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

[deadboydetectives-confessions]

I was going to leave it because it's none of my business what other people headcanon, but it's annoying me now (partly because I, like Edwin, very much prefer reading and using logic rather than sport r physical combat and I am very offended by the implication that that means there's no way I could also be physically fit - I'm not but I could be, regardless of where my interests lie), so I'll just say: there's no canonical reason why Edwin can't have muscles. I think the main reason people assume he doesn't is because he's 'stereotypical nerdy boy', which is a really reductive viewpoint to begin with because Edwin is a complex and multifaceted character whose main selling point is not, as some seem to believe, that he likes books - but even if it was, that doesn't mean he has to be unfit. Books are heavy. If Edwin's anything like me, which I think it is fair to assume since one of the only glimpses we have of his past is him reading to try and ignore everyone, he probably spent much of his life carrying around books.

Plus, people tend to assume that Edwin wasn't very sporty, and no, he probably didn't enjoy it - but that doesn't mean he didn't play them. I doubt he got much of a choice. He probably had to do cross country running at school, plus I would be shocked if he hasn't played cricket and/or rugby there. Maybe he wouldn't have been on the school team, but he'd at least have been taught how. Also, as a school for military children during wartime, I think it entirely reasonable to assume that St Hilarion's had a big focus physical strength and any other skills that might be considered necessary for fighting in a war (based on the standards of warfare pre-WW1, as that marked a massive shift in the style of war for which no one was properly prepared).

This isn't to mention everything he went through trying to escape Hell, since you could argue that all the running and tearing apart of brick walls he did in there wouldn't have impacted his physique since he was already dead.

Obviously it's perfectly fine to headcanon Edwin as not being particularly strong or well-built, you could also justify that idea, that it's not the only option. There are plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons why Edwin might be physically fit. I'm tired of the stereotype that nerds can't have muscles.

.

[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

[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?

[sgt-tombstone]

Call signs weren’t supposed to be flattering. More often than not, they were the direct result of some embarrassing fuck-up that trailed a soldier for the rest of their life. They were voted on by the first platoon that a soldier joined, usually within the first few months, and they then spent the next few months cringing every time they heard it. Simon’s first platoon had seen a recruit land the call sign “Seagull” after a drunken dare to nick a fry from their captain’s tray in the mess hall, and he had personally bestowed the call sign “Dash” upon a soldier who had somehow managed to clip himself in the leg with his own bullet. Dumb Ass Shot Himself…

The embarrassment wore off, though. When one was stuck with a name for the rest of their lives, they learned to live with it sooner rather than later. The associated stories either got buried deep or drunkenly flaunted; the stupider the better. The funny ones became a point of pride and the truly humiliating ones eventually settled into something sort of like mundanity. Amusing tales became nothing more than yet another name, a stitched moniker, an email signature. The point was: by the time they made it to the special forces, and especially once they were assigned to a task force, no one gave a shit about their call signs anymore.

Whenever Soap heard his call sign, whenever anyone asked after its origins, he laughed it off, citing his ability to clean house or, more flirtatiously, his ability to clean up after himself, but he always internally cringed.

No one ever noticed. No one except for Ghost.

He never said anything, never asked about it, which Johnny was thankful for, but he was infinitely more thankful that Ghost took every opportunity to call him literally anything else. Sergeant, at first, then Johnny. MacTavish, if he was mad; any other combination of insults if he wasn't, because they both knew he never really meant them. Sunshine, sometimes, in the mornings when Soap stumbled out of bed in whatever safe house they were staying in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Scottish Bastard, or Our Johnny, or Pyromaniac, or Lad. Rarely Soap.

It was in his file, Johnny knew, the file that Ghost had read cover to cover, too paranoid to blindly trust Price's judgment with a new team member. Evidently, he hadn't made the connection between the incident report nestled in the sheaves of paper and Johnny's embarrassment. More likely, he just didn't care. Johnny wasn't sure which option he preferred.

Johnny had always had an issue with authority, and joining the military had done nothing to quell his rebellious streak; he was still a teenager, fresh out of basic, barely legal, the first time it happened. His sergeant had been giving him eyes for the entire two months since he'd joined, and Johnny'd be lying if he said he hadn't pushed himself just a little harder in response to the attention. The night of graduation found Johnny in the sergeant's bed, taking everything he was given and begging for more.

He hadn't seen that sergeant again after that, but it had more to do with Johnny's SAS training than anything else, and it started a bad habit. Nearly every unit he joined, he eventually ended up in his superior's bed. It was all consensual, and Johnny would be willing to attest to it if need be, but he never got caught, and he moved from unit to unit so often that it never really mattered.

Until it did.

Two years out of basic, about halfway through his SAS training, he got caught. Rather, they got caught. They were in the showers, his lieutenant pressing him against the tile wall, when their captain had walked in. The implications were clear, especially with Johnny on the receiving end, and the lieutenant had gotten discharged, despite Johnny's protestations. It had been his idea, but it still looked like an abuse of power. Word had flown around the base, and Johnny had gotten stuck with the call sign Soap as a terrible joke; "don't drop the soap" was uttered nearly every time he entered a room, and he ended up being the youngest to pass selection largely to get away from the teasing.

Once he joined the SAS, he never saw anyone involved in the incident ever again. The incident report went in his file, but it got buried among the accolades, the outstanding test results, the exceptional service record. No one except his superior officers had the clearance to read his file, which was for the best; their knowledge of his bad habit kept him from indulging, and he hadn't looked at another superior officer the same way since.

Until Ghost. Who called him Johnny, not Soap. Who tolerated and even encouraged his flirting. Who knew every detail of his file but never pushed for more.

Whenever Johnny got too close to a line, Ghost would switch back to Soap, just once, just enough to nudge him back a step, but he was never cruel. It was a slap on the wrist, not a sharp reprimand, and Johnny had learned enough about Ghost's tone and eyes to see the switch for what it was: a gentle warning, a clearly expressed boundary.

And then one of their missions went to shit, and Johnny ended up in the hospital for months, and Ghost stopped calling him Soap altogether. In the aftermath, Johnny danced closer and closer, always expecting his cautionary call sign to fall from Ghost's lips, but it never did. On and off the field, Ghost simply watched Johnny get closer, stopped holding him at arm's length. He started welcoming his flirting, started actively encouraging him, started reciprocating.

The first time they fell into bed together, something panicked fluttered in Johnny's chest. He'd been here before; he'd gotten a lieutenant wrongfully dishonorably discharged before, for nothing more than the very act that he and Ghost had been dancing around for years. The moment before their lips met, he backpedaled sharply, only to be caught by the rigid warmth of Ghost's arms.

Ghost knew. Ghost knew his past, knew his record, knew what he'd been walking into. Ghost didn't care.

Price knew. Price knew his past, knew his penchant for gravitating towards authority, and still had placed him within Ghost's grasp time and time again. Price didn't care.

And Gaz... well, Gaz was Johnny's biggest enabler. Gaz didn't care.

So he let himself take the final step, the leap of faith, and landed safely in Ghost's hold, in Ghost's bed, and in Ghost's life. Loved, satisfied, and most importantly, protected. Safe.

And if he started wearing his call sign like a badge of honor for the first time in his life... well, he was sleeping with a superior officer, and he wasn't ashamed of it anymore. Whenever Ghost looked at him, reverent, bordering on worshipful, Soap couldn't find it within himself to feel a single ounce of embarrassment over his name.

[prokopetz]

Not posting this as a reblog because I don't want to screw with somebody else's notes, but the whole "theological implications of Tolkien's orcs" business has some interesting history behind it.

In brief, a big part of why the Lord of the Rings Extended Universe™ is so cagey about what orcs are and where they come from is that later in his life, Tolkien came to believe that orcs as he'd depicted them were problematic – albeit not because of, you know, all the grotesque racial caricature.

Rather, he'd come to the conclusion that the idea of an inherently evil sapient species – a species that's incapable of seeking salvation – was incompatible with Christian ethics. Basically, it's one of those "used the wrong formula and got the right answer" situations.

In his notes and letters, Tolkien played around with several potential solutions to this problem. (Though contrary to the assertions of certain self-proclaimed Tolkien scholars, there's no evidence that he ever seriously planned to re-write his previous works to incorporate these ideas.) In one proposal, orcs are incarnated demons, and "killing" them simply returns them to their naturally immaterial state; in another, orcs are a sort of fleshy automaton remotely operated by the will of Sauron, essentially anticipating the idea of drone warfare.

Of course, this is all just historical trivia; any criticism of The Lord of the Rings must be directed at the books that were actually published, not the books we imagine might have been published if Tolkien had spent a few more years thinking through the implications of what he was writing. However, the direction of his thoughts on the matter is striking for two reasons:

Tolkien's orc conundrum is very nearly word for the word the problem that many contemporary fantasy authors are grappling with fifty years later. They want epic battles with morally clean heroes, and they're running up against exactly the same difficulty that Tolkien himself did – i.e., that describing a human-like species who are ontologically okay to kill is an impossible task.

After all the work he put into solving this impossible problem, one of Tolkien's proposals was literally just "what if they're not really killing the orcs, they're just sending them to the Shadow Realm?"

[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.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

cupid's chokehold

pairing: damnation! leon x reader

tags/cws: ddlg, free use, spit kink

summary: leon is reluctant to try ddlg... until he's not

a/n: can you tell I wrote this one for me?

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.8k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Leon wasn't so keen on the idea at first.

"I can't decide if I'm too old or too young for this."

He's too old to play games but too young for fatherhood. He's a grouch with an aching back but a stubbornness that makes him insist on doing everything himself. That's pretty fatherly, isn't it?

Plus, he's already fairly dominant in bed, and can get kind of kinky if he gets drunk enough, but most of that comes down to one of you putting something in the other person's ass.

It's not like he can control how you act. You can watch cartoons in your cute PJs holding your favorite stuffed animal. It's up to him to play along.

Maybe it's an innate male desire, maybe it's some fucked up part of his brain, maybe it's just you. You and your cute little outfits and your pretty smile on your adorable face that lights up whenever he enters the room.

He sits down on the couch next to you. "What are you up to, baby?" he asks softly with his face nuzzled into your neck.

"Watching a show," you say, pointing to the TV.

"Yeah? Is it good?"

"It's okay, but I've already seen this one."

"So, you wouldn't mind taking a little break?"

You understand the implication. He's already riled up, so you figure it can't hurt to say it, he'd probably be more susceptible to your charm in this state. And, if he doesn't like it, you can just play it off as a joke.

"Okay, daddy." You give him the sweetest, doe-eyed look.

He sighs — not at you but at his hardening dick for forcing him to admit that he enjoys this.

"Taking you to bed then, baby girl," he says, as he lifts you up and carries you to the bedroom, depositing you on the bed.

You have hearts in your eyes when you look at him, seeing Daddy, rather than Leon. And in that moment, Leon knows he's fucked. His head, dizzy from the surge of blood downward, leads him astray, leads him straight into the role of daddy.

Leon does the best he can, he takes it in stride. In the coming days, he finds that the playing the part of 'daddy' leaves a lot of room for ad libbing as daddy is the one who makes all the rules. Daddies just have to take care of their babies, you tell him when he asks what the fuck he's supposed to be doing. That's a pretty broad instruction, it gives Leon a lot of leeway to do as he wishes.

Leon plays gently but he does not play nice. He teases you relentlessly and makes you beg until you can't anymore, until your brain goes blank. Finally, he gives into your wishes, which are identical to his.

He holds onto your thighs while he fucks you deep and slow, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You look up at him with nothing behind your eyes, no thoughts, just arousal dripping from your cunt.

Even the word 'daddy' eventually disappears from your vocabulary and all that you have left is breathy moans.

Leon states the obvious, "I think I fucked you stupid, baby."

Of course, you nod— not that you consciously agree with his statement, you'd agree to anything, and Leon knows that.

"I bet you'd do anything for daddy, huh? I bet you'd let me spit in your mouth if I asked."

It isn't as off-handed a remark as he'd like for you to believe it is. He'd been wanting to do this for quite some time but thought you might see it as degrading (and, not in a good way).

You don't answer verbally — instead, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. An enthusiastic yes. So, Leon leans in close, gathers up all the saliva in his mouth and lets it drip into your mouth.

You swallow. Hot. You smile. Adorable. You open your mouth again and stick your tongue out asking for him to do it again. Irresistible.

"What's the magic word?" he asks, pouding into you harder. The facade of his control is slipping, he's desperate, panting from the exertion it takes to fuck you this hard while making sure he doesn't cum prematurely.

"Please, daddy," you whine as he continues railing you hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall.

He only slows down to oblige with your request.

After swallowing, you thank him. His breath hitches in response. He never thought the words "thank you" could affect him so much. It's more than that, though. Your arousal is doubled by seeing Leon being overcome with his, and your pussy tightening around him pulls an unmistakable groan from deep in his chest.

"Baby," he says, tone filled with urgency, "Where do you want daddy to cum?"

"Inside," you say, looking at him with pure desire in your eyes.

It's like an override button. He should not cum inside you. Leon usually insists on using a condom or pulling out. You're on birth control, but he doesn't take his chances. Until now. Now, he rattles off pure filth while you babble nonsense until he fills you to the brim.

From that night forward, it becomes a thing between the two of you - not all the time, but sometimes. Often enough that Leon feels gross about it.

This cannot go any further than it has. Do you expect him to buy you baby toys and spoon-feed you using plastic utensils? How would he explain that to his friends if they ever came over?

"But you like it, daddy," you say, kicking your legs, which are spread just enough that he can see you're not wearing anything underneath your oversized t-shirt.

"It stays in the bedroom. It's not up for debate."

"But what if I want to have sex on the couch or in the shower?"

"Good girls take what they're given, and don't complain."

"Daddy," you whine, egging him on, sure, but also genuinely frustrated at his insistence on keeping this in the literal bedroom.

His gaze hardens, his mouth draws a flat line and he says, "You're not getting anything tonight."

"No, no, no, please, daddy, I promise-"

"No. You're lucky I'm not punishing you."

"This is punishment! I need you so bad."

"That's too bad."

You're upset already but it's nothing compared to the feeling you get when you watch Leon pull his dick out and begin to jerk himself off. You're jealous of his own hand somehow.

"Please, please, can I help? I just wanna touch it."

He doesn't say anything, just takes your hand in his and jerks himself off, managing to use you like a toy without even giving you any pleasure. He doesn't even look at you while he does it — or at least, he doesn't look at you when he thinks you'll catch him, but how can he not look? Especially when you're the one he's getting off to. Yeah, he's thinking about you alright. Thinking about you calling him 'daddy', about how much you love it and how much he pretends to hate it.

"Leon," you whine, dropping the 'daddy' thing in the hopes that it'll convince him.

Finally, he looks at you, and if dropping the whole 'daddy' thing will get you his attention, then you'll do it. But that's not what he wants, he's in too deep, he left 'Leon' behind with the first stroke of his cock.

"Leon? Is that what you call me when we do this?"

"No." You shake your head and pout like you're disappointed in yourself. "I'm sorry, daddy."

"I know you're sorry. That's why you're gonna make it up to daddy."

He lets go of your hand, but he's finished ignoring you. Playtime is in session.

"You're gonna let daddy use that pretty pussy instead of your hand, baby."

"No bad words, daddy," you mumble.

"You're right. Wouldn't wanna set a bad example for my baby girl, would I? You're gonna let daddy use your princess parts."

You try to suppress a smile. Sex is a win-win game. But, you have to pretend it's punishment for the sake of the backwards logic that's gotten you this far, right? Maybe, maybe not. Leon winks at you, unable to hide under the 'disappointed daddy' mask when he's the type of guy who gets giddy about sex.

"How 'bout you keep watching your show?"

Oh, yeah. That thing you'd completely forgotten about the moment Leon entered the room.

"Okay," you agree, knowing that you getting your way is Leon getting his way, and vice versa.

You grab the remote and press play, resuming the stupid cartoon you'd seen a million times before. Leon sits you down on his lap and wastes no time burying himself inside you.

You whimper at the sensation, and try to shift your body so that you're facing him. You want to press your face to his chest. You want to sob into his t-shirt as he drags his cock in and out.

"Mm-mm," he says. "You don't wanna miss your show. I'm not gonna pause it, baby."

You don't give a flying fuck about the show. It's not even a good episode. But the idea of Leon taking what he wants from you like this is too hot to pass up so you have to play along. Really, you can't pay attention to anything because your mind goes blank, the TV is still on but your brain turns to static.

Leon takes your hips and moves you up and down slowly, agonizingly so, at first. It feels like forever, but you know if you whine about it, it'll take even longer for him to give in and go faster.

When he finally does increase the pace, he refuses to touch your clit. You can't cum like this despite the fact that it feels so good it makes you cry. You snake your own hand down between your legs and try to touch yourself, hoping he won't notice, but of course he does — all he's thinking about is you right now. He pulls your hand away, and he doesn't even need to scold you to get his point across. Tears roll down your cheeks, both at the overwhelming sensation and at the fact that he's denying your pleasure. (Though, secretly, you love it just as much when daddy is a little mean.)

He can't see your face but he can hear your sniffles, so he reassures you, "you're doin' so good for daddy, baby, just a few more minutes and then you'll get what you want."

After he cums — inside you, of course — he flips you onto your back and his head finds its way between your thighs. He kisses your inner thighs and says, "you did so good, baby. Now it's your turn."

He turns the TV off and drops the remote on the floor next to the couch. "I want you to focus on feeling good now."

His grip on your hips is soothing yet firm as he dives in to taste you - and, inadvertently, himself. You can barely make out his mumbled praises.

"You're so perfect", "You taste so good", "I'm so proud of you".

And then he stops talking completely because you push his head into your core to shut him up. You can feel him laugh, but you can't hear it. All you can hear is your own moans as your orgasm hits you.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

"I thought I couldn't call you that outside of the bedroom. Did you change the rules, daddy?"

He scoffs. The rules have always been this way, baby girl.

[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.

[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

[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

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P2]

[Series Link]

(Yandere x Reader)

[Warning: misogyny, xenophobia, hint to racism, explicit language, asshole male lead]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

He knew your type. Quiet, agreeable, and a little bit of a pushover.

He didn't say it, but he had noticed your lack of reaction when Tahara revoked your right to the summer break. Truth was, he never paid attention to women like you when he was in college. The quiet ones who took things seriously as if they had something to lose, those were hard to get. He never bothered with those who were hard to get when there were plenty of other options. He liked the sunkissed  blondes who knew to dress up in white sundresses and spaghetti straps, those who knew to party on Saturday and yoga class on Sunday. They never put up a hard fight, just the right amount, and when he got bored so did they. In and out of his bedroom they whirled, whimsical and effortless. He never bothered to find out if they were smart or complicated, and if they tried to show him, he'd move on to the next. A part of him felt bad, but the encouraging jokes and nudges of his frat brothers overrode that twinge in his chest when he saw sad eyes following him down the campus walkway. It didn't matter, not if he got the liquor and summer yatch trips.

He also liked other types. Soft-spoken brunettes who listened to sad songs and doodled hearts onto his notes. Fierce raven-haired girls who knew to throw back shots and moved their bodies to the music. The rich exchange girls who, despite their attitudes, knew their ways around his body and submitted to his rhythm. He liked them all because he could consume them, so he said he support women. Those he didn't like, well, they were on their own.

So he didn't mind that you were older and reserved. True, he never bothered with women like you because he thought he could do without them, but now that he was in Tokyo all alone, he could see your values. So, he thought to look.

You were the serious type. Soft-spoken, patient, and reserved. You looked after yourself rather dilligently - your clothes fit well, and you smelled of subtle floral perfume. Your movement when you walked around the school were gentle but decisive - you knew what to do, and you did it quick, as if you always had something better to do. A part of him didn't like that. For why, he didn't interrogate. "Why" was never a questioned he bothered with, since he could do well for the first 22 years of his life without it. When someone always get what they want, they hardly ever want to know "why".

He knew he was brash and bold to ask you out for dinner, but he assumed you knew the implication. He was interested enough. You had a fine body, and you knew how to look good. "Late bloomer" was what he liked to call women like you, the type who took themselves too seriously in school, but then learnt how to be pretty in their latter years. They would know how to relax, to not be so uptight.

So there he sat in a booth at a restaurant downtown, waiting, a little impatient to see that you were late. Perhaps he was to blame to tell you to take your time and freshen up at home. He wondered if you would doll up. Where would you show your skin? Where would you shave? He liked it shaved. His fingers toyed with the small tea cup, tapping its side and running down the curve of its rim.

"Hi! Sorry for the wait... I was caught up with a phone call."

He looked up. There you were, smiling down at him. He shamelessly looked at your body, studying the way the nice dress pants accentuate your hip and ass. Then, as you sat down, he took notes of your off-shoulder top, then the blink of your earrings. You may tried to make it seem innocuous, but he could tell. You dressed up for him.

"Not at all! I just got here."

You kept your smile on. He didn't notice that it was manufactured. He was caught up watching you leaning forward, your fingers flipping over the menu. The way your cleavage was catching shadow captured his attention.

"So, how is Tokyo treating you?"

He didn't think you would speak first. You barely humored any small talks during the day, only giving him just enough.

"It's good, it's good", he mused, "I'm enjoying the new culture and people. It's all very new to me, so I'm excited."

You looked up at him now, your eyes narrowing as your smile widened.

"It's a great city. There's always something to look at. Do you ever miss your friends and family, though?"

He leaned in as well, closing the gap. He could see you flinch just barely as his fluffy black curls almost tickle your forehead.

"Well, of course. I miss my family a lot, especially my sister. She's applying for college soon, and I wish I could be there to support her, you know?"

"You have a sister?"

He was pleased to see you following the script so far. Girls were often intrigued by the fact that he had a sister - it means he grew up knowing how to be sensitive and protective. It was a reliable card to play.

"Yeah, we grew up quite close, you know. I still remember her crying like a baby when I left for college", he chuckled, "now it's her turn."

You laughed softly at that.

"Yeah... she must be so sad to see you go to Japan, right?"

He nods, his eyes flickering between your face and your neck, eager to peer right down your top. You must be wearing those stick-on nipple covers to rock a top like that.

"Oh, she was, but she's more excited to be independent in college. Too excited, to be honest. I had to warn her not to get in troubles."

"What kind of trouble?"

He found himself looking at your lips now. Your gentle voice and soft gaze managed to distract him. For a second, he found himself pausing to stare.

"Oh... alcohol, drugs, bad friends. You know the deal."

"Did you get into troubles in college, too?"

The simple question now seemed so implicative. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and he saw that you looked. Your lashes flutterred for a second before your eyes met his.

Empty.

You were harder to read than he thought. Perhaps it was the age difference, he wondered, or the fact that your naturally composed attitude had sealed your attraction toward him. He never hit on an older woman before, so he supposed it was only natural that he couldn't catch your energy right away. Or were you secretly experienced? Three years seemed little to him at first, but he suddenly felt self-conscious at your still demeanor. You were still smiling and expectant, but in a different way than he imagined. You were yet to be doe-eyed, yet to melt when she heard about his bond with his sister. How many men had had their ways with you? Did you please them well? Did you moved and squirm under their touch? He felt himself heating up.

"Good afternoon, dear customers. May I take your order?"

He almost jumped. You didn't. Awkwardly pointing to the menu, he glanced at you who quickly said your orders. You seemed comfortable.

Did he lose his edge?

The waiter swiftly left. Lukas felt that the chemistry was disrupted. His keen eyes watched your form pulling back away from him, and he caught the faint perfume wafting his way. He decided to keep his posture forward, staying on the offensive side.

"I guess I did get into some troubles", he admitted, his hand instinctively rubbing the nape of his neck, as if to conceal what his clothes couldn't. His skin was warm to the touch.

"Well, what kind?"

He couldn't tell if you were interested. You were asking him lots of questions, even from the start. Did you want to know more about him?

"Oh, we were crazy. One time, a pledge covered himself in lighter fluid and lit himself on fire before jumping into the pool."

"Ah... so the typical frat bros stuff. I guess I've seen something like that at X. Uni", you nodded, your smile turning a bit cheeky.

He shifted even closer.

"Yeah, we were bad boys. Were you in a sorrority? Greek life is big at X."

You shook yout head slowly.

"No... It seemed very fun, but I guess I was too focused on other stuff."

"What stuff?"

"I was trying to keep my scholarship, so that took most of my time, I guess. I wasn't too involved with student life aside trom the school's art magazine."

"So you are a smartie?"

You hung your head humbly.

"I guess you could say that."

"So what did you do to blow off steam, then? Or were you at the library all day?"

He felt just a bit desperate trying to know you. He knew his bombarding questions were coming off a little strong, but he didn't want to feel exposed and insecure anymore. He had opened up, he thought it would be fair if you let him in a little. Wind down, be less uptight.

"I went to Ellum sometimes."

Ellum, the bar street. So you knew how to party after all. Maybe you did have experiences with men.

"Oh, me and my boys liked it there."

"For troubles?"

He laughed.

"For troubles, yeah. It'd be crazy if we met and never knew it."

"Well, it was all dark and loud in there. Maybe we did."

"Then it's fate."

He felt corny saying it, but the words slipped out anyway. His heart twisted when you laughed at that, your chest vibrating. You lifted your hand to cover your smile, and he saw a glimpse of ink as your top pulled against your shoulder. Tattoos, huh? He didn't peg you as the type to get them.

Seeing that it was his chance, he reached over to adjust the fabric, his fingertips lingering just a moment too long. He felt it, the electric as he felt your cool skin against his own. You were soft and smooth, like a nice spread of butter against crispy toast.

"Oh, my bad, I just saw your shirt falling off a little there."

Your laugh dwindled. You touched where he touched, your chest rising and lowering at a slower beat.

Lukas found himself feeling expectant.

"Ah, well, thank you", you said, your voice more relaxed now. That was a good sign.

The waiters came back with the orders and left just as hurriedly.

"I have a question", Lukas mused, somehow anxious to lose your attention when you reached for your utensils.

"Pray tell."

"What's the best food place that you've ever been in Tokyo?"

He winced internally. Corny and immature, that was what he was being. What a 17-year-old first date question that was.

"I'd say the unlabelled streetfood carts at the open-air markets", you said, your finger resting on your chin for a moment, "I like to go there if I ever have to stay late at work."

"You gotta show me sometimes, then. I love streetfood!"

He felt stupid clawing at any ways he could to compel your interest. You were right there, laughing at his jokes, asking about his family, paying attention to him. Yet somehow he still felt like you were distant, somewhere in an invisible fish bowl, and what he had said to you were muffled through the water and glass.

"Of course, I'd be happy to. But let me know if you are allergic to anything, or if you are scared of seafood."

"Not at all", he confidently shook his head, "I went to Italy last summer, and the seafood was amazing!"

"Trip across Europe?"

"Trip across Europe", he nodded, "I'd say, Italy for best seafood, France for best wine, Germany for best beer, and Netherlands for the best, well, you know..."

You playfully rolled your eyes.

"I see you like to travel."

"Oh, it changes my whole perspective. I really found myself, you know. It's like... I come back a whole different person. I think everyone should travel."

You gave him a strange look. Not a scowl nor a frown. A gentle squint of the eyes. It could be anything. He couldn't decide if he was being too boastful, or if he had said something wrong. Did you not like that? Maybe you hadn't been as well-travelled as he was, and what he said had come across as unrelatable.

"But of course, you know, if your money allows it. It doesn't cost as much as you think if you know how to budget."

The playful twinkle in your eyes told him that you were responding to him, and likely not negatively. Still, he felt more stupid adding on to what he said. He didn't know why, but he felt as though you were looking down on him.

Why would you look down on him?

Lukas may not realize it, but this was one of the rare occasions when he let the "why" bother him.

"Of course, travelling can be great. I haven't travelled much, but I imagine that when I have enough money, I would travel. I have a few places in mind."

"Where to?"

"For starter, Norway."

Weird answer.

"What's in Norway?"

"The aurora borealis."

He furrowed his brows.

"You want to see the northern light?"

"More than anything."

"It doesn't cost that much though."

"Yeah, but solo travelling costs more, I imagine."

"I can go with you."

He felt decidedly stupid and overconfident.

"Wouldn't that be something...", you commented, your eyes casting aside, "well, that's my top destination for sure."

You were growing cold again. Lukas couldn't for the life of him figure out where he was going wrong. Maybe you just weren't attracted to him, but that was unlikely. He knew how good he looked. He may have heard "sorry I have a boyfriend" and "I'm looking for something serious", but he couldn't think of a time when someone had admitted to him not being their type. Not even behind his back.

"Also, you seem to like to drink. Two out of the four places you mentioned was about alcohol."

He didn't expect you to pick up on the conversation. Maybe he simply had gotten into his head.

"Oh, I guess. I did drink a lot in college, but that's just what it was all about, you know?"

"About troubles, I know."

He felt his face growing hot.

"Right... well, I'd love to know what other Japanese drinks are like, too. I've tasted sake, but it was mild. I'm more of a beer and shots guy."

"Wine, too, right? In France."

You had not once lost your composure. He felt like he was squirming in his seat. He wanted to sleep with you, that was clear. He needed to know what it was like to get with someone older than him, even if it was a mere three years. What would you be like in bed? What did you learn from all the men from your past? The unphased facade, the tattoo, the way you maintained your calm upon his touch and his banter... you knew something he didn't. You had experienced things he hadn't.

"Right, that. Do you drink at all? Here, in Japan, I mean."

"Sometimes."

"Hey, it's a Friday night. Do you maybe want to grab a drink at a pub somewhere after this?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. He knew he was being brash and bold, but he couldn't help it. You were something he wanted to add to his collection.

Letting you mull over it, he watched your calm face.

"Sure...", you softly agreed, "but only for a little while."

"Something coming up tomorrow?"

Someone to see tomorrow?

Your blank eyes glimmered under the flourescent light for a second. He almost wanted to hold his breath.

"Just some personal affair in the afternoon."

There you go being elusive again. He thought he would have had you in his palm by now, but not yet. Maybe he didn't know your type.

[hello-kuni]

𝐃𝚬𝚨𝐃 𝚶𝐅 𝚴𝚰𝐆𝐇𝚻

syn: when you're sleeping and they need you and how they remedy that situation

ft. diluc, itto, thoma, kaeya

cw: 18+ mdni, f!reader, somnophilic elements, dubcon-ish, m masturbation, f receiving oral, dry humping, thigh fucking

a/n: welcome to my genshin debut (bear with me pls i'm getting out of my slump)

❁ diluc

it's late in the night when he creeps into the bedroom. you're already fast asleep and unaware of his late arrival. he keeps the light off to change, unwilling to disturb you. as he crawls into bed beside you, he notices the covers have slipped down your body, knowing goosebumps are rising on your skin in the chilly room. he catches a glimpse of your figure as he reaches to cover you, nothing more than a shadow in the dark.

"archons," he whispers, feeling himself harden at the sight. he hadn't realized just how...frustrated he is until that moment. the last thing he wants is to wake when he knows he can stave off his desires for the time being. so that's exactly what he does.

conjuring an image of you, he lays back against his pillow and lets his hand wrap around his cock. his strokes are quick and uncaring. something about touching himself to the thought of you feels wrong to him and he'd rather not draw it out for too long. not to mention his body his heavy with sleep.

he's getting close to his release, unaware of the fact he's quietly moaning your name as he's imagining that it's your pussy squeezing him instead of his own hand. he hadn't noticed you stirring beside him, awoken by the gentle sound of you name in the beloved timber of his voice. but he's well aware that you're now awake when you wrap your hand over his, effectively stopping his strokes moments before he cums.

heat creeps up his neck at being caught. your hand trails lower as you whisper, "even at times like this, i'm yours to have."

he lets out a shaky breath, but his conviction is solid. "i'll never disturb you for a need i can satiate on my own. not like that."

the mere implication of your words was enough to shake any hint of sleep from him, now fully awake and present. the thought of doing something such as that would never cross his mind.

you bring your hand up to cup his jaw, sultry eyes peering up at him. "then come to bed earlier and let me take care of you."

now that was something he could work with. he brings his lips to your own and mumbles in agreement. after this exchange he's prepared to call it a night, his earlier frustration a fading memory, when you disappear under the sheets. and at the warmth that envelopes him, sleep becomes a distant thought.

❁ itto

fours rounds before bed apparently still wasn't enough for itto. he awoke a few hours after falling asleep, hard from a dream where you were--no, no he can't think about it. if he thinks about it his problem won't go away. but not thinking about it isn't helping either.

he resolves to ignore the ache and go back to sleep, tightening his arms around your waist and pulling you in close with his face tucked into your hair. but all that does is rub your ass against his already sensitive cock and now he's greedy for more. he shudders at the feeling, breath catching in his throat. he tries to resist, he really does, but he's weak when it comes to you.

the next movement is accidental, he tells himself. he's just trying to get comfortable. but that little taste is all he needs to be rutting against your ass. it's not the rough thrusts from earlier in the night, but something sloppy and vaguely desperate. all the while, he's still cautious, unwanting to wake you.

guilt is distant feeling creeping closer as he continues to drag the length of his cock against you. but that all dissolves when he feels your gentle hand on the back of his neck. he sucks in a breath, uncaring of the hair in his mouth.

"is this okay?" he asks, voice a rough whisper. "tell me it's okay."

at times like this, it's like his personality does a complete shift. it sends a heat through you and you just want to hear more of it. you don't have the energy for another round, were barely able to keep up earlier, but this--this is fine. your reply comes out a mumble, "it's okay."

the arms wrapped around your waist tighten and his speed quickens, chasing what he's craved since his interrupted dream of you. he doesn't stop until his cum is coating your back.

❁ thoma

the sun still has a bit of a journey before the first rays begin to peak over the horizon. yet thoma is regretfully awake to begin the day's duties. which wouldn't be so bad any other day, but today he awoke with an ache. he feels only a little guilty as he trails kisses down your naked body--the memory of that little fact doing nothing to help his case--scattering them across your thighs and gently coaxing you from sleep.

as he nestles between your thighs, you begin to stir, a soft murmur of his name falling from your lips as your hips wiggle at the first lick of his tongue. your hands gravitate to his hair, urging him on from those teasing kitten licks. he's quick to get the hint. he groans into you as his tongue delves between your slick folds.

in moments like this, even when he’s desperate to alleviate the growing ache, he prioritizes your pleasure over his. always. it's no fun for him if you're not enjoying it. but being buried between your legs is as enjoyable for him as it is for you. his mouth works you like a man who’s forgotten the last time he’s had a meal. it’s sloppy, yet not without thought behind each movement. his tongue licks long, languid stripes up through your folds, flicking across your sensitive clit. his mouth closes over the aching bud to suck and slurp. every lewd sound he makes mixes with the ones he’s drawing out of you.

he would have stayed there a lot longer if you weren't pulling on his hair. he crawls up your body, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. when he gets to your face he gives you a sleepy grin, and says simply, "good morning."

"a very good morning," you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and one leg hooking around his back to pull him closer.

his gaze drifts to the window where he can see just enough of the sky to decide he can spare a few more minutes with you before he gets ready for the day. the slight roll of his hips against you is all you need to understand his plan.

❁ kaeya

archons above, he really can't stand those little shorts of yours. it's gotten to the point they haunt him in his dreams. nightmares, really. the slight peak of your ass is always taunting him in wake and sleep. not to mention the way they hug you so perfectly, sculpting you ass and framing your thighs, his eyes can't help but stare as you walk by him. it doesn't help that he knows you're wearing them right now.

it's no secret to you that he has a rather strong fixation on your ass and thighs. it's those thighs he wants to feel right now, highlighted by those little sleep shorts. he has a long day ahead of him, he should be sleeping, but the only thing on his mind is you.

there's little shame as he reaches down between your bodies and frees his cock from its confines, one hand holding onto your hip. a shiver crawls down every nerve of his spine as he slips his cock between your plush thighs, the warmth enveloping him like a sinful hug. he bites back a moan, swallowing it as it wells up in his throat. chewing on his lower lip, he rolls his hips once.

and it's enough to shatter whatever self-control he has left.

a strangled moan leaves his lips and there's nothing he can do to stop it. his thrusts pick up pace, racing him towards his climax he's desperately sought since crawling into bedside you and feeling the expanse of the bare skin of your legs. he's so close, so close--

"kaeya." your voice cuts through the room, thick with sleep. his hips stutter but don't stop.

"couldn't help myself," he groans. "not when you're dressed like this."

you hummed in response, hand covering his as his thrusts pick up pace again. warm breath fans across your neck. it's not long until he's painting your thighs. and soon after rolling you on your back to lay between your legs.

[leonawriter]

Who Killed Goro Akechi?

Titled thus because I was just going through the scene right after Mementos merges with reality, after they've failed to defeat the grail, and "Igor" tells Akira that he's lost the game.

And I'm like, ok, I've seen this a fair few times before. I know the script.

But then I was paying attention, and I just went WAIT WAIT WAIT HANG ON A MINUTE HERE.

"In accordance to the game's rules, the defeated must pay a price."

"Your life is forfeit."

"I sentence you to be executed."

And I was just... hang on. There's been more than one player in the game. If we go back to the earlier lines, "Igor" also says "You were mean to bring change to mankind, but it seems that was too much for you."

In a sense, all of this could also be applied to Goro Akechi.

Akechi was also forcing mankind to react and to change, albeit via chaos and uncertainty rather than encouraging people to stand on their own two feet the way the Phantom Thieves were trying to.

And what happens in the engine room?

Akechi loses the game.

He realises that Akira and the PT fooled him, and when he tries to get the better of them one last time, he fails. We often talk about how after he was defeated he "almost went over to their side" - but isn't that another aspect of his "defeat" in Yaldabaoth's eyes? Akechi admits, effectively, that he accepts the Phantom Thieves' way of doing things over his own.

And it's here that we get Cognitive Akechi, who comes in and starts talking about how the Captain (Shido) sees him, gives him an option to rejoin (or for the PT to switch sides), and.... hm, isn't that familiar?

Here's Caroline saying "If that's what our master wishes..." with Akira having a response tree of-

-"You're going to execute me?" -"Are you serious?" -or just plain being unable to speak (he could also be unspeakably angry, but he seems far more scared than angry, here).

Next, Akira refuses to die, because he has people relying on him.

I'm reminded of how with Akechi, once he's behind that bulkhead door, if you haven't finished his confidant he'll say something to the effect of "So my final enemy is a puppet of myself, how fitting."

If you have maxed his confidant? You get Joker telling him he can't die yet, as he has a promise to fulfil ("I'll hold onto your glove") with the implication that it's something that Akechi can use as motivation to want to keep living.

In both, it's "I can't die, I have a reason to live, and that reason is at least one other person."

When the twin wardens try to "execute" Akira, now in his Joker attire as his will of rebellion has manifested, Justine says "If our master orders so... then it cannot be helped..."

I'm reminded of how Cognitive Akechi was a being of pure servitude toward his Captain (master), Shido. If the Captain willed it, he'd even die for him.

This one feels similar, because the twins were never supposed to have "execution" as part of their duties at all, and both parties were pushed into a sense of unfailing loyalty to someone who never cared for them, and who warped their duties to something wrong.

In fact, I just went back to confirm the lines for Cognitive Akechi, and-

Yup.

Top is Cognitive Akechi saying "Captain Shido's orders... He has no need for losers." and the lower one is "Igor" saying "You have lost the game."

Basically, the same lines.

To the point that...

Cognitive Akechi: "Here, I'll give you one last chance. Shoot them."

God of Control: "I shall grant you an opportunity to make a deal with me."

Both times, it's clear that this is the wrong thing to do, and in both cases, the person being offered rejects said deal entirely - Akechi by shooting the switch to activate the bulkhead door, making it impossible for his cognitive self to attack the Phantom Thieves, and Akira by denying Yaldabaoth and reaffirming his bonds with the Thieves once he's told that they're also there.

I titled the post the way I did, because the way Shido is used by Yaldabaoth, I would not be surprised if Cognitive Akechi isn't just a product of Shido's mind protecting him against threats from, say, his own attack dog, but also?

This is Yaldabaoth's way to quite literally execute the first piece he started to play with, since Goro Akechi had failed as a Trickster and had "lost the game" - and as he and cognitive Akechi both say, losers end up dead.

So the question is - who really killed Akechi? Was it Shido's cognition? Was it Yaldabaoth? And was that cognition even an original part of Shido's palace in the first place, to that extent? How much was it "appropriated" at the "right" time, here?

There are far too many coincidences for me to pass it off as such

But the highlight for me at least, is this:

In both terms of Akira and Akechi's "executions," it's their sense of thinking and feeling that "I can't die, I have a reason to live, and that reason is at least one other person" that keeps them alive. And to the point, it's what keeps Akira's sense of rebellion so strong, and against nigh insurmountable odds.

If anything, it supports the fact that with Akechi's confidant maxed, he really does live, because that, too, echoes Akira's experience in the Velvet Room not even a full month later.

[yogurtkags]

congrats on the milestone, cid!!! for the event, how about kageyama with YOUR favorite premise/trope? 🫵

❝ STUCK WITH YOU ❞ — kageyama tobio

cw. gn!reader, implied friends to lovers, forced proximity (there is only one bed), mutual pining, comfort, confessions, not beta read. word count. ~ 1.2k synopsis. whispered confessions and hesitant embraces of a boy in love event masterlist

well shit.

“i can take the floor—“ the both of you splutter out at the same time, causing a little giggle to escape your lips and even tobio to crack a tiny crooked smile, both of your cheeks flushing a light pink.

“the floor’s so uncomfortable, it’s going to ruin your back and you’re not going to like it during practice tomorrow.” you pointedly remark, eyebrow quirked and hands on your hips, thinking you’ve won with your argument.

the rain pelts against your bedroom windows, little taps growing progressively louder and faster and as the winds howl and the trees sway, like a ticking clock counting down to a verdict.

you gave him the option to stay over with his best interests in mind, he can’t afford walking home drenched in the rain and getting sick right now with a match in a few days. but the idea of being in such close proximity for a night with the boy who seized your heart causes it to hammer anxiously in your chest, like butterflies emerging from their cocoons. maybe i didn’t think this through.

crossing his arms over his chest with a scoff, he grumbles matter-of-factly, “and let you go through the discomfort instead? no way in hell.”

once he's made up his mind, there's no convincing him otherwise.

he swears that he cares so much for you, he just doesn't know how to express it in words without being a little blunt and sometimes a little mean, but you know he has good intentions. you wouldn't willingly be friends with him if he didn't, at least he hopes that's the case— his stomach threatens to drop at the idea that he had possibly made you feel upset in any sort of way. it might seem dramatic, but he'd rather die than make you feel like you'd have to walk on eggshells around him.

“well if you’re so against it, we can…" you clear your throat nervously, eyes darting across the floorboards and unable to meet his, "...share?"

tobio's cheeks burn with the implication of your words. the two of you, in bed, together, just the thought alone is enough to cause his brain to short-circuit, leaving him in a stuttering mess and avoiding your eyes, suddenly finding the band poster on your wall very interesting.

you would've missed his quiet "okay" if you weren't looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction from the corner of your eye, his voice barely above a whisper, “but i’m pushing you off if you kick me.”

“excuse you, it’s literally my bed?!”

“dumbass.”

with a huff, you turn and crawl into your bed, rolling to the side closer to the window and grabbing part of the blankets, giving him some space if he decides to join you. facing away from him to hide your nerves and expression, you announce, "well i'm turning in now, it's up to you if you want to get in or not."

you try your best to play it off nonchalantly, but everything in your being prays and hopes that he does. every second that you wait, the faster your thoughts race, you worry that he only said yes to appease you, that you made him uncomfortable with your question, that you were getting ahead of yourself. maybe this was a bad idea.

the swirling tornado of thoughts in your mind was interrupted by the feeling of the empty space behind you dip with weight. it doesn't do much to soothe your nerves, but you focus your eyes on the raindrops trailing down your window, letting it still your heart, even if just for a little while.

as the two of you lay in silence, backs facing each other with a little river of a space between your bodies, neither dare to move even an inch. your senses are on high alert, taking note of every single movement, every breath, the fibers of your sheets feeling scratchy for the first time, just waiting, longing for something to happen.

the sudden flash of lightning and loud thundering causes a small yelp to slip out of your lips, flinching as the burst of bright light floods your vision and temporarily illuminates the dark room. your back lightly brushes against tobio's and you're quick to apologise, "i-i'm sorry, i was just shocked by that."

"i know," you told him some time ago that storms make you a little anxious, he remembers every little detail about you, committing it to memory, "are you okay?"

turning his head to look at you over his shoulder, his heart clenches at the way you shake your head with embarrassment, almost trying to make yourself smaller and shrinking your frame against him. you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it, silently glaring and cursing at the sky and the dark clouds that inhabit it, why did this wretched rain have to make things weird?

with a sharp inhale, he bites the bullet and tests the waters, turning around and reaching for your hand. as his fingers brush over your knuckles, your breath catches in your throat at the delicate motion, the callouses and roughness feeling like light tender scratches on your skin, creating a gentle distraction to your weary soul.

it’s odd. you two were always close, but not like this, yet it feels natural. your hands fit together like pieces of a puzzle, yours cradled in the palm of his larger ones. in your vulnerability, you rest your forehead on his clothed chest, trying to ground yourself and slow your breathing, finding comfort in the rhythm of his heart thrumming against his chest.

tobio hopes that you don’t notice the speed of his pulse, and even if you do, he wishes you won’t bring it up for the sake of his sanity. before this, he longed for the day that he could hold you in his arms, but now that the time has come, he can’t help but wish it was under different circumstances, nonetheless counting his lucky stars for this opportunity to be there for you.

with tremoring hands, he pulls you closer and strokes your hair, running his fingers between the soft strands in a light caress, recalling the days when miwa used to do this for him as a young child riddled with fear. your body melts against his in relief, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, sinking into his steady hold and letting the rise and fall of his chest slowly lull you in a calm rest.

this feels... nice.

tobio thinks you look beautiful in this light, the faintest glow from the streetlamps below shining in through the sheer curtains and fanning across the apples of your cheeks. he almost gives in to the temptation of brushing his lips against your forehead but decides against it, settling with admiring your delicate features and letting his eyes trail across the fine details of your face.

in the quiet of night when he thinks you're asleep, he plucks the courage to whisper into the crown of your head, three words he's had on his mind for a while now, allowing himself to drift off into slumber with your soft smile pressed into the crook of his neck.

notes. mac my fellow tobio enjoyer, thank you for requesting our beloved blooberi boy and my favourite tropes (you know the way to my heart) ♡ i look forward to more screaming crying thirst sessions with you over mr tobio, much love to you !! (dividers: @/cafekitsune) reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.