against yours so gently it felt like he was afraid to break you. You felt his fingers slide along the curve of your waist, almost as if he wanted to memorize every inch, as the kiss slowly deepened, stealing any remaining breath.

"I swear you're going to be my undoing," Dave murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Well..." you began, with a shy, daring smile. "At least we’ll get lost together."

His laughter was genuine, and he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes. It was the kind of look that made time seem to slow down — his blue eyes filled with affection, admiration, and something deeper, an intensity so pure that you didn’t know how he could keep it all contained in just that gaze.

"What luck I have," he replied softly, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he acted on impulse. With a somewhat awkward movement, Dave grabbed your waist and lifted you up, making you let out a surprised squeal instantly.

"Dave! What are you...?"

But you didn’t even finish the sentence. The sudden movement made your leg bump into the open bowl of flour, creating a white cloud in the air that looked like something out of a cartoon. You burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as he gently set you down on the counter.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he laughed, not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying the chaos he had just caused. His hands were now covered in flour, as were parts of his hair and the blue sweatshirt he was wearing.

"You’re a walking disaster, Lizewski." You laughed through your grumbling, trying to brush some flour off your face, but you were quickly interrupted when he leaned in again, his smile still dancing on his lips.

"I didn’t hear any complaints earlier." He said, and before you could respond, he sealed his lips to yours once more.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more engaging, as if he were trying to capture every bit of that moment. His hands slid back down your waist, a firm yet gentle touch, as if he were still surprised to be allowed this close to you.

You pulled him even closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours and realizing, once again, how he seemed stronger than you gave him credit for. It was a subtle strength, but it was present — a constant and charming surprise from someone who could still be so sweet and caring.

"Since when have you been working out like this, huh?" you asked, your voice slightly muffled between the kisses he was now spreading across your jawline and the corner of your neck.

"Since I started carrying my girlfriend around in my spare time," he replied with a proud smile, his voice lower and full of affection.

"How cocky." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the big smile on your face.

Dave looked at you again, his blue eyes tracing every detail of your face, and you felt your heart squeeze in a good way. He was still too close, your bodies almost touching, and the redness on his cheeks only made him more endearing.

"I’m serious." He spoke softly, brushing a lock of flour out of your hair with his fingertips. "I never thought I’d have someone like this... you know, someone like you."

Your heart melted instantly. You leaned in, pulling him into another kiss, but the moment was brutally interrupted by a strange smell and a low sound coming from the oven.

Both of you froze, eyes wide in unison, until you let out an "Oh no!" and gently pushed Dave off the counter.

"The cookies!" you exclaimed, rushing to the oven.

Dave stood still in the middle of the kitchen, still covered in flour, watching as you, somewhat clumsily, opened the oven and tried to save the cookies — already too dark to be considered edible.

"Okay, okay, I admit it," he began, trying to suppress his laughter. "Maybe the movie scene was too good to be true."

You shot him a sharp look, but you couldn’t hold back your own laugh either. The kitchen was a mess — flour on the floor, sugar on the counter, both you and Dave covered in white powder. But none of that mattered.

You sighed dramatically, holding the baking sheet as if it were a lost cause.

"I think we’ve lost this batch."

"It’s just proof of how irresistible I am." Dave shrugged, walking over to you and holding out his arms. "But hey, I promise the next one will turn out right."

"You really are a lost cause, Lizewski."

"And you still like me this way." He grinned widely, pulling you back close, as if there was no mess around.

And, to be honest, at that moment, there really wasn’t.

[twstsimpsblog]

~Ensnared by the eel~

Jade Leech x gn!reader

Reader is yuu

Story: one-shot

TW: none

Summary: A quiet evening at the Mostro Lounge takes an unexpected turn when Yuu, working tirelessly to make ends meet, finds themselves caught in a moment of intrigue and mischief with the ever-enigmatic Jade Leech. What starts as an innocent slip soon spirals into something far more complicated—and far more intimate.

The bustling energy of the Mostro Lounge was beginning to wind down. Customers filed out one by one, leaving behind the telltale remnants of their evening—empty glasses, discarded napkins, and the occasional spilled drink. Yuu sighed softly as they wiped a table clean, their hands aching from the constant work. Being in a school filled with athletic, svelte students was challenging, but the job at the lounge helped them make ends meet. Besides, they didn’t mind the occasional kind words from customers who appreciated their service—or the tips left behind.

Grim was counting on them to bring back enough money for his endless snacks, after all.

“Yuu, don’t forget the bar counter,” Azul called out going in his office, his voice crisp yet polite. “And please make sure everything shines. You know how I feel about presentation.”

“Got it!” Yuu replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from their face.

Nearby, Jade and Floyd were already beginning to clean up. Floyd hummed an off-key tune as he tossed chairs onto tables, while Jade worked with precise movements, wiping down surfaces and organizing. The eel-mer’s sharp eyes flicked toward Yuu as they scrubbed the bar counter, their apron slightly askew.

“Working hard as ever, I see,” Jade said smoothly, approaching them with a small smirk.

“You know how it is,” Yuu replied, flashing a tired but genuine smile. “If I don’t, Azul might dock my pay, and Grim won’t let me hear the end of it.”

Jade chuckled softly. “Ah, the trials of responsibility. I must say, it’s rather impressive how diligent you are.”

Before they could respond, Floyd bounded over. “Oi, Jade, stop flirting and keep cleaning! Azul’s gonna flip if he finds out you’re slacking!”

“Flirting?” Jade echoed, his voice light with amusement. “I was merely offering our dear colleague some encouragement.”

Yuu felt their cheeks heat up but quickly turned away to continue their work.

Time passed, and the lounge slowly came back to its pristine state. Jade, Floyd, and Yuu worked in relative harmony, chatting occasionally. But as Yuu carried a tray of dishes toward the kitchen, their foot suddenly caught on a damp patch of the floor.

“Oh no—!”

Before they could steady themself, Yuu slipped, the tray clattering loudly as they fell backward. In a blur, Jade moved toward them, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

But instead of catching them, he tripped slightly on the same wet spot, and the two of them ended up on the ground in a tangled heap.

Yuu gasped as they realized their position—flat on their back with Jade hovering over them, his hands braced on either side of their head. His face was startlingly close, and his usual composed expression had given way to something more surprised and… amused?

“Well,” Jade murmured, his voice low and smooth. “This is… unexpected.”

“I—I’m so sorry!” Yuu stammered, their face flaming.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said, his golden eye gleaming mischievously. “Though I must admit, this position is rather compromising, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yuu tried to push themself up, but Jade didn’t move. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his smile turning wicked.

“J-Jade, you’re kind of…” Yuu trailed off, their words faltering as his gloved fingers lightly brushed their cheek.

“Hmm? What was that?” he asked, feigning innocence. His voice dripped with honeyed amusement as his hand moved down, tracing the line of their jaw with deliberate slowness.

“You’re too close!” they finally managed, their hands coming up to push against his chest. But his weight, though not oppressive, kept them firmly in place.

“Am I?” he mused, tilting his head. “My apologies, Yuu. But I must confess, this is quite… enjoyable.”

“Enjoyable?!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Your reactions are simply delightful. Did you know that your face turns the most enchanting shade of red when you’re flustered?”

Yuu opened their mouth to retort, but their breath hitched as Jade’s face dipped closer. His lips brushed against their temple—a fleeting, teasing kiss that sent a shiver down their spine.

“J-Jade!”

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips now grazing the shell of their ear.

“This isn’t— You can’t just—!”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with theirs. “Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice a silken purr. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest that you’re uncomfortable.”

Yuu’s heart pounded in their chest, their body betraying them as warmth spread through their core. “I… I don’t…”

Jade’s smile widened. “Good,” he said simply. Then, without warning, he leaned in again, this time capturing their lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The world seemed to blur as his lips moved against theirs, soft yet insistent. His hand cupped their cheek, his thumb brushing their skin in soothing circles. Yuu’s hands, which had been pushing against his chest moments ago, now clutched his shirt uncertainly.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze was heavy-lidded, his smirk thoroughly satisfied.

“You taste as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured, his voice like velvet.

“Jade…”

“Hmm, you’re still blushing” he teased, running a gloved finger along the curve of their neck. “I wonder… should I kiss you again? Or would that be too cruel?”

Yuu’s mind raced, torn between indignation and the heady warmth his touch left behind. One thing was certain—Jade Leech was dangerous, and they were hopelessly ensnared in his net.

[metamatar]

@feral-catgirl tumblr sorry replies suck, here's the parts of Anuradaha Gandhy's Philosophical Trends I perceive as anti sex work.

When you said that "her primary concern seemed to have been the organization and empowerment of dalit and adivasi women in particular, against being ostracized from their communities or murdered by the state." I completely agree, and frankly, think of her as an admirable figure. She was not a SWERF or a carceral feminist in anyway, but I don't think she is pro sex work.

From her section of Marxist critique of radical and cultural feminists:

The radical trend by supporting pornography and giving the abstract argument of free choice has taken a reactionary turn providing justification and support to the sex tourism industry promoted by the imperialists which is subjecting lakhs (100.000s) of women from oppressed ethnic communities and from the third world countries to sexual exploitation and untold suffering. While criticizing hypocritical and repressive sexual mores of the reactionary bourgeoisie and the Church, the radical trend has promoted an alternative which only further alienates human beings from each other and debases the most intimate of human relations. Separating sex from love and intimacy, human relations become mechanical and inhuman. Further, their arguments are in absolute isolation from the actual circumstances of women’s lives and their bitter experiences.

In the absence of characterizing sex work at all in the context of other kinds of labour, Gandhy is actually dismissing the rights of sex workers by saying that the historical work done by feminist sex workers to make safer, legal choices vs unsafe, illegal ones to access sex work enable sex tourism. Arguably, a less generous reading would be that she is obscuring imperial relationships by characterising pro sex work feminism as in anyway central to supporting them. The unthinking valorisation of sex with love and intimacy vis inhumane sex is frankly strange too. What about inhumane childcare where millions of dalit ayahs take care of and raise upper caste children? Why is sex work so distinct? When Gandhy engages with Marxist feminists who put this kind of work in continuum with sex work, she is critical of them for broadening the base (viz the superstructure) too much and making it meaningless.

If she speaks to real women's experiences in sex work, why is there no reference to the Durbar Mahila comittees (1990s), SANGRAM or any actual sex worker led movements? Imo it is pretty much an endorsement of the bog standard anti sex work and anti pornorgraphy politics dominant on the Indian left. When she invoked the figure of the Dalit prostitute, it was to actually dismiss her specific interests when criticising postmodernism:

Post-modernist feminists are glorifying the position of the “Other” because it is supposed to give insights into the dominant culture of which she is not a part. {...} Hence, for example, in reality no category of only woman exists. Woman can be one of the identities of the self— there are others too. There will be a Dalit woman, a Dalit woman prostitute, an upper caste woman, and such like. Since each identity has a value in itself, no significance is given to values towards which all can strive. Looked at in this way there is no scope to find common ground for collective political activity. The concept woman helped to bring women together and act collectively. But this kind of identity politics divides more than it unites. The unity is on the most narrow basis

Given that historically the Naxalites have, for what are deemed operational reasons, discouraged intimate relationships for cadre members and coercively required sterilisations for those who want to marry - I don't think we need to invent a pro sex work Gandhy when there isn't one.

[ssseriema]

HELLO im seri from seriema

you might know me as the guy who made one of those animatics that shows up if you look up lifesteal animatics on youtube!!! my main thing is art and you can see it all in my #lifesteal smp tag. my inbox is always open to questions, concerns, rambles, cries of help, bug pictures, and art requests (though for those i often treat my inbox more of an idea bank so theres no guarantee ill get to yours)

my friends said i was scary before they started talking to me in discord servers and such. i might seem intimidating but really all i am is a little shy ^_^; you gotta approach me like a cat

im passionate about yaoi, im a furry, i made a bunch of period cramps art, ive got a few fun silly AUs, im a devotions girlie to the day of my death and a starfox cannibalism truther. my body is a machine that turns minecraft cubitos into gay minecraft cubitos, i love straight ships and yuri, and there is nothing in the world that can stop me from keeping my princezam stream streak. i have the stem major nerf so ive been huge amounts of busy with school and cant make as much art

i also co-organize and moderate the project know as @lifestealzine ! a first of its kind in this fandom... i love the lsblr community and it makes me happy to see all the new people in it :3

seriema

you 🫵 yes you 🫵 lsblr ❤️⚔️ resident 🧍, what is your ecological niche?

(use this as a promo post whether you do liveblogs, reblogs, analysis, art, writing, webweaves, crafts, etc as well as say who you main, who you have brainworms for even if you dont post about them a lot, etc)

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 1

mentions of physical, psychological and sexual abuse towards both Koujaku and his mother

SELF DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR

Let’s go back to the beginning. Or rather, what Koujaku tells us. He also talks about himself, of course, but usually when he talks about his past, most of the time he talks about his mother: because that’s what hurts him the most. He barely mentions the abuse towards him other than the tattoo and that one time his father punched him. But he always talks about all the hardships that his family put his mother through. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that it is hard to believe that was it.

Koujaku’s father has proven to be an extremely violent piece of shit and a zero-empathetic person. I don’t doubt that Koujaku’s mother, because of her nature, was his favorite toy. What’s more, he did every cruel thing he could think of to her, his wife too, she had fresh wounds every day and she couldn’t even eat, and although it isn’t said nor implied I wouldn’t be surprised if Koujaku was a product of rape. I mean… most likely. We hardly know anything about his mother, not her appearance, not her name, not what she liked, not how the hell she ended up in that place, if there was any love involved in it or if it was something about debt, we only know that she was the perfect victim.

She was always saying sorry to her son, for everything Koujaku’s been witnessing, she feels guilty and responsible because he tries to stand up for her, and because she has brought him to a world where the one that decides for them is a criminal. She keeps a deep pain inside for everything that’s happening and she tries to hide it, especially from Koujaku, and seeing her son suffer doesn’t help. Smiling to him so he doesn’t worry, and saying sorry to try to comfort him. That’s why the last thing she repeats over and over to her son when she’s lethally wounded is “I’m sorry”, feeling sorry that it’s because of her that he has lived like this, because she wasn’t able to protect him, to give him a proper life.

Obviously all his father did was also psychological abuse towards Koujaku, even blackmailing him with hurting his mother. But I sincerely believe that his father would use physical abuse to teach the boy a lesson, nothing could stop him anyway, because Koujaku as a child complained and rebelled, he didn’t care if his father hit him, he would defend his mother regardless. This is why I sometimes give Koujaku more scars to his body, and besides defensive cuts I also give him cigarette burn marks. Lore expansion better known as adding trauma.

I think he just doesn’t talk about it that much because the abuse towards him isn’t what has hurt him the most. We ourselves often don’t give it much importance if someone tries to insult us, but maybe if it’s someone close to us, that does piss us off, some logic like that. Moreover, throughout the game Koujaku’s personality is just like that, always worrying about others and giving little importance to himself, to the point of being tremendously negative for himself.

Don’t you think those scars would make him look more masculine, intimidating, as if he’s survived dozens of dangerous, tough fights? It seems the perfect image for an environment like organized crime.

Despite all of Koujaku’s feminine traits, the perception of him both in canon and in fandom (usually) is that of a stereotypically masculine, super straight man who fucks a different woman every night, always joking with “no homo, bro” (which, mind you, I’m not saying I don’t like these jokes, I make them myself too). But in reality that couldn't be further from the truth.

With that image that we have of him, sometimes it would seem that he is someone with prejudices or that he really had a hard time accepting that he’s not straight, specially when in the scene where he confesses to Aoba he says the following:

The reasons he tries to hide his feelings is a mix between the fact that they are friends and he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they already have, that he wants to hide his past and that he doesn’t want to be a burden on Aoba, so he keeps all those things to himself. (And he’s also been educated a certain way and has always seen things one way, never gave it much thought so when it crosses his mind, of course he’s confused)

When he first met Aoba he thought he was a girl because he had really long hair, and after all, when we’re kids we don’t have very developed features anyway, it’s a pretty androgynous state. When Aoba corrects him and tells him he’s a boy his behavior is exactly the same, nothing changes. He corrects himself and never treats him as a girl.

He is someone who has no problem showing his affection for Aoba, neither in private nor in public, he’s very comfortable with his bisexuality, the only one who is reluctant to do so, either out of shame or fear, is Aoba.

What I’m trying to get at with all this is that all that “gentleman” facade and the “always accepting women who want to have something with him” that makes him look so stereotypical in a first impression has a much darker origin, although underneath all that there’s a much more sentimental, vulnerable and open Koujaku about his true feelings, expressing them even if he feels embarrassed, as we see on some occasions (touching his hair nervously when he confesses, of when he explains why Aoba's hair is so important to him).

The relationship he has with his mother is the most direct connection, or course. Being the son of an abused woman has made him hyper-aware of his position as a man (so much that sexism in this game almost goes full circle like the Bourbon family tree, but this is NC’s problem and it happens everywhere, it’s so obvious it’s a writers problem and it’s a shame it affects Koujaku so much because he’s basically the only one who isn’t scared of a bad bitch). We’ll talk about this in particular some more later, but let’s focus on what concerns his father for now.

Being the family of criminals that they are, abusers and… almost slavers, the most logical thing to assume is that they are specially conservative. It could very well be that his father, once he decided to make him his heir, wanted the image of his kid to be as intimidating and masculine as possible. A criminal, a murderer who could run his business in a world like this.

We know that the tattoo is an experiment by Toue, and it wouldn’t be strange if his father knew what was behind it, because after all it would also be beneficial for him to have a way to control him, to mold him to his liking and to make him obedient, unlike he had been behaving, refusing to be his heir and trying to defend his mother. The image of an effeminate, soft, sissy man was not exactly ideal for the future leader. For me, Koujaku’s father either already intended to name him heir before agreeing to the tattoo being an experiment with Toue and Ryuuhou, or he ended up deciding to name him the heir precisely because they had already talked about the tattoo and its possibilities beforehand.

His father would want to break him, drive him to despair so that he would stop resisting, take away his will and, although this is mostly headcanon, “make him a man”. Be a man, be strong, tenacious, learn to fight and find a woman to continue the family with, etc. So it is not surprising that at first he didn’t even reconsider his sexuality and thought that the affection he had for Aoba was just friendship, which over time, with such strong feelings, he realized was not the case. I sincerely love that he is shown to be so nervous and that he confesses to be kinda confused about it and in a state of denial, without having any external reference and too busy hating his father and Ryuuhou to even think about it, it’s normal that it took him so long.

He was trained to be a gangster, while his father insulted him, hit him and threatened him using his mother, on whom he took it out. This training also implies not only fighting but also for doing business, how to talk to be well-received, how to negotiate, how to give the best impression of himself at any given situation. This pack of skills seem to resonate with those that he uses to flirt and run his own business, even if he does it on an unconscious level, he just knows what to say to strike the person he’s talking to in their weak spots. His father’s physical treatment would not only be a punishment, but also to teach him a lesson, to learn to endure the pain, just like he endured the pain of the tattoo. If he cried, it would be shameful, he would be punished. He had to hide his pain, his feelings, his thoughts, for the sake of his mother’s safety and his own. Practically becoming a puppet, thus evolving into the life he carries in Midorijima as an adult.

Him not wanting to open up to Aoba wouldn’t be just an “oh he’s going to hate me”. It’s also what he learned would be the best, having a charismatic appearance that everyone likes. After all wouldn’t it be logical to not want any confrontation with anyone after all that? A tough guy, with people around him who admire him, who never gets tired or cries, because nothing’s wrong. In a way it’s also a shield, a protection, a defense mechanism. To be a man.

Now, the way he behaves that almost everyone without exception associates with his mother. And this, for sure, is the intention, his desire to protect his mother and therefore take care of the women he meets. But it’s also him actively wanting to be the opposite of his father.

What kind of relationship does he have with women? The contact he has with them is mostly through all his female fans, who are crazy to say the least. We’re not going to get much into the subject of sexism but first of all it’s a huge mistake that his fans are only young women or the way they make them all act.

Koujaku spends all his time building a character that he considers perfect, someone gentle, who never says no to a woman and is always available to entertain them, it would never occur to him to deny anything to any of them, as his mother was denied so many things. Unlike that hard and tenacious masculinity that he was taught to have in order to take on his role as the heir or the bestiality of his tattoo, he presents a gentle and chivalrous masculinity on the outside. What he does is pamper them and give them everything they ask for (almost, because has never really had serious relationships. Which makes sense because he would be telling them pretty big lies, right? That wouldn’t fit with his own code). He doesn’t think very highly of himself, he has a low self-esteem as he thinks of himself as nothing better than a worthless monster that should have probably died a long time ago.

Sometimes people who are abused go through abuse again, in a cycle. I think saying that Koujaku is a playboy is incorrect. (He acts flirty and likes playing around, sure, but there’s something deeper). That perception of him is natural, of course, because the way he behaves and how he is presented to you, it is the image they want to give of him after all, in a basic and cliche way, so artificial that it is unsettling. I could believe that it sounds artificial on purpose, referring to that shell of how a confident and strong man should talk, if it weren’t for the fact that they do this kind of cliche and artificial situations quite often with other characters as well, and it makes it kinda hard to remain immersed. I honestly think that the foreshadowing could have been done a little better, but it still serves the narrative. Also this is practically almost all you see of his character the two first interactions he has with Aoba. Considering the structure of the game and how rushed everything is, it’s not very positive, but for the sake of your mental health it's better not to think too much about it.

In short, Koujaku is a very accommodating and attentive person. He listens and encourages others with their problems but doesn’t let anyone worry about him with his own, taking on everything himself. He even ironically tells Aoba that if he’s worried about what happened with Mizuki, he can blame him, and that he can always count on him to tell him anything. It’s a very lonely way to live, even though he has so many people around him.

Knowing this, it’s more than reasonable to think that more than him flirting with women, it’s simply him agreeing to give what those women ask of him. They come looking for something and he gives it to them. He’s a toy. It’s often joked that he’s practically a prostitute, and pretty much that’s what it is. And it’s in the balcony scene where we see a more personal side of him, where we can observe that in reality all this burden tires him, it’s not natural. It’s not like his character isn’t extroverted and charismatic, but that’s not everything, and in public he doesn’t allow himself to be “less”, so in private and in confidence is when he can afford to relax, with Aoba or in his own house.

Somehow, even though he is no longer with his family, the way he interacts with other people, or how he lets himself be used, be it consciously or not, even if there is a different intention behind, is not that different from before, people still use him.

ERHM... SOMETHING

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level.

I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s referencing love at first sight and Koujaku’s abuse of Aoba. In a metaphorical way that abuse certainly happened, ever since he was tattooed, his body did not belong to him anymore. There are people who can’t stand the idea of having sex, and others who often seek it out to ease the pain. Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. His tattoos are his shame, his filth and sin. When Aoba touches his tattoos Koujaku practically jumps at contact.

[deadhands69]

Under the Christmas Tree 

MDNI 

Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Content/warnings/etc: gn/afab reader, Chapter 431 spoilers, porn with plot, post-canon/aged up slightly for no other reason than me being amused by the idea of Shouto Todoroki spending the entirety of his twenties after ch431 making stacks of soba bowls instead of ever attempting to get laid. He does get laid in this though: blowjob, fingering, slightly awkward sex (f on top, m on top), also contains swearing and explicit conversations.

2 1/2 Months Ago: Kaminari’s Halloween Party 

It wasn't really Halloween, but three days after. Being heroes, you are all used to it. Drinking holidays always bring out a villain streak in a lot of people so most of your gatherings end up on off days. After the long week, it was nice to have a lowkey night with a few old friends.

“Okay, you're up next!” Kirishima yells across the table, knuckles deep in candy corn. 

“Alright,” you pause to consider your next words. Looking down at your four upright fingers before continuing, “never have I ever…”

You can't remember what your actual words were. Whatever you said, it was boring. A few people groan around the circle, fingers dropping, then it's Sero’s turn. And he was determined to spice it back up again. 

“Never have I ever,” he starts with a twisted smile, “eaten ass…before breakfast.”

“Booooo,” Kaminari groans, tossing a few pieces of candy corn at him before dropping his last finger. “Okay, fine. Who's next?”

Shouto is up next. You prepared yourself for another odd one, his last turn was that he's never worn mismatched socks.

“Hey Todoroki,” chirped Mina, “quite a few fingers you're holding up there.”

He glanced down to the nine fingers still remaining before he looked at everyone else's in confusion. He was the only one in the room not down to one hand. Kaminari, Hagakure, and Shinso were all out. 

“Oh. Isn't that.. How you win?” 

“By losing at life?” Bakugo laughs. 

“There's no way you aren't lying,” Jiro adds, “wasn't Hagakure’s ‘never have I ever fucked a girl?’”

“I haven't done that with anyone,” Shouto responded. 

“There's no way,” Sero responded, “you're thirty! You've been voted the hottest hero in every girly magazine for ten years straight. I'm not buying it.”

“It's true, I really haven't,” Shouto said quite plainly, before glancing around the table again. He briefly locked eyes with you, searching for your reaction before quickly looking away. A blush crept up on his cheeks. 

Up to that moment, it had never occurred to him to be self conscious about his lack of sexual experience (or about anything, really.) But that night, with all of your eyes staring, he started to think maybe something was wrong with him. 

3 Weeks Ago: Mina & Kirishima’s Kitchen

“Here’s to comfort,” you read. 

“Ooh that's always a fun one!” Mina exclaimed, grabbing the blue stick out of your hand. “I'll pass that along to your Secret Santa!”

Every year since graduating from UA, your friends group has organized a gift giving game. It had now become some convoluted version of Secret Santa that started relatively normal but gained extra steps and rules along the way. At some point, popsicle sticks in a jar with phrases on the bottom of each were added to give your gifter a theme to stick to. Partially for fun, mostly because a few of your former classmates struggled without a prompt. 

“Ooooh, and guess what Todoroki got!” Mina fished through the jar for a green popsicle stick before holding it up, “‘a new experience!’ You can help him with that, riiiight?”

“Oh come on,” you dismiss, “he's cute but he’s clearly not interested in that sort of thing.”

“That's not what he said last week,” Mina winked at you. You look to Jiro for some confirmation.

“In more or less words, yeah.” 

“And that means…” you ask.

“I said ‘ooh sounds like someone’s getting a blowjob from Santa this year!’” Mina began laughing too hard to keep talking. Jiro continued, “we had to explain that no, we do not actually mean Santa. It was a whole thing, but in the end he said it’s something he’d been ‘thinking about a lot lately.’”

Kaminari chimed in, “and he’s had a crush on you for ages! I think you should do it, even if you don’t get him for Secret Santa.”

“Of course [y/n] will get him, we'll rig it. Like we do every year,” Mina flicked her eyebrows up at you. 

“Wait, what??” Kaminari exclaimed, dropping his beer. 

“You didn't know that?” Jiro asked, while throwing a towel at him. “You've been at the planning meetings, how could you not know that?”

“Okay, okay, you can explain it to him later. But now, let's get back to what's important.”

She moved into your space with intensity until her pink nose was nearly touching yours. Without breaking eye contact she asked:

“will you do it, [y/n]?” 

Current Date: Kaminari’s Holiday Party

“Okay, everyone remember. There are five hours left of today!” Mina announces, “I repeat, 5 hours! If you do not give your Secret Santa gift in this time, you will owe them lunch for a week!”

Secretly, nearly everyone hoped to get Bakugo for this reason - he’s an amazing cook and hates the game. Guaranteed lunch for a week. 

Maybe you got him this year, your gifter still hasn’t done anything. You haven’t either though.

It’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s just… awkward. 

Plus, the opportunity hadn’t come up. You were only alone with Shouto twice in the past few weeks. Once, you were both called to an emergency and went home covered in ash and blood. The other time, you were trying to work up the courage to bring it up when Denki showed up at your door to use the bathroom after bursting a pipe in his (the joys of living two doors away from him.) After that, he was out of town for a week. Then he was jetlagged. This is your first time seeing him since then. He looks well rested, at least. 

Four hours pass by quickly. 

You need to find a way to draw him out but every time you’ve tried, he’s been busy. First with distributing the handmade soba bowls and chopsticks he’s gifting everyone. Now he’s playing a card game with Sero and Kirishima. You’d been following him around all night, looking for your opening to no avail. Maybe it’s the constant glancing or the way you’re tapping your foot, but his two opponents have taken notice of your predicament.  

“Heyy,” a drunk Kirishima throws an arm over Shouto’s shoulders, “it would be super manly if you helped [y/n] with their Christmas tree. It’s been propped up in the corner for days. Driving me crazy.” He winks at you.

“Yeah,” Shouto replies calmly, “I can do that. Right now?”

Thank you Kiri!

“Yeah,” Kirishima gives his shoulder a squeeze before letting him go, “better get to it before we forget again.”

“But I won’t for-” you grab his arm, immediately dragging him out the door and down the hallway towards your apartment. 

Fortunately, your place looks nice right now. You'd decorated, initially planning to host the party. However, your friends stepped in and made the decision to give you space for Shouto's gift. Plus, moving supplies to Denki's apartment took them all of five minutes. 

“This must be important to you, I’m happy to help,” Todoroki says while you push the door open to a perfectly upright and decorated Christmas tree. Considering that the glowing bulbs reflecting off the shiny ornaments are the only light source in the room, it certainly draws the attention. 

“Huh? Oh, right…” you really hoped he saw through the excuse, but this couldn’t have been that easy. He glances between you and the tree for a moment. 

“You don’t actually need help with this, do you?” he tentatively asks. 

“No, Shouto. I don’t need help with the tree. I…” you pause, considering your next words. You try to sound collected but they all come spilling out at once. “I’ve been trying to get you alone because I got you for secret santa.”

“Oh,” the previous conversation with Mina and Jiro comes flooding back to him, “oh.” 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, very okay. Before I presume too much, do you mind telling me what the gift is?”

“It's…a new experience for you.”

He seems to like your confidence, that you're more experienced than him. When you grab the collar of his shirt to pull him further into the room, he follows eagerly. Dropping to sit across from you on the rug in the middle of your floor, the lights catch his face perfectly. You'd never realized how beautiful his eyes are up close. 

Leaning in, you press your lips into his.

You know it's not his first kiss. In varying years, a few of your friends have bragged about kissing him at midnight on New Years. But you know he's never kissed anyone like this before. Your hands are buried in his two toned hair, pressing him to the floor as you climb on top. He groans into your mouth, his head tipping up to you as his lips chase more closeness with yours. Your tongue slides over his, deepening the kiss. 

You take off his sweater, then the shirt underneath. Dragging your fingers over his bare chest.

Hips pressing into his while you straddle him. Dragging yourself over the hard bulge forming in his pants. The heat builds in your gut. It's time to take things further. 

Reluctantly, you pull your lips away from his. Crawling backwards down his body. At some point, while your face hovers above his belt, you have a realization. 

“You want this, right?” you ask, staring up into his heterochromatic eyes. Knowing that Shouto Todoroki would easily get himself into a situation like this without meaning to, it felt important to ask. 

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” you pull his underwear down with the pants as he tips his hips up to help you slide them off. 

And… wow.

Sure, it's not the most massive dick in the world but definitely the biggest you've ever seen in person. His pale leaky tip begging to be put in your mouth. He twitches at the feeling of your warm breath as you move closer, finally making contact when you lick the vein up his length. 

As soon as you touch him, he crumples under you like tissue paper. He exhales like he’s never relaxed so much in his life. Maybe he hasn’t.

You wrap your lips around his tip and press your tongue onto his shaft. Using your hands to make up for the areas your mouth can’t reach. As your head dips up and down, working up a good amount of spit and precum, his moaning increases. Soon, he’s jutting his hips up towards you. His hand gripping your hair harder.

You know he could cum right now if you let him, but you have more ideas tonight.

Pulling your lips away with a pop, you sit back up. He watches as you move over him, still working to steady his breath. This is a lot more than he really expected to happen tonight but he’s loving every minute of it.

Taking off the amount of clothes you need to, you laugh slightly at how clothed you still are in comparison to him. He’s down to just his socks. 

“You can take your socks off, you know.” 

He does, quickly. Now you have him completely naked under you.

Straddling his lap, you line him up with your entrance pulling your underwear to the side.

When you sink down onto his tip, you feel his girth immediately. Making it what you’d assume is about halfway down, you slide back up. Continuing to envelop him in small increments. You want so badly to maintain the image he has of you being cool and experienced but the stretch of taking all of him is becoming more of a task than you anticipated.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“No, you’re doing great. It’s just…you’re kind of big.”

“Oh. I'm sorry if my penis isn't ideal.”

You could laugh. Seriously. The amount of guys who would be massively jealous and he has no fucking idea. 

“No, it's definitely not that. You have nothing to worry about; it'll just take a bit to get used to.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better for you? I know you’re doing this for me, but I'd like to make you feel good too.”

“Yeah, you could use your fingers?”

One issue - you forgot his fingers are massive as well.

“Is this okay?” he asks, slowly inching his middle finger in after you showed him how. 

“Yeah, just.. A little faster now.”

Eventually, he gets the hang of it. Earning a huge gush of cum from you, leaving his fingers sticky. His hand lingers for a moment while you come down. You’re still gripping his shoulders and breathing hard into his chest. Finally, you look up at him.

You haven’t seen him look this proud of himself in a long time.

“Does this mean we can try again?” he asks, “if you’re finished after that I can respect that as well.” 

“Yeah, we can definitely keep going,” you smile, shoving him onto his back again. You begin removing more clothes, starting with your now damp undergarments. 

This time, when you line yourself up you slide a little easier onto him. Still not quite fitting the whole thing but the stretch is much less now. 

Your elbows drop by his head, caging him to the ground under you. He brings his warm (and cold) hands to your hips, enjoying the way your skin moves against his fingers as you bounce up and down on him. The sound of your combined breathing fills your living room, nearly echoing from the corners. Holiday lights still illuminating his face while he stares up at you in amazement.

Why didn’t you do this sooner?

You continue riding his dick until the tension in your gut builds. Soon you’re clenching around him while holding onto his shoulders for support again. Your bounce slows to a grind while you press yourself as close to him as possible.

“Shouto,” you moan into his ear.

He groans and turns his head to kiss you.

“Can I..” he asks, sitting the two of you up while he holds you against his chest.

“Uh huh,” you nod and he has you on your back. Hips rutting between your legs that are now wrapped around his back.

Within the minute, it’s his turn. 

“I’m about to cum,” he moans, “is it okay if I-”

“Yeah, please cum,” you whisper.

Immediately, he whimpers - pulling you closer while he gushes inside of you.

"I've wanted to do that for years," he murmurs.

You move the hair out of each other’s eyes while you catch your breath. Eventually making your way off the living room floor.

While you’re getting cleaned up, he excuses himself briefly. Saying he needed to grab something from his car. You figure it’s toiletries or something and carry on.

A few minutes later, as you’re coming out of the bathroom freshly changed into comfortable clothes as he re-enters your front door. In his arms is a massive fluffy blanket, which he promptly wraps around you then leads you to your couch. 

“I’m your secret santa this year. I was waiting until after midnight to give you your gift, I wanted the excuse to take you out to lunch for a week,” he says while wrapping his arms around you, warming you further. “There's a new soba place I'd like to try, but I'm open to your suggestions as well.”

Down the hall, your friends were all guessing when they’d see you next. Some saying that one or both of you would come running back within the hour. Much to the delight of Mina, Jiro, Kaminari, and Kirishima - they guessed right. No one saw the two of you until you emerged from your apartment the next morning.

m.list

Okay, this whole thing was admittedly written after reading chapter 431 with izuchako becoming a thing and Jiro/Denki’s friendship deepening while Shouto just doubles down hard on soba. Something about that plus his absolute obliviousness is hilarious to me but I mostly write smut so it led to this weird awkward thing. Thanks for reading!

[andromeda-pleiades]

Captain's Favorite

WORD COUNT: 2,183

PAIRING: John Price x NB!Oc

This is a rewrite that I felt I could do justice. I also am releasing an OC list and writing this longer story help with ideas

In one of the more secluded briefing rooms, Captain John Price stood at the head of the table, his commanding presence unshaken by the dim, flickering light above. The mission had taken an unexpected turn when the terrorist organization relocated their base to a fortified ship in international waters. The Navy intervened, sending one of their best—Captain Bee.

Price had already dealt with Bee in the past. They were capable, yes, but their constant need to challenge him grated on his patience, while beneficial in some cases it usually ended with the both of them making a fool of themselves. Beside him, Captain Bee leaned against the table, their arms crossed and expression tight. Though they often came across as confident and collected, their narrowed eyes betrayed a flicker of unease at standing so close to Price.

“John,” Bee began, their voice sharper than usual, “my team and I are clearly better suited to lead this mission. We've already reviewed the terrain, the approach, and the objectives.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to just step back and follow orders, yeah?” He crossed his arms, his gaze meeting theirs. “This isn’t about who’s better suited. We’re both here. Get on board.”

Bee bristled, their cheeks heating slightly as they looked away. “You’re impossible.” they muttered, messing with the jewelry that adorned thier fingers.

Why does he always get under my skin?

“You’ve said that before,” Price replied, his tone gruff but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t bother me then, either.”

Bee glared at him, their frustration bubbling over. “You’re so full of yourself. Just stay out of my way.”

“I’ll do my job,” Price shot back, his voice firm. “You focus on doing yours.”

The room fell silent as the two locked eyes, their teams exchanging awkward glances. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat on one side, while Bee’s five—Coma, Harpy, Hold em', Torres, and Quinn—occupied the other. Soap leaned toward Ghost, muttering, “Think we’ll make it outta here before they kill each other?”

Ghost didn’t bother responding, his masked face unreadable.

Bee eventually turned back to the table, taking a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” They went over the plan in clipped tones, detailing the approach to the ship, the entry points, and the objective: securing the stolen intel and disabling the ship's communications.

Price listened silently, occasionally nodding, but his stern expression never wavered. When Bee finally finished, he leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the tension. “One thing, Bee. My team doesn’t sit back and watch. We’ll take point on the comms. You can handle the extraction.”

Bee’s eyes flashed. “Fine. Just don’t slow us down.”

Price gave a short, gruff laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The room emptied quickly, soldiers moving with practiced efficiency. Bee lingered, adjusting the straps of their gear as Price’s heavy footsteps echoed behind them. “Hope you’re ready,” he murmured, voice low.

The moon hung low over the dark sea as the teams approached the ship in separate boats. Bee’s five-member team cut through the water silently, their movements precise and rehearsed. Price’s trio followed close behind, Soap keeping an eye on the horizon while Gaz and Ghost prepped their gear.

As they reached the ship’s hull, Bee gave a quick signal to their team. “Harper, Torres, up first. Clear the Deck.”

Price watched from his boat, his jaw tightening. “Ghost, Soap, cover them. Gaz, with me.”

Bee shot him a glare as they started climbing the rope ladder. “Didn’t I say my team would handle the Deck?”

“And I said we don’t sit back,” Price replied evenly, hoisting himself up behind Ghost.

The Deck was cleared in seconds, Bee’s team securing the perimeter while Price’s team moved toward the communications tower. Bee followed, keeping a wary eye on Price. His movements were steady and efficient, and as much as they hated to admit it, he made it look easy.

“Torres, Hold em',” Bee whispered into their comms. “Stay sharp. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Price’s voice crackled over the shared channel. “Ghost, get those comms down. We’ll sweep the upper levels.”

Bee clicked their tongue, irritation flaring. He’s always got to take charge, doesn’t he?

As the teams moved closer to the ship the energry started to get a little more competitive

“Got two hostiles down in the control room,” Gaz reported.

“Already cleared three in the storage bay,”Harpy countered smugly.

Price shot a glance at Bee, who scowled. “Don’t look at me. Just because my team’s better doesn’t mean I’m keeping track,” they muttered, though their tone was laced with pride.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Price muttered under his breath.

The teams had split momentarily, each taking different routes through the ship. Bee led their team down a narrow corridor toward the engine room while Price’s trio moved to secure the communications tower.

As Bee rounded a corner, their comm crackled to life. “Bee,” Price’s gruff voice came through. “How’s your end looking?”

“Fine,” Bee replied curtly, pausing to let Harpy and Hold ‘Em clear the next section. “We’ve taken out five hostiles already. You?”

“Seven,” Price answered, his tone laced with challenge.

Bee scoffed. “Yeah, sure you did.”

“Think I’m lying?” Price’s voice was firm, but Bee knew the subtle tease hidden in his tone. That familiar mix of irritation and something else—something they didn’t want to acknowledge—tightened their chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bee shot back. “Odds are in our favor.”

A beat of silence, then Price spoke again, his voice low and deliberate. “Tell you what—let’s make it interesting. Whoever racks up the most head counts owes the other. Call it... rights to brag for the next op.”

Bee smirked despite the heat creeping up their neck. “Bragging rights? That’s dull. If I win, I want something better. I want the ‘Ole Special.’”

For the first time, Price chuckled—deep, rough, and unexpectedly warm. “The ‘Ole Special’? You serious?”

“Dead serious.” Bee adjusted their grip on their weapon, willing their pulse to steady. Why does he always have this effect on me?

Price laughed again, the sound crackling through the comms. “Alright, fine. But when I win, you’re gonna swallow those words.”

Bee rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Big talk, John. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

“Always do,” Price replied gruffly, before the comms went silent.

The bet fueled the tension as the mission progressed. Bee’s team was meticulous, moving with precision and clearing each section swiftly.

“Two down in the engine room,” Torres reported over the comms.

“Three more in the storage bay,” Harpy added smugly.

Bee smirked despite themself. “Let’s keep it up. We’re not losing to them.”

Their comm crackled with Price’s voice. “Nineteen so far. How about you?”

Bee froze. “What? That’s not possible.”

“Calling me a liar again, Bee?” Price’s tone was sharp, his gravelly voice carrying that faint trace of humor that made Bee’s blood boil.

“I’m calling you delusional,” Bee snapped, even as their stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

“Careful,” Price warned, his voice dropping an octave. “You’ve still got time to catch up—barely.”

Bee growled under their breath. “Coma, Quinn, double-time it. We’re not losing to them."

By the time the safe was cracked and the intel secured, the teams gathered at the extraction point. Bee approached Price, their jaw tight and their pulse annoyingly erratic.

“Well?” they demanded, arms crossed on their chest “What’s the count?”

Price looked up from his weapon, his smirk barely visible under his thick beard. “Twenty-four for us. You?”

Bee hesitated. “…Twenty-three.”

Soap let out a whistle, grinning as he looked between the two captains. “Close one, eh?”

Price’s eyes twinkled as he stepped closer to Bee, his imposing frame cutting through the tension like a blade. “Looks like you owe me, Captain.”

Bee glared, heat rising to their cheeks. “Don’t push it, John.”

Price leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Told you you’d swallow those words.”

Bee’s face burned as they turned away, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

Price’s low chuckle followed them into the chopper, settling in their chest like an ache they couldn’t quite shake.

The debrief room emptied quickly, chairs scraping against the floor as soldiers rushed out for their evening meal. Only Bee remained,a habit they picked up over the years, absently twirling the silver ring on their index finger. The familiar sound of Price's heavy boots stopped directly behind them.

"Come on, Bee," he murmured, voice low enough that only they could hear.

The walk to John's office would have been humiliating for anyone else—Price following close behind like a guard walking a prisoner to judgment. But Bee felt their pulse quicken with each step, trying to maintain their composure despite the anticipation building in their chest. It had been weeks since they'd been alone with John, and the tension between them had only grown.

Price settled against his desk when they arrived, arms crossed over his chest. The same knowing smirk from the debrief played at the corners of his mouth. "Well then," he drawled, "going to hold your end of the bet, or are you going to talk your way out of it again?"

Bee's eyes fell on the worn leather couch, memories of previous encounters flooding back. They grabbed one of the cushions and sank to their knees, having learned from experience that the hard floor left marks that were difficult to explain later. Their heart raced as they looked up at John, fighting to keep their expression neutral despite the heat building under their skin.

"I'm not going to do all the work for you, John," they said, proud of how steady their voice remained. Good, they thought, let him think I'm not excited.

John's smirk bloomed into a full smile as he began unbuckling his belt, the soft leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. "You know," he mused, "when you said you wanted the 'Ole Special,' I thought you would have tried harder to win." He traced their bottom lip with his thumb. "Guess you just love taking it."

The way Price's voice dropped when aroused sent shivers down Bee's spine, but they wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much power he held over them. Instead of responding, they maintained eye contact and ran their tongue along his length, satisfaction coursing through them when his words caught in his throat.

Their initial plan was to tease, to draw out the moment and maintain some semblance of control, but desire won out. Still, they forced themselves to move slowly, unwilling to reveal just how eager they truly were.

"Getting sloppy, Lieutenant," Price growled, his fingers holding the side of their head. The gentle grip turned firm as he took control, guiding their movements with increasing urgency.

Bee braced their hands against his thighs as he set a steady rhythm, the solid wood of his desk at their back. The office filled with a symphony of sounds—his low grunts, their muffled moans, and the wet sounds of their enthusiasm.

"Bloody hell, Lieutenant," Price gasped, holding them close until their nose brushed against him. "So tight and wet and obedient. So desperate you don't even care that our men are right outside

A moan vibrated in Bee's throat at his words, drawing a breathless groan from above as Price's grip tightened further.

His movements grew erratic, desperate, as he held them in place. With a final, deep thrust, Price stilled, his warmth flooding their throat as a guttural groan escaped him. Bee waited until his grip loosened before sliding back, a silvery strand briefly connecting them before breaking.

They coughed a few times, clearing their throat, then looked up at him with a cocky smirk. "You used to last so much longer," they teased, voice slightly hoarse. "Getting old, John?"

John tucked himself away, fastening his belt with practiced ease. His breathing was still slightly uneven as he looked down at them, noting the flush in their cheeks and the way their pupils were still blown wide. "Need any help with your... situation?" he offered, gesturing vaguely toward them.

Bee pushed themselves to their feet, brushing off their knees with affected casualness. "I think I'll save it," they said, smoothing down their uniform. "For next time." They stepped closer, close enough that Price could feel their breath against his ear. "When I'll have you on your knees for me."

They turned toward the door, hiding their situation. Before they could reach for the handle, Price's voice stopped them.

"Bee," he called softly, making them pause. "It was... nice to see you again. Like this."

Heat bloomed across Bee's cheeks at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. They didn't trust themselves to turn around, knowing the boyish smile spreading across their face would give away too much. Instead, they gave a quick nod and slipped out the door, their heart hammering against their ribs as they hurried down the corridor.

Only when they were safely around the corner did they allow themselves to smile

All banners by @cafekitsune

[haleswallows]

Happy Friday!

Fandom: DC x DP Pairing: Dead Tired (Danny/Tim) Rating: Teen High Fantasy AU, Arranged Marriage, and Dragons (oh my!) Chapter 13

TEASER:

“I dare say Phantom could not have found a better match,” Frostbite mused. A pretty flush rose on the prince’s cheeks. Danny focused on it, instead of his own fluttering heart. “If you wish for me to approve,” he directed at Danny, tone indulgently affectionate, “then you need not worry, Snowflake.”

He didn’t need to voice his thanks. It was a relief, not that Danny thought Frostbite wouldn’t approve. But the reassurance was welcome.

“You will stay a few days?” Frostbite asked as he shuffled his wings. They rasped against each other. “It is so rare a human comes to see me, and I do not remember ever meeting a prince from Gotham.”

“Mūti invited us to stay with her for a few days,” Danny said. “And I’ve been told by no less than three people to enjoy a little time from the Keep. Apparently, I’m stressed.”

“So I will get to see you both some more yet. A delightful surprise.” Frostbite rolled his eye back to the prince, who blinked at the sudden change in the ancient’s attention. “Little prince, I must implore you to look after this willful child. He has a great talent for getting himself into all manner of messes and trouble. I fear he has no survival instincts, despite all my worrying.”

“Stop it,” Danny groused. He was glad for the cold, perhaps it would hide his blush. “I was going to ask if you’d like to have the honor of doing our soulbond, but I don’t think I will now.”

“Ah.” Nudging Danny with his snout, Frostbite nearly bowled Danny onto his butt. “Child, I implore you to allow me. You have no talent in holding a spell.”

Gods, Frostbite just kept outing all his flaws. Soon, the prince would know all of Danny’s failings. How embarrassing.

“I just thought,” Danny said as he threw his arms around Frostbite’s nose. “You would like to help. It seemed appropriate, to have the great Ancient Frostbite cast the first soulbond between High Chief and Gotham Prince. That, and I have no talent for holding a spell.”

Frostbite snorted, blowing a clump of flurries all over Danny's front and up his nose. Danny stumbled away, rubbing his face. Like father, like son, he supposed. Sometimes he hoped Aquila would drop the habit, but Danny lost all illusions he would. Afterall, if Frostbite was still doing it in his timeless state, then it was a lost cause.

Danny rejoined the prince, sniffling a little.

“Would you like to evoke the soulbond now?” Frostbite tucked away his sly smile, circling back to the serious topic. “Or shall we wait for tomorrow?”

Now didn’t bother Danny. He shrugged, and gave deference to Prince Timothy to allow the prince to answer for them. “Oh.” The prince turned to him, chewing his lip as he searched Danny’s face. Danny absolutely didn’t let his eyes drop to the prince’s mouth. “I have no qualms with now.”

Looking between them, Frostbite smiled so softly, Danny felt the warmth of his affection. Some day, it would stop surprising him. And some day, he might even feel like he deserved it. For all his flaws and mistakes, Danny didn’t know what he did to deserve the dragon’s unconditional love.

Exist, he supposed. For Frostbite, it was that simple.

“Snowflake?” Frostbite rumbled. Danny pulled on a smile, letting the dour thoughts fall away.

This was easy. Well, maybe not easy, but familiar at least. Danny had gone through the motions five times now, and every bonding felt a bit different. Of course it did, each bond was different.

The prince’s nervousness was obvious. He stood stiffly, and his grip tightened on Danny’s hand.

Danny smiled encouragingly – Frostbite would take care of them, the ancient would never be able to bear it if he did harm to a human. Carefully, he guided the prince a few steps away and took both his hands so they stood face to face. It reminded him forcibly of the marriage rites in the Keep.

Maybe this time, Danny would be able to control himself and not kiss the prince.

The prince’s eyes fluttered a moment as he took a deep breath. “Ready?” Danny murmured, just for him. “Take all the time you need, Your Highness.”

He couldn’t help it – Danny watched the prince, even though he knew Frostbite would have words for him later. Both for getting married without telling him and for being so carelessly besotted. But who could blame him? Eyelashes a thick fan over cheeks tinted pink by the cold, lips plush from all the biting he had done, the prince was a vision. To keep himself in check, Danny rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Prince Timothy’s hands, hoping it served to soothe his nerves.

The prince looked up at Danny through his eyelashes, and nodded. “Ready.”

Frostbite breathed out a great plume of swirling snowflakes. And a new bond opened, pulling on Danny’s soul.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

The bond took. It slammed into Tim’s mind with a foreign weight, a headache forming right behind it as his brain struggled with the new input. Unknown, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

He was instantly aware of Phantom’s proximity - not just physically, the heat of his body, the sound of his breaths. But now internally. His mind was like a compass needle, and Phantom true North. A tugging in his mind, a pull that Tim tensed himself against to keep from leaning towards. Tim knew in his heart of hearts that blindfolded and turned around, he would be able to find his way to Phantom.

It was terrifying.

And nestled between the stinging pain of the headache, the pull of the bond in his frontal lobe, there was something else. A blur of emotions, a bouquet of flavors and colors in his mind, his hands quivering, his heart pounding. It took Tim a long breathless moment to disentangle it from his own feelings.

Joy-affection-warm that bled into guilt-sad-dread as he worked to pick them apart.

Was... was that Phantom?

Tim kept his eyes closed, chasing the emotions. Scared-affection-guilt felt sour and warm, like curdled milk. He couldn’t discern if the swoop in his stomach was the same as seeing Dick come back from patrol with only small scrapes, or the same as a missed step, expecting solid ground and finding nothing.

Like a hound, Tim pursued it. Relentless in trying to grasp it. His own emotions felt pale in comparison, his heart pounding with Phantom’s fear.

Fear?

And just as soon as he captured it, the bond was gone. Echoing in his mind, like the gates of Wayne Castle slamming closed. Tim blinked his eyes open.

Phantom stood a few paces apart, his face turned away. The armor he wore disguised any tension in body but Tim could see the way his hands clenched. It looked like he didn’t even breathe. The leather of his gloves creaked with the force he fisted them at his sides – the only outward expression Tim could see. Tim… didn’t understand.

[heartinhyacinth]

Please read fully if possible.

For a brief moment, I was unsure about sharing this here. Then I remember the scene from TGCF between Xie Lian and a farmer from Yushi Huang’s kingdom.

“If I am causing trouble for the rain master, I will not pester any further.”

However, the farmer said, “why won’t you pester? Because it’s shameful? This is about the survival of your {kingdom}—shouldn’t you pester us to death? Is it so hard to lower yourself and ask?”

Then I remember Hua Cheng. To watch your beloved in pain with your own eyes and be unable to do anything—that’s the worst suffering in the world.

The doctors, as well as I, strongly suspect cancer. Amputation was recommended as pretty much the only option to reduce pain, but there lies the risk that the cancer has metastasized to her chest or throughout other areas of her body. We cannot afford to do both. If we take more X-rays and find out it hasn’t spread, we cannot afford to amputate her paw before it does. If we do not check if it has spread, we may go into debt and put her through more suffering only for it to be too late for amputation to help much anyway. We would not be able to afford any more treatment after that.

If you had asked me before what the worst pain of my life was, I’d have said something along the lines of suspected gastroparesis or the time I had to get surgery for a badly infected ingrown toenail when I was thirteen—nitroglycerin was sprayed on my toe as a numbing agent before a needle as thick as spaghetti was inserted into it and a quarter of my nail was removed nearly all the way up to the joint.

However, If you’d ask me today what the worst pain of my life was, it would be this. If you’d ask me a week from now, it would be this. If you’d ask me in a year, though perhaps as soon as even a month, I fear it would be something far worse.

She is in pain and action needs to be taken as soon as possible. This world thrives on insisting upon every chance imaginable that money and independence should live as the core themes of humanity. So far, it is getting its way about the ‘money’ part. I ask that it does not about the ‘alone’ part.

Her name is Lily. She is the friendliest cat you will ever meet in your entire life. She does not care if you are a human, a dog, a cat, or even a rock—she will love you. She sleeps in my jacket when it’s cold. She lays on my face. She sits on wrapping paper like the gift that she is. She loves bread and tortillas and cheese. She sticks her head in my water glass when I’m not looking. She bosses around her best friend—a cat twice her size that everyone else is scared of. She cuddles with her and sleeps with her head tucked in the crook of her neck. She sticks her whiskers up my nose when I’m sad and makes me laugh and licks my tears away. She sits on my shoulder like a bird. She sleeps between my arms with her head on my pillow next to mine. She walks on the piano and plays music. She loves kisses more than air itself and perks up when she knows they’re coming. She cuddles up so close to me I always say it’s like she’s trying to crawl inside my mouth. She purrs more than she doesn’t. She is sassy and will bite your nose or your toes if you put them by her. She looks at me like I’m her entire world and she is mine. She’s my bright-eyed girl who was happy from the moment she arrived.

She is my child. She is my best friend. She is in pain.

This world says her life is not worth it if I cannot pay. This world will not compromise.

This world says If I cannot do it, I am alone. I am asking you to be the compromise. I am asking you to say this is not our world. I can’t do this alone.

Anything at all is appreciated more than you can ever know. Even if all you’re able to do right now is share this ❤️

[flashfanged]

“I like to keep tasks organized, it helps my mind process a little easier. Other games I do wing it.” They say with an easy grin. They can kind of see it in the mirror, the way Autumn is processing the information of their job. Not a lot of people get it all the time. And sure they can leave out the part of their state of undress, but if they gained a new follower they would want them to be prepared. Honestly most of the reason was as simple of liking the level of control of what people got of them, better to expose yourself than someone else. The more basic reasoning though was being uncomfortable sitting for hours in clothing. Silly but true.

“If something isn’t a passion you shouldn’t force it.” she points out about her giving up the instrument. She barely registers when the car stops, Autumn’s voice pulling her out of the slight daze. “Oh, we are.” she lets out a chuckle before shaking her head. “I just got a little soft thinking of my girlfriend.” a practiced smile to show they aren’t a little off put by never needing sleep again.

“It’s been really nice getting to know you Autumn.” is said sincerely, sending the payment and opening the door. “You drive safe and I hope we run into one another again. Hopefully in a less work related situation. Night.” Exiting they make sure to close the door softly before heading off for the diner doors and disappearing through them.

Keeping a spreadsheet for a video game sounds anxiety inducing to her. "A spreadsheet? I just kind of wing it." The second comment makes her feel a little sad, mostly because she can't imagine exposing herself like that - she has enough misplaced hangups looking in the mirror without worrying about hundreds of strange eyes on her out in the aether. She thinks about inquiring if the girl has ever entertained just not streaming in her underwear - but she doesn't - she knows the internet is what it is and wants what it wants, and if she's comfortable with that, that's a sort of confidence Autumn can only envy. "I played Clarinet in Highschool but uh, stopped." She adds, somewhat uselessly. "You're a night owl - that's fine, and normal." She pulls into the diner's parkway and stops. "We're here!" She turns back to Madison. "...You okay? Seemed to kind of bum out there at the last minute."

[lakecitysilenceme]

you might ask yourself, 'what is the best way of separating layers?', well

i say it is unhingendly naming conventions!!!

my favourites definetly are all the variations of highlights and depgth spelled questionably,

and also, i named every lining layer as 'sp something', and i have no idea what i meant with that