#it's just the implication that he'd rather not be there

[adulthumanproblem]

Also pitching it as a fresh start, and then bringing back Rose? Doesn't fit.

Like, I don't mind bringing classic Who elements back, it certainly deserves some love. But at the same time, this refusal to bring back classic *enemies*, like the Dalek or Cybermen, and instead inventing the most ridiculously childish robots etc, I think that hurt the show too

Personally I like big arcs, that was the best thing about RTD's first run. And I don't mind character driven plots. But. Let them stay IN CHARACTER. Belinda couldn't decide whether or not she likes the Doctor, that's find, make that a plot point. She also wanted to be more than a mother and housewife, and LO AND BEHOLD

Also RTD's desperate attempts at being cool or trying to say something. His failed attempts at feminism. Please sir, just let women write it. "Doctor you should've stayed a woman, we can let go" oh fucking spare me. And right after they called Rose non-binary too? Meanwhile I'm just disappointed because the character of the Doctor would be such that he'd spend hundreds of years thinking about how to save Donna. Instead he, what, was just sad about it?

Also all the incel bits. I agree we need commentary and pushback on that, but just calling guys incels and killing them, idk. Weak.

And don't get me started on Conrad. The implication that a fascist wouldn't be a fascist anymore if he was happy. That a fascist's idea of happiness wouldn't be a totalitarian state. Please. And WHY does he get to be happy, anyway? After all he's done. He's not some innocent little uwu boy, he's an adult man who knew what he was doing. The Doctor used to lock people in mirrors for all eternity for less. (Ruby deserved to punch him in the face too)

And Belinda. Her character assassination. But also her telling SHIRLEY that she'd rather live in a fascist state than let go of an imaginary baby she never wanted and wouldn't remember, that's just gross.

For all the show of how bad disabled people have it, the narrative still doesn't give a shit about them. Conrad gets to be happy in the end, after what he'd done to Shirley and everyone else, and she doesn't get a say. She barely gets lines or things to do.

And don't get me started on the magic. Or Rose Tyler.

The finale was in many ways fantastic, but it also dropped the ball so fucking hard. Welcome back RTD, I guess.

When Gatwa Who started, it was pitched as such a fresh start, such a good jumping-on point that it wasn't series 14 of New Who, it was series 1 of a brand new third incarnation of Doctor Who

Quickly it became, in an arc sense, by far the most continuity-obsessed incarnation of modern Who. And there's a superfan tendency to laugh and celebrate this but no, it really is a bad decision to make so much of the emotional resonance of a show whose ratings are lower than ever, and at a point being pitched to casual fans as a *soft reboot*, depend on characters and story arcs from decades ago. It's an self-destructive decision. At the end of the day, did RTD have any ideas for what he wanted to do with Doctor Who, or did he just have a checklist of fanboy elements he wished he could've included the first time around

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her Die |23|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: A New Order

warning(s): psychological trauma, guilt and grief, religious/cult-like behavior, death, emotional manipulation, survivor's guilt, isolation and abandonment themes, ritualistic behavior, leadership power dynamics, interpersonal conflict, and mental health deterioration.

notes: happy gay month 'cause yk you gay n' stuff.

taglist:@morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots@mikuley@sleepyjackets@wnbawag

master list | previous chapter | next chapter

Days blurred together in the aftermath of the fire, measured only by the constant feeding of the camp fire that had become your lifeline. The flames devoured everything you could find—broken furniture salvaged from the charred remains, branches torn from unwilling trees, scraps of fabric that no longer served any purpose. The fire breathed like a living thing, hungry and demanding, its warmth the only barrier between you and the wilderness that pressed closer now, more intimate in its threat.

You sat on a fallen log, watching Taissa and Van work to clear debris from what had once been the cabin's foundation. Their movements were mechanical, efficient, but you could see the exhaustion in the slope of their shoulders, the way they paused just a moment too long between tasks. Everyone was running on empty, had been since before the fire took even that meager shelter from you.

The assumption had settled over the group like ash—unspoken but pervasive. Coach Scott's convenient disappearance, the timing too perfect to be coincidence. You'd heard the whispers, seen the glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking. He'd burned it down, they said. Lost his mind with grief and guilt and set fire to everything.

You knew better. The weight of your last conversation with him sat heavy in your chest, a secret that grew heavier with each passing hour. But how could you tell them the truth? That you'd encouraged him to leave, that his departure was mercy rather than madness?

"You're doing it again," Shauna said, settling beside you on the log. Her presence was both comfort and complication, the way it always was now—this strange intimacy born of shared trauma and necessity.

"Doing what?" you asked, though you knew what she meant. The thousand-yard stare, the mental absence that had become your default state since Jackie's death.

"Disappearing," she said simply. "Even when you're right here."

You shrugged, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Everything felt fragile now, like speaking too loudly might shatter what little remained of your composure.

Shauna was quiet for a moment, studying your profile in the flickering firelight. "Do you really think he did it?" she asked finally.

The question hung between you, loaded with implications you weren't ready to explore. "Coach?" you said, stalling for time.

"He was the only one not accounted for when it started," Shauna continued, her voice carefully neutral. "And he's been... different. Since everything."

You felt the familiar surge of defensiveness rise in your throat, sharp and protective. "He wouldn't do that to us," you said, perhaps too quickly.

Shauna's eyebrows rose slightly. "Wouldn't he? We've all done things we wouldn't have done before. This place—"

"He's not like us," you interrupted, the words escaping before you could consider them. "He never... he didn't cross that line."

The unspoken truth settled between you—the meals Coach had refused, the humanity he'd maintained while the rest of you had descended into something primal and desperate. Shauna's face tightened, understanding and hurt warring in her expression.

"So what does that make us?" she asked, her voice quiet but edged with something dangerous. "Monsters?"

You turned to look at her fully, seeing the pain you'd inadvertently caused written across her features. This was the thing that lived between you now—the knowledge of what survival had cost, what it had made you both become.

"That's not what I meant," you said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away before you could make contact, the rejection sharp and immediate. "Isn't it?" she asked. "We're all contaminated now, is that it? All of us except precious Coach Scott, who was too good for us?"

The bitterness in her voice cut deep, because part of you recognized the truth in it. There was a cleanness to Coach's absence from the group's desperate measures, a moral purity that felt both admirable and somehow accusatory.

"Shauna—"

"No," she said, standing abruptly. "I get it. We're the ones with blood on our hands, literally and figuratively. We're the ones who—"

"Stop it," you said, your own voice rising now. "You think I don't know what we've done? You think I don't carry it every single day?"

Shauna's expression softened slightly, but the hurt remained. "Then why defend him? Why make excuses for someone who abandoned us when things got hard?"

Because I told him to leave, you wanted to say. Because I couldn't bear to watch this place destroy the last good thing from our old life. But the words stayed locked in your throat, too complicated to explain, too dangerous to reveal.

"I just don't think he'd burn down our shelter," you said instead, the partial truth feeling like a betrayal of them both.

Before Shauna could respond, Lottie's voice cut through the night air, clear and carrying despite its softness. "Come," she called, though she wasn't looking at anyone in particular. "It's time."

You and Shauna exchanged glances, your argument temporarily set aside in the face of this new development. Around the clearing, others were already moving toward where Lottie stood near the fire, her figure backlit by flames that seemed to dance in response to her presence.

The group gathered in a loose circle, the formation feeling both natural and ritualistic. Lottie stood at the center, her eyes reflecting the firelight with an intensity that made you want to look away. Since Jackie's death, since the winter had taken its toll on all of you, she'd become something else—oracle, prophet, conduit for whatever force moved through this wilderness.

"The fire was a message," she said, her voice carrying easily through the night air. "A cleansing. The old structure burned away so something new could be born."

Taissa shifted uncomfortably, her skepticism still intact despite everything. "Lottie, we need practical solutions, not—"

"The wilderness rejected her," Lottie continued as if Taissa hadn't spoken, her gaze finding Nat across the circle. "We offered her up, and she was refused. Do you know what that means?"

Nat looked like she wanted to disappear, her shoulders hunched as attention focused on her. "That I'm lucky?" she said, but there was no humor in it.

"It means you're chosen," Lottie said simply. "The wilderness doesn't accept sacrifice from its own children. You belong to it, and it to you."

A strange silence settled over the group, heavy with implication. You could see the others processing Lottie's words, weighing them against their own desperate need for meaning, for structure in the chaos that had become your existence.

"Lead us," Lottie continued, her voice gaining strength. "Not because we choose you, but because the wilderness already has."

Nat's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Lead you where? We're all just trying to make it another day."

"Exactly," Lottie said, and something in her tone made the word sound like prophecy. "Survival requires leadership. Direction. Purpose."

You watched Nat's face, saw the war between resistance and recognition playing out in her expression. She'd never asked for leadership, had always been more comfortable on the periphery. But there was something in her that understood necessity, that had always been willing to do what others couldn't or wouldn't.

Travis spoke up from across the circle, his voice hoarse from days of grief. "She tried to save him," he said simply. "When the rest of.. when we lost ourselves, she still tried to save him."

The words hit you like a physical blow, guilt crashing over you in waves. You'd been avoiding Travis since that day on the ice, unable to look at him without seeing Javi's face disappearing beneath the surface. The knowledge that you'd failed to protect his brother sat like a stone in your chest, growing heavier with each breath.

One by one, the others began to move toward Nat. Van approached first, offering a simple handshake that Nat accepted with visible reluctance. Taissa followed, her acknowledgment more formal, like a diplomat recognizing a new government.

Mari bowed her head slightly as she approached, a gesture that seemed to surprise even her. Akilah did the same, though her movement was more uncertain, seeking approval for her instincts.

When Misty approached, she dropped to her knees without hesitation, taking Nat's hand and pressing it to her lips in a gesture so theatrical it might have been funny under other circumstances. Nat's startled laugh broke some of the tension, a sound more genuine than any you'd heard from her in weeks.

"Jesus, Misty," Nat said, but she didn't pull her hand away immediately. "Get up."

As the others continued their acknowledgments, you remained at the edge of the circle, paralyzed by your own guilt. How could you pledge loyalty to someone whose leadership was built on the foundation of your failure? How could you look Nat in the eye knowing that Javi might still be alive if you'd been faster, stronger, better?

Shauna approached Nat with quiet dignity, her acknowledgment simple and heartfelt. When she returned to the circle, her eyes found yours across the firelight, a question in her gaze that you couldn't bring yourself to answer.

Finally, only you remained. The weight of everyone's attention pressed down on you, expectant and patient. Nat's eyes met yours across the distance, and something passed between you—understanding, perhaps, or recognition of shared loss.

You took a step forward, then another, your feet carrying you toward her despite your reluctance. When you reached her, Nat extended her hand, and you took it automatically. Her skin was warm, roughened by weeks of survival, but steady in a way that reminded you why the wilderness might have chosen her.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the words meant for Javi, for Travis, for all the ways you'd failed when it mattered most.

Nat's grip tightened around your hand, her thumb brushing across your knuckles in a gesture so gentle it nearly broke you. "We all are," she said quietly, her voice meant only for you.

You lingered a moment longer than necessary, drawing strength from the contact, from the absolution she offered even if you couldn't accept it. When you finally released her hand and stepped back, something had shifted in the group dynamic—subtle but significant.

As the ceremony concluded and people began to disperse, you found yourself drawn to the edges of the firelight, seeking shadows where you could process what had just occurred. The weight of leadership now rested on Nat's shoulders, and with it the responsibility for decisions that might mean the difference between life and death for all of you.

Shauna approached you as you stood apart from the others, her earlier anger replaced by concern. "Hey," she said softly.

You nodded but didn't turn toward her, afraid that meeting her eyes would shatter what little composure you'd managed to maintain.

"Talk to me," she said, stepping closer. "Please."

But how could you explain the guilt that ate at you from the inside? How could you articulate the way Javi's death had changed everything, made every breath feel like theft, every moment of warmth or comfort feel undeserved?

"I can't," you said finally, the words barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

Shauna's hand touched your shoulder, a tentative offer of comfort that you wanted desperately to accept. Instead, you stepped away, putting distance between yourself and the kindness you didn't deserve.

"I just need some time," you said, hating how the words sounded, how they pushed away the one person who'd tried to anchor you through the worst of it.

You saw the hurt flash across Shauna's face before she could hide it, saw how your rejection landed like a blow. But she nodded, stepping back to give you the space you'd asked for, even if it wasn't what either of you needed.

As you walked away from the fire, from the group, from the comfort that felt like betrayal, you carried the weight of too many secrets, too much guilt. Behind you, the fire continued to burn, hungry and patient, consuming everything you fed it while giving back only warmth and light—a mercy you weren't sure you deserved but couldn't bring yourself to refuse.

The wilderness pressed close around you, dark and knowing, holding space for your grief while offering no easy answers. In its depths, you thought you heard the echo of Javi's laughter, the memory of innocence lost, the sound of ice cracking under the weight of choices that couldn't be undone.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new tests of survival and sanity. Tonight, there was only the fire, the darkness, and the terrible knowledge that some forms of hunger could never be satisfied, no matter how much you fed the flames.

[synchodai]

I recently got these tags for @sera-wasnever on my Ketheric Thorm post and it got me thinking about the ability to appeal to him vs the ability to appeal to Orin and Gortash.

Because my main qualm in that post about Ketheric was that you don't get to curse out him the way you can literally say "Fuck you, Gortash" or "You're a psycho, Orin" (actual in-game dialogue lines). Obviously, I think Ketheric was treated with more narrative sympathy among the Dead Three.

BUT I disagree that you CAN'T appeal to the other two -- or rather, trigger a crisis of faith by tugging at something personal. Ketheric's is more straightforward and obviously has more content and dialogue surrounding it. You have entire areas and inventory items meant to humanize him. Isobel's old room, his bust, the note he keeps in his corpse, his wife's diary, etc. There are a lot of things programmed into this game to make you feel sorry for this old man.

Compare that to Orin and Gortash. The area that's meant to humanize Orin and equip you with the thing that triggers her crisis of faith is her room with her mother's preserved corpse. You can argue that for Gortash, it's the Flymm house, but I don't think the Flymms are actually the trigger for his crisis of faith because you don't use his parents during his boss fight to make him waver like you do with Orin and Ketheric.

You can't be like "you're a sicko whose parents abused you" (he'd be like "well, yes") or "you can still be good for the sake of your loved ones" (he'd be like "lmao, funny joke"). If you kill his parents, he mentions it with the gravity of experiencing a minor shipping delay and goes on business as usual.

However, there IS something that canonically does spark hesitation. It is extremely brief but it is very much spelled out in the game, and it is very much infamous.

DARK URGE: For what it's worth, I think I always liked you, too. NARRATOR: There is hesitation in his eye for one moment. A passing thought of all the times spent together you’ll never remember.

That hesitation that shows that there's recognition of something human beneath the monster is seen in all of the Dead Three Chosens' confrontations. You pull it out of Ketheric by talking about how he loves his dead wife. You pull it out of Orin by telling her she was a victim of abuse and incest. Obviously, these truths fundamentally challenge how they perceive the world and themselves. How could Ketheric be a warmongerer who destroys families and tortures his daughter when his wife would hate him for it? How could Orin be the ultimate predator she's posturing herself as if you reveal she's been a helpless victim of Bhaal's cult too?

And for Gortash, the thing that challenges him enough to make him hesitate is... the Dark Urge telling him they liked him? Huh? Well... ain't that laden with implications.

There are no cries of despair like Orin or Ketheric, but there is something. Instead of manipulating and feeding you his agenda and his ideology, this is the only time in all your interactions with Gortash that he asks you what YOU think ("Is that what you...") -- but that line is quickly cut off when the current situation you're both in reasserts itself through the Elder Brain making earthquakes.

With Orin and Ketheric, it's Bhaal and Myrkul who interfere and hastily cut off their Chosen's potential redemptive change of heart. With Gortash, however, it's not god but these reminders that he's stuck having to see through his crumbling grand plans that smacks him back into villain mode. It's not Bane that's stopping the player character from bringing out less monstrous, more sympathetic Gortash who even so very briefly questions this path of evil he's found himself in -- it's reality, and that's just tragic.

[apomaro-mellow]

look, I try not to chime in on these things but people saying keery will soon be "free" of stranger things just baffle me. like the man has done other things are you aware that he's done other things do you understand that actors can be involved in more than one thing

[grandmaster-paradox]

This.

Been working out the motivations for my Sith!Kenobi fic and the political angle ended up being his pressure point. Like, the personal is there, what caused him to first stumble, but the greater political implications for what caused his personal relationships to fail are the actual tipping point.

I think the same things that make him so entrenched in the light and 'a stable moral axis" for [others] to spin around are some of the same characteristics that would make him a terrifying Sith. Because at the end of the day it's not just that he's so Light that he can't be tempted, it's that he's a true believer in a rather fundamentalist fashion. He's steadfast and unwavering in his belief in the Jedi, the Republic, and Anakin - even when the foundations that same belief are built upon start to crumble and he should have started to question things long before they break.

Break that faith and the qualities that make him a true believer will still exist within him. He's never been motivated by personal power or even personal attachments. But convince him of the rightness and righteousness of the Sith cause and he'd start walking that path without taking his eyes off the road.

Kenobi needs something to believe in, a cause or mission to dedicate himself to. At first it was the Jedi, then the war to protect the Republic, then ensuring the twins stayed safe. As soon as he could be assured that his last mission, his last cause, was a success and the twins had made it to adulthood alive, he let Vader kill him. He goes through life dedicated to a cause and unwavering in that dedication. Break his faith and he will still fundamentally need a cause.

And oop, here comes a Sith ready to give him one!

(This swings back to my belief that Kenobi is increadibly ruthless in much of his dealings. If he has a goal he wont let anything get in his way.)

Also, I love the concept of "he would, in fact, stick a fork in another sentient being and follow that up with a cannibalism threat" and might just steal it for a fic. I want to see that play out.

Having some thoughts on Obi-Wan and his fandom perception rn. Specifically about some of the more involved discussion here on Tumblr. And I'm not gonna lie! "He wouldn't fucking say that" and "he wouldn't fucking do that" are starting to feel the same as the dreaded "oh, the curtains are just blue" post to me.

Obi-Wan is such a static character in the Prequels and the potential impact of that on his reception here is REALLY interesting. His decisive character development happens (mostly) offscreen between Qui-Gon's death and Anakin's knighting. And after that... well. Obviously the war didn't leave him unscathed, but imo if Maul's rise and Satine's death had happened in S1 of TCW, he would have acted and reacted pretty much the same way he did in S5. He just doesn't change very much between AotC and RotS.

And I think this is part of why some people get really damn rude about his "darker" depictions in fanwork. No matter what canon throws at him, he stays in the Light. He barely even falters. So if a fan writes his fall to the Dark, that's just inherently seen as ooc, no matter what the fanfic's context might be. Most Sith/Dark/Separatist Obi-Wan fanworks are set in the Clone Wars era, and because TCW Obi-Wan is a stranger to significant development, any work trying to move his allegiance has to automatically be a stranger to his "canon character", too. Discussions on how to "correctly" write him get oddly aggressive and condescending and often miss the point of fanfiction, or even the point of telling a story at all. It's something I see over and over again and it's probably something I've contributed to as well. Maybe I'm even doing it now. Idk.

Moral if the story is: let this man be changed. "He wouldn't do this in canon" doesn't have to equal ooc. Try to look at the next drawing you see of Sith!Obi-Wan with some Whimsy in your heart. That's all!

[muninnhuginn]

Thinking about "your weakness is how you always want to be the hero" and how the series returns to this at the end

Li Lianhua hated how he acted as Li Xiangyi and spent years trying to distance himself from it, but ultimately he still fell back into the similar patterns, for all his added experience

His main priority was always to "do the right thing" regardless of how that would impact on those around him. And it *did* impact those around him. From Qiao Wanmian and Shan Gudao as Li Xiangyi to Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng as Li Lianhua

Giving the Styx flower to the emperor so he could use it as leverage to guarantee Fang Duobing and his family's safety. Using the last of his power to save Yun Biqiu. Constantly putting others above himself whilst actively refusing to recognise that his self-sacrificial nature would hurt those he cared about most

And sure, he thinks he's going to die anyway. They're going to be hurt regardless and he can't do anything about that. His odds are low of the Styx flower even working. But ultimately, he refuses to even consider trying. Li Xiangyi has been dead a long time and Li Lianhua is just there to tide things over. What value is the life of a ghost

To the end, he lives and dies a hero. To the end, he refuses to live for himself.

[cryingyetcourageous]

I ship Blorbo and Shmeck. I ship your Raivis and Heta Raivis. I ship it all.

[[ First of all, how dare you

Second of all, Raivis dating his canon self would be some top-tier reverse-psychology self-healing lmao. All the traits he's most insecure about are exacerbated in his canon reflection, but that includes his insecurity, so he has to reassure him that it's okay. He's a nurturing person, so his instinct is to help, comfort, and take care of this other-him. But... if it's okay for him to be how he is in an exaggerated form... then it's?? even more okay??? for himself? He's fine? He doesn't have to be embarrassed by this or apologetic about that?

[edettethegreat]

honestly the most correct Edgar Post ever

king lear productions that portray edgar as a bumbling shy alcoholic: 🥰🥺❤️✨💕💖🥰💕❤️✨✨🥰🥺 king lear productions that portray edgar as a social bubbly jock: 🤩🥳🥰✨❤️🙈✨❤️🥴🤩✨❤️💕🙈✨ king lear productions that portray edgar as straight and a flirt: 🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮❌🚫❌

[urprettylildoe]

𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓁ℯ𝒹

♡ yandere football player x fem reader ♡ Every girl wanted to be with him and every guy wanted to be him, and to everyone around the world he was considered the embodiment of perfection. But there's more to what meets the eye, and you're one of the only people who know that very well. ♡ word count: 1.9k words ♡ warnings: yandere/obsessive behaviour, dependency, toxic relationship, kidnapping, attempted drugging, very brief and implied self-harm, nsfw (non-con)

His team had won yet again.

Critics weren't just analysing the performance itself but one particular figure that always made his presence known; whether it was deliberate or natural.

Looks, money, charisma, talent; what characteristic didn't the renowned football star possess?

Blake's motivator was his love for things that kept him on his toes and sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

The constant chanting of his name from the crowds was like music to his ears. He waved and shot them a pretty smile adorned with dimples that would surely make magazine covers.

Cameras zoomed in on each of the team players as they walked out of the field. Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he stared into the camera.

The world out there didn't know that it was reserved for one particular person, and they knew who they were.

A message.

I know you're watching.

♡

"And how do you feel about today's performance?" The lady smiled almost too brightly, holding the microphone up towards him.

"I think we gave it our all today and I couldn't have done without my team," he enthusiastically recited as if he hadn't been practising with his manager for the perfect PR response to the questions. Blake was a natural in front of the camera — he threw in some jokes and made sure to flash those pearly whites every now and then.

The interviewer chuckled, "Oh please, don't be so modest. You were amazing out there, Blake. Give yourself some credit, will ya?"

A few more minutes passed with them going back and forth before he was finally asked million dollar question:

"so, we're all dying to know, any relationship updates we should be aware of?"

For a split second, his flawless facade cracked and his smile faltered, his jaw ticking with something unpleasant. Then, almost as if nothing happened, his expression turned carefully neutral and he maintained a polite smile, "my personal life is just that, personal."

Translation: i'm not answering that. In any other situation, he'd have no problem saying it directly, but he'd rather not listen to his agent talking his ear off about it later.

But the woman obviously did not pick up on the implication and if she did, she didn't mention it. Instead, she leaned in and brushed her hand against his bicep at an attempt of subtle flirting, "Oh, come on. You're one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. Surely there's someone special in your life?"

He feigned embarrassment rather than expressing his anger and scratched the back of his head, "you're really putting me on the spot here." He paused, then added, "i'm just focused on my career at the moment. And as they say, good things come to those who wait, right?"

His answer shut the interviewer down and the last line did have some truth to it. Patience is a virtue.

♡

Pushing the bathroom door open, his hands gripped one of the sinks and he took a moment to calm his nerves.

They don't know. They don't know. It's okay.

His gaze dropped to the scar marring his otherwise perfect skin in the mirror, right under his bottom lip. Yet, instead of frustration like his manager had expressed with utter disappointment, warmth he was all too familiar with fluttered in his chest.

This was no burden, but a gift from his favourite little songbird after one of her many tantrums of be let out of the golden cage. Though it is a hassle to calm her back down, he did cherish the mark imprinted on his skin.

Blake tutted, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised it further. It was fading; he'll need to fix that up soon enough.

He shrugged on a jacket and drove home in his sleek car, ready to finally relax. The day drained him of all his energy.

Or perhaps it didn't, because when he reached his home, all of the anger bubbled up to the surface. Patience was not a virtue, because his had reached its limit because of a certain dove.

♡

Tonight was the night.

The night where you would finally be free of the shackles that bound you to that horrible, horrible man.

Blake.

To his fans and the world, he's a passionate and talented athlete. To you? He's a monster. One that stripped you off everything you've known, one that kept you for his selfish desires, one that held a warped version of 'love' in his heart.

You wanted to flee. Not even tell the police, just run far, far away where he couldn't reach you, where you would be your own person and not some pretty ornament he'd come home to admire every day.

Sanity hanging by a thread, you slipped down the marble stairs in just your socks and cute pajamas. Any captive should have injuries and tattered clothes. Except, your captor wasn't normal. And while you didn't have any physical injuries, you were still hurt.

You were supposed to be asleep, if everything went according to his plan (which usually did). The opportunity was too good to pass up; he was leaving for a match for hours. When he had given you the pill with a fond smile, you returned it and made an act of swallowing, all while keeping it under your tongue. The doors were locked due to his paranoia so you couldn't escape through there. Not to mention your hands and feet were tied, so you spent time on those too.

Finally, the makeshift rope was ready. Hours of twisting bedsheets together finally paid off and now you were ready.

One look out the window and you were already nauseous. It was such a high drop and you weren't willing to die, not yet at least. The rope tumbled down till it nearly reached the bottom, only a few feet off the garden grounds.

In and out. Nothing is going to happen.

Wrapping your limbs around the clothing, your hands clenched around it. Your eyes closed and you let yourself slide. Breathing fresh air felt true bliss, like this was your first time.

When you reached the bottom, your knees trembled with the gravity of what's going on. The closest thing you let out to a relieved sigh was a choked sound out of your throat.

You were free. You. Were. Free.

No more punishments, no more suffering, no more of his constricting love, no more-

maniacal laughter rings through the air sharply, making you halt. No.

You'd recognise it anywhere, even if you didn't want to.

"Wow, I leave for a few hours and come back to this?" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye in amusement, though you caught a vein in his forehead throbbing. "You surprise me every time, baby. Though I gotta admit i'm a little...hurt."

Your heart stopped and you took a step back, whipping around to face him. Such beauty he had, but so undeserving of it. Your nails had dug blood out of your palms, making them dully ache however not as deep as his confessions of 'love' would pierce your heart.

He didn't have nothing in that chest but rotting flesh.

"Now, now, none of that." He grinned as he followed your steps with his longer, stronger legs and you could only pray that he showed mercy. "You really didn't think you'd get away, did you? You truly do underestimate the lengths I'd go for you.

I give you the most beautiful home, the finest foods — my love. And this is how you repay? By running away from me? From us?"

His voice progressively got louder with each word. You really pushed him to the limits.

"I-I'm sorry-"

Cutting you off, large hands shaky with barely concealed raged cluched either sides of your head, "shh, I know you are. But sorry isn't enough anymore."

It wasn't a normal, torturous kind of punishment — no, you wished it was. You wondered if falling from the window was a better fate than this.

His voice softened at your sniffles, almost as if he was comforting you, shielding from a danger that nothing seemed to poise but him. "Hey, hey, don't cry. C'mon, my dove. If you're good, I won't go too hard on you."

Cries spilled past your lips, begging him that you were sorry and that you weren't going to do it again.

And really, you were never going to. Not after what he did to you afterwards.

You were reduced to a small ball to shivers and hiccups underneath Blake on the soft, fluid-stained sheets. The pink sleepwear was discarded on the floor. Equally bare, his muscles from all the training were on display. He was now beaming affectionately as he watched your tuckered out expression.

This wasn't the first time you've been violated, obviously. But this time it felt worse, like the pain of reality came crashing down on you like a tsunami ten times harder than before. It didn't help that he kept on whispering sweet threats in your ear.

He had branded your skin roughly and taken you, only to cradle you gently with a lover's touch. The drug he had injected you with made you a willing participant in his game, made you ache with desire for the one being you wanted to hate.

You slurred like a broken record, unsure of what was even going on anymore, "m'sorry, I didn't mean to...hic"

"It's okay, it's okay" he sang softly, brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes, "y'know punishing you hurts me more than it does you, but I had to do this, you were trying to leave me, sweet thing."

A small, hidden part of you still wanted to fight for your freedom, to save yourself.

"you're so silly, thinking anyone would believe you if you ran away." He cooed, peppering loving kisses all over your face.

You closed your eyes and weakly whimpered. They would believe you, they would. Wouldn't they?

"Sometimes, the thoughts become too much for that pretty little head, don't they? You can't possible take all of it at once. But that's why i'm here. To protect you from every bad thing in the world."

His hand cupped your cheek as he tilted his head down, pressing his lips against your forehead, "I'll give you the world. Just — promise not to leave me again"

The sentences tumbling out his mouth just made you feel even more horrible.

You were broken. You had tried to convince yourself otherwise, but it was all in vain. He had shattered you into pieces and rebuilt you to fit his preferences. If you looked into the mirror right now, you don't think you would recognise yourself.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you weren't cut out for the world, maybe there were dangerous things out to get you, maybe safety was in his arms.

"Rest, i'll take care of you"

You let your eyes droop shut. Yeah, that sounded about right. He'll take care of you.

Once you finally nestled against the comfort of his chest with tiny snores, was he finally able to celebrate another accomplishment. He can't remember the last time he didn't have something he wanted, even if his beautiful dove was putting up a fight against him.

♡

Copyright © 2025 urprettylildoe. All rights reserved.

Yours truly,

@urprettylildoe

[dumbslvtforethan]

∿ DEVOTED TO YOU ethan landry

— summary: ethan helps you relieve some tension

warnings smut, fingering, pet names, dom!ethan, sub!reader, innocent reader, implications of murder, lmk if i missed anything 1,215 words

navigation

𐙚 mdni!! ↓↓ 𐙚༘⋆ೀೀ

YOU’VE BEEN GRUMPY ALL DAY unsure of the reason but pondering the rush that filled your blood whenever you kissed your boyfriend, ethan, puzzled by this new different sort of heat that you've been feeling lately, your panties have been a little wetter than normal when you'd come home, you thought it was some kind of illness.

ethan on the other hand was far from innocent, he knew exactly what you were feeling. he liked having you as his little pet, after all, he looked huge beside you, making his desire of being inside you way more intense. you had very serious attachment issues, having to be close to him at all times to be fully fulfilled and happy. although he tried to use that as an advantage, you were not very fond to touch him sexually, whenever he'd take a step further in you would just push his hand away or make up an excuse, maybe it had to do with what you've been through, which, you never told ethan. it also didn't help that he looked giant beside you, he could easily crush you whole with his hand if he really wanted to.

although you were both happy with the relationship, ethan wanted to take a step further, he wanted to feel you, your body, but he never did, afraid it would crush your fragile melancholy. what you didn't know at the time was that his big hands would help cure your little "illness".

"alright, lets go home" he said taking you by the waist after you've given a bit of an attitude to mindy that was not very usual of you. "why" you whined in his arms not pulling him away just questioning his movements "baby come on" you gave in, following him to the door of mindy's apartment. the walk home was rather unusual. when a girl gave you a disgusted glance at you snapped "you look like a whore in that outfit" you yelled, the girl looked even more disgusted and a bit confused "yeah and your boobs look awfu- " your phrase got cut short when your boyfriend picked you up and put you over his shoulders, a thing that happened more often than you would think. "what is up with your attitude recently?" he questioned his sweet and fragile girlfriend that had recently developed a strange habit of taking back.

you were now sitting on ethan's lap reflecting about what just happened. he would never admit it but your usual straddle of his lap would always leave him rock hard, at first he would just try to hide it but after seeing that you were rather naive he never really hid it anymore. "are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he questioned after a long minute of silence "its just embarrassing" "why would it be embarrassing baby you can tell me everything" you sighed "its just, i've been feeling hot lately, specially when i see you or when you kiss me and when i get home and go to the bathroom im all wet down there" you started to sob in ethan's shoulder convinced that you were sick. ethan on the other hand had a huge smirk on his face, who would've thought that his ego would go up so fast in less than 5 minutes?

"where does it hurt baby?" "here?" he asked putting a hand on your stomach "lower" he lowered his hand playing with the waistband of your shorts "can i take this off?" you nod. that action reveals the sight of your glistening pussy, something he had never seen before but certainly fantasized about it. you unexpectedly take his hand and place it right on top of your clit, you throw your head back and moan at the slight touch. it was at that moment that ethan realized you had never been touched that that was probably the reason why you've always rejected him, rejected his touch. "lets go to my room" he said taking your hand and leading you to your room. he closed the door "do you wanna learn how to relieve this feeling baby? i can teach you" your legs trembled as you eagerly nodded you both sat in front of your mirror you infront of him. "open your legs baby" he whispered in your ear sending you shivers "theres a lot of ways to feel good, you can do it like this" he rubbed your clit fastly. you throwed your head back once again, "you can do this too" he put two fingers in, pumping them up and down "ugh" you moaned already cumming on his fingers releasing a week worth of a horny feeling. "do you want to learn more?" you nod eagerly.

and there you were watching him layed down on the bed with his glistening cock sprung out. "it wont fit ethan" you said concernedly examining his length "come on you havent even tried, you'll feel much better baby" he gestured you to come, you crawled on top of him and aligned his dick with your wet entrance. "just sit on it" and so you did. "e-etha-nn" you moaned the most pornographic sound you've ever heard "its too big, i cant do it" you only had his tip in, but you already felt so full "thats just the tip baby you're not even halfway" you sighed sinking down completely “there you go” he smiled “my pretty girl took all my cock huh?” you nodded. it was a burning pain at first, after all, practically half of your body was full of his dick. you layed down on his chest hugging him of exhaustion “you gotta move baby” he whispered in your ear.

you started to bounce up and down his dick, loud moans escaping from your mouth each time you made a movement, even the slightest one. you came on his dick in less than 5 minutes and ethan was loving it. he was loving the sight of you cockdrunk milking his dick, gushing out your pussy juices uncontrollably. he quickly switched positions, him being on top of you, he started to move his hips fastly “ethan!” you moaned loudly cumming for the second time of the night, only this time you didn’t stop, still gushing out cum. “im gonna cum baby” he said pulling out and releasing himself on your tits. he layed down beside you breathing heavily and hugged you “so how was it?” he was out of breath “amazing, can we do it again soon?” “of course” he got up and dressed “i love you okay but i gotta go, ill see you tomorrow” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and left

and now you were alone and missing your boyfriend, so you called him “babe?” you said “whats up baby?” he was breathing heavily “i miss you” your eyes started tearing up “remember that teddy bear i gave you? hold on to it, i just gotta do some important stuff here but once im finished i’ll come see you, i love you, see you soon” and with that he finished the call, sure you heard some screaming in the back and he was breathing heavily but ethan couldn’t even hurt a fly, he could never be a killer, right?

- @dumbslvtforethan on tumblr

a/n: heres the request for this one

[mysticalmallard]

Good weird

Description: Ghost girlfriend comes over to stay the night for the first time

Wordcount: 705

Warnings: none I think

CoD Masterlist 💀 Main Masterlist

Ghost's normally dark and sparsely decorated apartment looked decidedly more lived-in that night as he waited for his girlfriend to arrive. He'd tidied up the place, made the bed, and even bought a vase of fresh flowers for the coffee table.

As the doorbell rang, he took a deep breath, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

Opening the door, he saw his girlfriend standing there, a mixture of excitement and nerves on her face, with her bag on her shoulder. It was the first time she was spending the night at his place, and they both knew it was a significant step in their relationship.

Ghost stepped aside, allowing her to enter. The two of them stood awkwardly for a moment, both unsure how to break the silence.

His girlfriend smiled at him, her eyes taking in the small but clean apartment."I like your place," she said, her fingers tracing the edge of a chair. "It's very... you."

Ghost chuckled, a rare sound coming from him. "I try to keep things simple," he replied. "Less chance of making a mess."

She walked over to the vase of flowers on the coffee table, admiring them. "These are beautiful," she said, her fingers grazing the soft petals.

Ghost watched her, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest as he saw her enjoying his space.

"I wanted everything to be perfect," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "It's the first time you're spending the night here, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable."

She turned to look at him, a soft smile on her face. "You don't need to try so hard, you know," she said, her voice full of affection. "I'm comfortable as long as I'm with you."

Ghost felt the weight of her words, the honesty and vulnerability in them soothing his nerves. He stepped closer to her, close enough that he could smell the sweetness of her shampoo.

"I'm not used to this," he said quietly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Having someone else in my space... It makes me feel...weird."

She placed her hand on his chest, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. "Good weird or bad weird?" she asked, her eyes searching his face.

He took a breath, the feel of her hand on his chest anchoring him. "Good weird," he replied, his voice low. He brought his hand up, covering hers with his own. "Just... uncharted territory for me."

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them now comfortable rather than awkward. Then, a flicker of mischief flashed in his girlfriend's eyes.

"You know, now that I'm here..." she drawled, stepping even closer to him, "there are some things we could... explore."

The implication hung in the air like a promise, and Ghost felt his heart rate pick up.

"Is that so?" he said, his voice going lower, huskier. He leaned in, his lips almost touching hers.

"Very much so," she replied, her breath ghosting over his skin. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing softly over her bottom lip.

She smiled against his touch, then spoke, her voice laced with mischief. "Hey, you know what we should do?"

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Enlighten me."

Her eyes lit up, an idea forming. She placed her hands on his waist, looking up at him with a cheeky grin.

"How about this," she suggested, "we have ourselves a little pampering day. I'll give you a massage, and we can watch some trashy TV. How does that sound?"

His eyes widened in surprise, not anticipating such a suggestion. But the idea of having her hands on him, taking care of him, was definitely appealing.

"A massage, huh?" he said, feigning nonchalance. "And what's in it for you?"

She moved even closer, her hands slipping under his shirt and trailing lightly across his bare skin. "Oh, I get the pleasure of seeing you all relaxed and blissed out. Trust me, it's a win-win."

Ghost fought to keep his cool, the shivers her touch was sending down his spine betraying his nonchalance. "You're lucky you're cute," he said, his hands snaking around her waist to pull her closer.

[dragon-ascent]

Hi hi hi!!! I absolutely adore your Zhongli fics your characterization of him makes me swoon he’s such a cutie

Out of curiosity, what’s your opinion on the Zhongli/Morax x reader trope of reader initially being a sacrifice to the dragon god only for Zhongli to be like “What no I don’t take sacrifices???” And just taking reader in as a sort of roommate or something like that. It’s a trope I find really interesting and funny and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it :)

Hi hi and thank you! Zhongli's the cutest patootie :) <3 And I freaking LOVE that trope!!! Like, easily top 3 trope for Zhongli if you ask me. (I could make a whole tierlist of tropes for him, but that's a post for another day haha.)

Ik you just asked for thoughts but have a little write-up, as a treat. :)

xxx

Rex Lapis is a tad offended that he'd be perceived as the type of god to take human sacrifices, since he does everything in his power to ensure mortals feel comfortable and safe around him. But he's assimilated many groups of people into his land, so it's only natural some may still retain the beliefs and customs they did under the deities preceding him, as grim as that may be.

When you're left in front of his abode as a sacrifice, he sees how urgently he needs to rectify those customs.

You're a jittery thing, all nerves and shudders and, to his dismay, rather scantily-clad especially given the season. He does his best to push the implications of your clothing to the back of his mind as he brings you into his home and warms you up by the fire with some nice warm blankets too.

He assures you he will not lay a finger on you with malicious intent, but you're staring at him like a deer in headlights - like he'll throw you into the fire at any moment if you so much as breathe wrong. Every movement of his makes you stiffen, and even the tea he brews for you is met with trepidation in every sip.

He can't send you back to your people as they'll believe you're a faulty sacrifice and kill you off themselves - so Rex Lapis takes you in his care instead.

He feeds you, clothes you, and even lets you rest in his bed while he takes the floor beside you. You're mostly quiet at first, but as the days pass and there's no sign of him hurting, devouring, or killing you, a seed of trust in his words blossoms. You believe the God of Contracts when he gives you his word he will keep you safe and cared for.

Given the way he treats you, there's no reason to feel otherwise - you've become something of a close companion to him, someone to share the tender joys and sorrows of life with. He used to go on strolls by his lonesome, but now he finds that having someone to walk with is much more enriching, giving his evenings an added tinge of fulfilment.

People do stare and whisper when they see you by the god's side, but if this is how Rex Lapis chooses to make use of their 'sacrifice,' who are they to argue?

Some watch, agog, as the golden deity takes you to the market and practically splurges on you. You shyly point to a sweet treat that looks appetizing, and he boxes a dozen of them without a moment's hesitation. A pretty accessory catches your eye for a second longer than the others, and when you turn to move on to the next stall, Rex Lapis is having said accessory taken off display and handed to you.

"These are the calligraphy brushes I spoke of yesterday," he tells you casually as he runs a finger along the sleek wooden writing instruments. "Would you like to give the activity a try?" It only takes one meek nod from you for him to get you a whole set of the brushes, promising to teach you when you both get home.

It's a shocking sight to everyone who'd betrayed you, everyone who'd so easily given you up for some false belief they held on to so stubbornly: here you are, being treated like you're actually worth something to the god, what with the way he smiles and laughs softly at something you say, the way he gently touches your elbow to veer you away from the evening rush, the way his footsteps fall in rhythm with yours.

As you pass certain familiar faces, your head snaps down and you fall silent, and Rex Lapis immediately knows they're the ones responsible for your plight. He throws them a sharp, stone-cold glare over your downcast head, and they recoil in fright, quickly turning the other way to pretend they can't feel like a whole landslide of shame now hurtles along their spines.

Needless to say, he is greeted by no more human sacrifices at his door. The one he does have, he ensures a long, happy and healthy life for.

[goodoldmila]

The thing with romancing Lucanis in the game is that I love all the versions and cannot decide.

I love the idea that 'an hour found' could be a kiss or more, or his silly little notes about exercises interpreted as intimacy. There is so mamy wonderful interpretations of how it could have gone down and my own imagination loves to fill the gaps and give Rook and him a sweet little moment here and there among the madness.

BUT I equally (or maybe even a little more) ADORE that they really just haven't. That it's a relationship that's l purely just the emotional intimacy at first, for a good while, and that Rook is the one who'd be happy to do everything but is willing to put their desires aside to give him the space he needs. That Rook is a safe space enough that he can just take his time to take apart whatever reasons he has to keep a distance - and he has many!

Having a bit too much on his plate aside, he's been tortured in all kinds of ways, I imagine even a gentle physical touch may be something he needs to ease into, that may just be the case even before the Ossuary to an extent since he probably didn't receive much affection.

His lack of experience - and I mean literally experiencing such feelings - may be something he needs to slowly unpack. Perhaps he only ever felt such way about Viago (I wouldn't say there was many if any other people) and even then those were not allowed to expand as much as with Rook. Maybe he questions if the feelings are truly his or a reflection if Spite's fascination.

And what I boil it down to at the end, as he slowly manages to make sense of it all and tackle and unwrap his issues within himself, he finally has this person he cares for, he wants, and it will never be his own. Nevermind the implication towards Rook? How does that work? How does one have that conversation with either of them?

Spite's part of him and whether they get along or not, whether you imagine Spite leaving them 'alone' or prticipating, it's an experience he had longed for deep down and he can't have that for himself. And I think it all really makes sense that he'd take it painfully slow, but I love for him to have the safe space to do that. That Rook's just there kinda, I'll be here when you're ready. I find that ultimately the realest, sweetest part of the romance.

And when he looses Rook he ultimately de ides that if he ever got them back, he'd not let that stop him, because he'd rather not have them for his own than not have them at all.

But I also really want them to smooch after the dessert. You see my struggle?

[shouts-into-the-void]

Just read screenshots of the Aaron extra chapter and I have so many thoughts, so here they are:

It's always so funny to me to be reminded of the fact that the animosity between Aaron and Neil is mostly one-sided. Like, Neil finds Aaron frustrating, but all the antagonistic stuff he does to him is ultimately in service of helping him in some way and while he's angry when Aaron provokes him, he otherwise regards him with disinterest and even expresses the desire to see what he's like when he's relaxed and enjoying himself during the party with the Vixens. Meanwhile Aaron just really hates that man.

I really appreciated Nora using this chapter to clear up some of the gripes a lot of the fandom has had with Aaron's character in the past and confirm that Aaron's comments to Nicky have to do with his cousin making graphic and unwanted sexual advances on their teammates, and his accusations towards Neil were from a place of concern for his brother. I also liked that it was pointed out that of course he would have at least some internalized homophobia due to being raised by religious zealots in a conservative area, but is unlearning it due to Nicky.

On a similar note, I'm glad that we were provided the context that Nicky's inappropriate behavior is a defense mechanism to weed out people who might hurt him rather than legitimate advances, because I think the fandom tends to forget that he is also a character with extreme trauma written outside of the "perfect victim" stereotype. His actions aren't okay, but the entire point is that they are the result of what he's had to endure just like every other member of the team

The implication that Andrew specifically signed with the Foxes so Aaron could go to college

Aaron and Andrew have the same nervous habit of picking at loose thread

It causes me physical pain to see Andrew clearly trying to open up to Aaron about his self-harm, but because his way of communicating is less straightforward (he doesn't lie, but he because he stuggles to confront and be open with his emotions, he presents the truth in flowery, vague language) and because the two dont really know or understand each other, Aaron can't fully grasp the implications of what he's saying

On the subject of things that cause me physical pain: baby Aaron telling his mom that he wanted to be a neurosurgeon like the people on TV and her laughing and saying he'd never make anything of himself. Fuck Tilda Minyard, all my homies hate Tilda.

Andrew is so uncomfortable, someone Get Him Out of There.

Going off that and his nervous habits (that Aaron mentions he did often enough to be noticable as a habit premedication), I am highkey wondering if the reason Sober Andrew doesn't talk to anyone outside Neil is because he's just. Socially Awkward.

We get a little bit of insight into Andrew's "misogyny" (I personally think distrusting certain people as a result of extreme personal trauma is a little bit different than just being sexist, in the same way women distrusting men because they're used to being harassed and belittled isn't misandry, but that's up to your personal opinion) and that his distain for Katelyn comes from the fact that he thinks she's stringing Aaron along and will turn out to be awful like his previous girlfriends (there's also a notable implication that Aaron has the same self-destructive tendencies as Andrew, and may be why he went out of his way to get him into college and on the straight-and-narrow) also see that this extends to Bee as well despite their close relationship, with him being so afraid that she'd reject him for being gay that he can't even look at her while talking about Neil, probably made worse by the fact that she's a maternal figure for him, which is where this trauma response originates.

Aaron is the only person on the team who's aware that Andrew hasn't slept with Neil, and the only one to grasp the significance of the fact that they've gotten close to that point already despite Andrew's trauma, outside of Renee

It was overall really interesting to see inside Aaron's head (I actually wouldn't mind a book from his perspective, he has a similar way of thinking to Neil but much more grounded) and to see Andrew through the lense of someone who just views him as Just A Guy

[tizeline]

More about that Seperation AU! (I'm just gonna tag it as Tiz Sep AU for now for the sake of organization)

Anyway, so if ya'll saw my last post, in this AU Donnie doesn't really have a battle shell, but he DOES wear prosthetics that gives him two extra fingers on each hand. Some people immedietly picked up on the implications of that (which makes me very happy) but I also wanna give a proper explanation, so here it is:

While we don't get a specific explanation in the show as to why Donnie built the battle shell, it's not unreasonable to assume that he would've compared his soft shell with his brothers' hard ones and might've felt a need to compensate. So if he grew up without his brothers, like he did in this AU, would he even feel that pressure to "improve" his shell? Sure, he'd know that most types of turtle species would have a tougher carapace than his own species, but he wouldn't be reminded of that in his everyday life. In fact, while compared to his brothers he's the most fragile one, compared to April and Splinter (who don't have shells at all) he'd be the sturdiest out the the bunch. So in this AU Donnie doesn't use any additional armour (he does still have a jetpack tho because fuck yeah)

So where does the additional fingers come in? While Donnie in this AU doesn't have any other turtles to constantly compare himself to, he WOULD inevitably compare himself to Splinter and April as well as humanity as a whole. All of which have five fingers on each hand as opposed to his three per hand. This isn't the only part of himself that he's insecure about, being seemingly the only turtle boy in a city of humans is bound to make him feel a bit isolated and lonely. He'd feel more pressure to be more human than turtle, and making himself extra fingers, in his mind, would be a way to accomplish that.

It's not JUST insecurity though, there's a practical aspect to having five fingers when you do a lot of handiwork, which is something Donnie does. In fact, I first got the idea when reading the IDW TMNT comics. I don't remember the details but there's a part when Donnie (or rather Metal-Don to be specific, I think?) comments on the fact that it'd be more beneficial to have five rather than three fingers. Ever since then, the concept of Donnie constructing extra fingers for himself to make his work easier is something I've kept in the back of my mind, and I figured this AU was the perfect oppurtunity to explore that.

[becca-e-barnes]

Humour me while I scratch a personal itch: Your dad's best friend showing you how your body should be appreciated 😵‍💫

"Come on sweetheart, I know he's just not doing it for you." It had never been a secret that neither Bucky nor your dad liked your new boyfriend but you never imagined this would be the angle that Bucky would be taking to convince you to end things.

"That's none of your business! I'm not talking about this with you!" You're so stunned, you can hardly even get the words out. It's nothing short of mortifying to be talking about your sex life with your dad's friend, never mind the fact you've silently been interested in him since your dad introduced you a couple of years ago.

"You haven't tried to convince me I'm wrong though! You need to stop dating these boys, they're no good for you. They're not what you need." He almost sounds like he pities you and that doesn't sit right with you at all.

"You have no idea what I need." You roll your eyes in derision, unable to believe he'd be this bold.

"Don't I? I bet I could guess. He doesn't kiss you right. He never even dreams of letting the tip of his tongue press against yours and then take it from there. While he's kissing you, he's probably pawing mindlessly at your breasts. He doesn't know how to take it slow and work you up the way you need. He has no idea that rubbing you over your panties won't do enough for you. I bet he's never taken the time to appreciate every inch of you. When's the last time he kissed from your ankle to your knee? How often does he stop to kiss your forehead? Has he ever enjoyed every soft slope and curve of your body? Not just the obvious ones, I mean all of them. The curve of your shoulder or the softness of your hips or the firmness of your calf muscle. He doesn't even try. He's doesn't put the effort in for you." He sounds more upset about this than you thought he would and for a couple of seconds, there's nothing at all in your head.

"Show me how you think he should treat me." There's no point taking the time to think about the implications. You want to know how it feels to have your body safely in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it and this is a better time than any.

His lips barely graze yours at first and it makes you crave more of him. Everything in you knows this has to be a bad idea but his lips are so inviting and his hands are gently holding your waist in a way that makes you want him worse than ever.

The tip of his tongue begins to inch forwards and tentatively, you allow yourself to do the same. Your tongue meets his and rather than feeling overwhelmingly off-putting, the gentle, wet pressure is tender and romantic and intimate. Thrill bubbles in your chest because if this is what kissing is supposed to feel like, you have no idea what else he can teach you that you've never experienced before.

You find you're the one increasing the pressure, looking for more. God, you want this. Excitement buzzes low in your tummy and before you know it, you hear a moan that you can hardly believe came from you.

His hands are roaming the expanse of your back over your clothes, never once straying towards your ass or your breasts. It's too early for that and he knows it's not what you need.

He's enjoying this just as much as you are. He's taking you apart, piece by piece. He knows he's only got as much control here as you hand over to him but he's not taking this at the faster pace you're used to, no matter how you try to dictate the pace.

"You're such. An angel." He kisses down the side of your neck, cradling the other side in his hand. His lips are plump and slick and the sensation leaves you quietly gasping. "You don't know how you deserve to be worshipped. You're stunning."

He presses you back, letting you hop up onto the kitchen counter, massaging your calf muscles with his fingertips. You never thought that would do anything for you but seeing him appreciate each inch of you; seeing how he finds ways to extract a pleasurable sensation you've never been treated to before is breath taking.

"We're not jumping ahead of ourselves, but just to prove my point..." His fingertips trail up your leg, under the skirt of your dress and he checks you're okay with it before pressing the pads of his fingers to your underwear.

The thin cotton is soaked through under his fingertips, arousal making you almost dizzy.

"Good girl, look at you enjoying yourself! Bet you haven't been this wet in a while, have you honey?" He presses his fingertips to your lips, letting you taste your own arousal and your mind races at the thought of sucking it off his length later, something you've never wanted to do for anyone before.