#like all that kind of power has to GO somewhere especially in a place meant to contain the Unmaker so-

[witchofthesouls]

So, I'm just thinking now, considering how Unicron is Earth (or well, the inner-most parts of the planet, and Gaea being the outer parts and making up his prison), would that technically mean that in some cases he (or perhaps Gaea) may or may not have created some of the Pantheons of ancient Earth?

I mean it would explain why so many of the Greek Gods were such jerks.

And would that furthermore make many of the creatures and beasts in those mythologies creations of the two? Like, going back to Greek Myth, Typhon is actually a direct creation of Unicron, meant to destroy the gods, and potentially Gaea herself.

Idk, just a bit of a thoughty-think I had

Primeval Anon

I did have some thoughts related to this, but more in the 'magic was once real' area.

Personally, I think Unicron was meant to represent the 'end' of everything; he was of the Void where everything was sprang forth, he is the Call to return to it. Death, I suppose.

Gaea is an... intermediary. In a way, she's the bridge of Unicron to Primus as she represents the 'driving force of chaos in creation and death' since neither of them would completely stand on their own. Hence, why Gaea and Megatronus Prime were respectively 'born' because both step into a critical role as support/adversaries/contemporaries for the respective forces that once came of nothing. Primus needs Unicron, just as equally as Unicron needs Primus, so they made their own versions of their brothers to fill that particular void of in their lives, even if Unicron did his by mistake because he was in a coma.

The accidental union between Gaea and Megatronus would have made a nearly indestructible prison that would have kept Unicron caged definitely as he's contained on a very secluded galaxy and feed through Gaea's brand of chaos via life/death cycle of the native lifeforms... if it wasn't for the incoming visits of other Primal lineages or creations (the Quintessons and the modern Cybertronians).

Because of the absolute chaos that's combined, is it really a surprise that Earth/Gaea plays a pivotal setting across the multiverse?

In a more commentary route, when it comes to the Ancient Greeks or any of the pantheons of the ancient world, violence is an integral theme within them because they're are divine personifications of their respective domains. Life is beautiful, but it can be full of grief, suffering, and cruelty as well as joy, wonderment, and compassion. The pantheons reflect that conflicting, confounding nature.

So going back in the direction of the ask, 'magic is real' is basically the joint that holds Elsewhere and all the Other AUs because it's deeply fascinating thinking about the roles that humanity played among that. Magic is a really wild concept in and of itself, so everything can be true, even if contradictory. It's like the old philosophical and theological debate of whether or not did gods predate humanity or did humanity make gods in their image to explain the universe?

So if the power of collective faith had shaped the world holds true, then it really puts a different spin on the various tales told across the world of all kinds of folklore stealing away many humans, staying near human settlements, or the creation of certain kinds of entities, doesn't it?

[gatorbites-imagines]

Listen. Listen. Hear me out.

I beg you, almighty gator—Gambit(Remy LeBeau) x M/FTM reader(ur choice i like both :)) where reader is a mutant that has some kind of power that has to do with sea monsters, and loves tarot cards so Remy does card tricks for him while reader is in a pool.

When I was a kid I called Gambit “Magic Man” and I had to hold myself back from screaming that in the theater when I was watching D&W a few days ago and revived my non-understandable fanboying of him. (Sorry for the rant)

You can change the fic anyway you want, I’ve got no problem as long as Remy is as silly as he normally is(can evolve into smut or whatever cause I’m freaky like that 😏)

Gracias Gator!!

Remy Lebeau x mutant male reader

Headcanons

I love Remy SO much its insane. I can’t write accents, so it’s there in spirit. Haven’t read the comics, so im basing this off of is wiki. no smut but i had fun writing this.

i loved seeing Remy in the movie, i just wish theyd given him his eyes, you know?

How you two met can be a mixed bag. Maybe you met in the x-men, maybe you met in the thieves guild before every crossing paths with the x-men as a whole, or maybe somewhere completely third. I enjoy the idea of the thieves guild though, so ill go with that.

You both had different reasons for joining or doing what you do, but being two mutants amongst a lot of other non-mutants meant you felt some kind of kinship with each other, even if you didn’t really get along in the beginning.

Especially with you two being visibly mutants. With Remy’s eyes and you having scales on different areas of your body, gills on your sides, what others would refer to as “monster eyes”, so on and so forth.

This resulted in you two preferring to work together when you got the chance, you trained together, ate together, slept together (not like that), so on and so forth. It also meant you two got a very deep understanding of each other over time.

It also meant that Remy got to see just how stupidly powerful you were. In the beginning you just thought your powers involved controlling water and being able to breath underwater. Who’d have thought you could do crazy stuff like controlling typhoons, rain, lightning, so on and so forth, like some kind of biblical being.

This was how you gained the name leviathan. You didn’t really like the name in the beginning, since you hadn’t really picked it yourself and it felt almost insulting with your appearance. But Remy was so supportive you ended up coming to like it, even though it took a long time.

In the end you two split apart as you leave the guild, going your separate ways but still keeping in contact in small but safe ways. With a power like yours it was hard to stay under the radar, and many wanted you on their side, even if it meant by force.

Time passes, Remy joins the x-men, you travel on your own and discover yourself and the world. Remy gets kicked out of the x-men when they learn of his past, you two meet up again and travel together for a while.

Its during this gap in Remy’s place with the x-men that your relationship became something more. He tells you about Rogue, and how he at first thought he loved her, only to realize what he felt for her wasn’t near as strong as what he felt for you.

And of course, during this confession, Remy tries to lay on the charm and act like it isn’t a big deal, but you can easily see through him and notice how anxious he is about it. in the end you just have to grab him and kiss him to shut him up, which yes, does shut him up, but also leads to you guys falling back into the water you’d been sitting by when he lunges at you to kiss you again.

Hes a charming guy yes, Remy has such a way with his words, how he carries himself or how he touches you. But underneath all that he also cares so deeply, to the point of being willing to die for you or those he cares about, which makes you lose scales from stress at times.

So, if you place protection spells on him that you got from the deepest part of the sea by the people who have started to worship you like a god, then only you have to know. That Namor guy is pretty swell, when he isn’t being a bit arrogant. He even taught you how to use a spear, so you guys are kinda brothers in spirit now.

At some point Remy does return to the x-men, somewhere you don’t feel ready to join him yet. So, a lot of kisses are shared, and a few tears a shed. And yes, of course you give him jewelry made from your scales. And a dagger made out of your larger teeth when you transform into a more serpentine form, because yes, you can also do that.

Remy doesn’t feel much need to tell the x-men about his relationship. Sure, he keeps flirting but that’s just because that’s how he is. But it never goes further than that. Some of the members that can read minds know about it though, since he thinks about you regularly.

In the end the relationship is exposed when the x-men find themselves in quite the pickle near the ocean. And Remy, knowing he can get them the upper hand, is able to snap one of the sigils you placed on him.

Rip to whoever they were fighting, since the sea lashes out and swallows them whole, followers by a giant feral looking sea serpent, you, rise from the water. Yes, you teleported there. What else were you supposed to do? You thought your boy was in danger!

Cue the x-men just being stunned or confused when Remy calls out the cheesiest pet names, almost kicking his feet in happiness at seeing you. It makes a bit more sense when you transform into a more human form, it still takes some explaining though.

In the end you don’t end up fully joining the x-men. You doing that would place them under a lot more danger than usual, since you had your own enemies and alliances, and you’re pretty sure Namor would get butthurt if you did. But you become something of an ally. Which means you hang out on Krakoa on the regular.

It becomes a very regular sight to see a giant serpent lazily swimming around the island, or resting half on the beach as Remy sits and shows you his different tarot readings. Of course, you also spend time together with you in a more human form, but seeing such a big sea monster also makes any baddies keep a distance.

There are also of course pools set up on the island, not just for you, but they’re accessible for you as well. Remy is regularly seen in the pool with you, or just sitting with his feet in as you two talk or whatever else you guys do.

You end up becoming something of a swim instructor to the youngest mutants, or just those that can’t swim in general. This is something Remy finds extremely entertaining and he’s always teasing you about it. luckily its easy to shut him up with a kiss, or by knocking him into the pool. Or both. He doesn’t mind.

[amsgrey]

he just sounds like that

Kaz Brekker x Fem!reader (established relationship)

synopsis: Arrogance has no place on a job, but you let it lower your guard. You pay the price, but Kaz helps bring you back.

I kind of like merging Book/Show Kaz and trying to keep accurate to his mannerisms and humour etc so hopefully this is good. I came about this idea after thinking about this scene from TLOU and how Kaz most definitely had an asshole voice. Also, I will probably make a few parts/drabbles about Kaz x Inferni Reader, because I love Kaz no apologies.

Warnings: Mentions of Slavery, reader reliving her time as a slave (briefly), Mentions of scars of wrists from slavery chains etc, A fumbley understanding of the technology of the time and inferni powers (it's been so long since I read the books)

Getting split from the other crows was distressing, but there was nothing you could do about that now. You and Kaz just had to keep going, trying to work your way back to the rendezvous point.

"Tell me again why you thought this would work," You hissed to Kaz, who had been leading you in a circle for what felt like forever.

Kaz gave you an irritated glare, "It did work."

You scoffed, "Yeah, that's why we're lost in this saints forsaken mansion."

Kaz let out an exasperated sigh, "Are you done?"

You and Kaz had known each other for years, the entire time you'd known each other you bantered like this. Kaz would act all irritated and stern, but you knew he silently liked the way you could relieve tension and make even him crack a smile. As the only two Crows born and raised in the farmlands of Kerch, you shared a different connection. You had found each other before The Barrel knew Kaz as the force he was now. Kaz had saved you from Slavers and convinced you to join the Dregs, helping you find a life without fear.

Since then, you followed him through everything, which at this current moment, meant even through the merchant's maze of a mansion. Nina, Matthias and Wylan were somewhere outside, waiting for you, Kaz, Inej and Jesper to get what you were after and meet them. You wondered if they would be growing impatient yet, you were late, which almost never happened on a job with Kaz.

The job had started off as most others, breaking in was always the easy part. You had been privy to Kaz's plans, watching him study a map of the mansion for weeks before he committed to the job. He knew the place like the back of his hand, but he didn't know the extent of the new security measures the merch had introduced.

You and Jesper dawdled behind Inej and Kaz as they led the group through the halls. Occasionally Jesper would pause at a painting or display piece and make comments about its ugliness or stupidity.

The last painting he'd criticized was of an older man, dressed in a bright blue kefta with red embroidery. Jesper had caught your sleeve and pointed it out to you, "Looks like the merch has inferni ancestor."

You had screwed your nose up at the portrait, "I thought he was Kaelish?"

"He is," Kaz said, already at the end of the hall with Inej. He was waiting for the two of you to catch up, like a boy calling his dogs home.

Walking through the mansion felt surreal, mostly because you hadn't been to many places with such decadent displays of wealth. The four of you could move through the hallways unnoticed because the Merch and his family were out at the theatre - or whatever it was rich people did in Ketterdam on Sunday Nights. He had brought most of his guards and men with him, leaving the halls silent and unpatrolled. Kaz had called him an arrogant fool, to declare his mansion impenetrable and then take all his men out to prove it. There was no place able to keep out Dirtyhands, especially not when he had his crows by his side.

Thinking back on it you realized how you all had been too arrogant, thinking this job was in and out, easy. You'd let your guard down - something Kaz warned you to never do in this city - and now you were paying the price.

Everything went wrong when you and Kaz finally found what you were looking for - the merch's family jewel, a sapphire embedded in rich Kealish gold. You had easily broken through the fabrikator-made lock, it might have been made by a Grisha but it couldn't hold up against a Grisha. Especially not one who could melt metal with the same ease as cutting pastry. Kaz had reached for the jewels, as soon as he lifted it off the display the room filled with an ominous hum. Like the sound of a machine slowly whirring to life.

Kaz had pocketed the jewels, grabbing your forearm and tugging you along behind him as he went for the door Jesper and Inej were guarding. Before you could make it metal bars slid down over the doorway. You had tried to use your small science to melt the metal, even Jesper tried to budge it, but nothing worked. Kaz ordered Inej and Jesper to find their own way out as alarms chimed, directing you back through the room to another exit.

You had followed behind him willingly, knowing he knew the way around the mansion. You'd been irritated to learn how wrong you were, Kaz knew the layout of the mansion but the Merch had updated the floorplan. Clearly, another Fabrikator addition to hinder thieves.

"Wait," Kaz held up his hand and you barrelled straight into his back at the sudden halt, "Do you hear that?"

Footsteps.

"Back," Kaz whispered, ushering you back the way you had come.

You got to the end of the hall before you heard more bodies approaching, you were surrounded. Immediately you went to the window, trying to pull at the latch and open it. It didn't work, but you could see light dancing on the tree line.

"Kaz," You called, "Look."

You both squinted into the dark, trying to distinguish who it was in the woods. You saw the glint of steel, like someone was spinning a revolver.

"It's Jesper."

The footsteps were getting louder, there was no way you and Kaz could get out of this on your own.

"Step back," You struck your flint, the sparks allowing you to create a ball of flame. You concentrated it as small as it would allow, pressing your palms against the window until cracks started forming. After a few more seconds the pane shattered, sending the shards falling to the ground below. You were on the second floor, even if you wanted to jump there was no way you and Kaz would be able to land safely. You settled for sending up a burst of flames, Jesper and the others would be on the lookout for it, your SOS symbol.

"Stop!" Someone shouted and all hell broke loose.

You and Kaz fought well side by side, you both knew each other's moves, working in tandem to take down opponents. It looked like you might win for a little while, then a woman rounded the corner with her hands pressed together. Heartrender, you realized it too late.

You were woken suddenly, like your heart was all of a sudden coming back to life. You gasped and spluttered, lungs burning. Your hands were bound above your head, separated by a thick metal rod so that you couldn't summon. Already you could feel the ache in your shoulders, hanging from your arms was something you had been used to when you were a slave. Now, you had to fight back the panic that tried to grip your heart.

You struggled to find your footing for a moment, but eventually managed to stand up enough to take the strain off of your wrists.

Kaz.

Where was Kaz?

"Look, Brekker. Your girls fine."

You squinted to find where the voice was coming from, finding the source across the room. Kaz was standing opposite a burly man nearly a foot taller than him. Kaz's face was bloody and bruised, but he had murder in his eyes. You could see it, feel it, all the way across the room. You realized it wasn't just Kaz and the merchant; the other crows were there too. Inej held a blade against the heartrenders throat from earlier, who had both her hands held far apart to show her cooperation. Jesper was not too far away, his pistols in hand as he stared down a man who stood in between you and him.

What did I miss?

"No harm was done," The merchant continued, his voice thick with a Kaelish accent, "What do you say we part ways, unharmed."

Kaz's face didn't change, "Sure."

The Merchant frowned, a glimpse of fear breaking through his resolve, "I don't like your tone, boy."

"He always sounds like that," Jesper joked, glancing at you.

"He has an asshole voice," You agreed. Not two nights ago you and Jesper had been saying the same thing to Matthias at the Slat. You and Jesper enjoyed teasing the Fjerdan, especially regarding Kaz and his 'demjin' ways.

Kaz looked amused, he had the Merchant in the palm of his hand. "Go. Before I change my mind."

The Merchant almost tripped as he ran away, not even stopping for his Heartrender and right-hand man who followed behind him just as quick.

With the immediate threat gone, you felt your resolve begin to crumble. You had to get out of these chains. They would rub your wrists every time you moved, bringing you straight back to your past.

"Stop moving," An older woman had warned you, "It hurts less."

She was probably right, but you were too terrified to listen. Hours ago you were playing on your family's farm, but now you were chained to the roof in a dark, damp cellar. The chains were rusted and coarse, they rubbed the skin around your wrists raw, leaving cuts and grazes everywhere they pressed.

You were only eight, by far the youngest of all the slaves in the cellar. The chains they used to bind you didn't have cuffs, the slavers had just looped the links around your wrists and locked them tight. All you felt was the pain and the fear. All of this because you were Grisha? You only just learned of your power as an Inferni, how could you be worth anything?

The older woman tried to console you, doing her best to quell your tears and sobs, but even she knew the horrors that awaited you. The horrors you would spend years fighting to escape.

"Y/N," Kaz's voice was soft, he stood in front of you, supporting your weight as Jesper worked on freeing your hands from the chains. "Stay here."

You knew he was trying, you could see his own emotions clawing at him. It was one of the things that bound you and Kaz together, the demons of your past. You understood what it was like to fear touch and he understood what it was like to be betrayed. You helped each other, through the flashbacks and nightmares. You two didn't have anyone else, so you fought to have each other.

When Jesper finally broke through the chains, you lurched forward unexpectedly. Kaz held you tighter, trying to keep you upright even with his bad leg. You stood up, holding your hands out to balance yourself.

'I'm okay," You lied, trying to avoid Jesper and Inej's worried glances, "We should get out of here."

Back at the Slat, you sat staring at your cup of cocoa. Nina had made it for you as her way of trying to help, she could hear that your heartbeat hadn't stopped racing since leaving the job.

Jesper and Wylan had offered you gentle conversation, but you couldn't hold it for long. You had claimed you were tired, bidding your friends goodnight and climbing the stairs to your room. You didn't stop at your floor. Your feet carried you further up the steep stairs, stopping when you reached the attic which Kaz had converted into his own room. You didn't have to knock, you just opened the door and announced yourself.

Behind closed doors, Kaz was less concerned about keeping up his Dirtyhands persona. He smiled ever so slightly as you sat on his bed. A few months ago you had forced him to rearrange his room so that you could see him working while you lounged on his bed. You often ended up like this, watching him work after long days and taking comfort in each other's presence.

This time, Kaz wasn't concerned with his papers, he just looked at you, waiting for you to talk. You had talked Kaz through his own episodes many times, you never pushed him or asked him to move quicker than he was ready. For the first time, Kaz wanted to offer you the same comfort, but he wasn't sure if he could.

You were rubbing your wrists, stuck in your own memories of your time chained.

Kaz slowly joined you, giving you time to pull away. You glanced over at him, watching him as he slowly removed his gloves.

"Kaz-"

Kaz shook his head to silence you, continuing what he was doing. He placed his gloves neatly on the bedside table, turning to you. He reached out slowly and you let him. He gently pried your fingers away from your wrist, taking your hands in his own. He turned your palms up, his fingers slowly ghosting over the scars on your skin.

Kaz could feel the warmth of your skin through his fingertips. It helped him fight off the flashbacks, the warmth reminding him you were safe, healthy, alive.

Kaz's fingers traced over a scar on your right thumb. You couldn't help the small sigh that escaped your lips.

Kaz's head snapped up to look at you, fear filling his eyes.

"I'm okay," You meant it this time. The flashbacks were gone, locked in the vault in the back of your mind.

Kaz could tell that you meant it, see the anxiety leave your face. He drew his hands back, reaching for his gloves again. You smiled at him as he slipped his hands back into them, the leather bringing him the comfort he needed.

Kaz offered you a quiet apology.

"Kaz," You couldn't help the adoring smile on your face, "It's okay."

You knew Kaz could handle contact more when his gloves were on, so you gently took his hand. Kaz watched as you copied his movements from earlier, gently opening up his fingers. You slowly raised his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

"I love you," You said, "Gloves and all."

Kaz smiled, a genuine smile that you only saw in the safety of these four walls.

He let out a quiet reply, "I love you too."

[thegreatpapaya666]

Hey so I was really curious because I was looking in your pinned post. Like a creep. I saw that you shipped...fresh x nightmare?? And like over my years in the undertale fandom I never even began to think of that..I'm. so curious why??? If you don't mind sharing? ??? Like I can ...kinda. maybe see it

LMFAOOO IT'S OKAY WE STAN CREEPY NERDS HERE (i'm one myself >:3

So I can't even begin to explain how much thought I've put into this silly goofy little crackship

And I have a bunch of different headcanons about it and it doesn't quite make sense but here you go! I love talking about this because I have wayyy too much knowledge of Undertale AUs XDDD

I like the headcanon of them both being somewhere on the aromantic and asexual spectrums. For Fresh, he's canonically said to be a parasite rather than an actual Sans, and since parasites proliferate asexually, he has no concept of what sex is. And because of this, he has no concept of gender, either. The only reason he uses he/him pronouns is because the first thing he possessed was male. Fresh is also emotionally stunted and has a limited understanding of people and how to navigate interactions with them. The creator of Fresh, LoverOfPiggies (formerly known as CrayonQueen) has even said that Fresh enjoys kissing because he thinks it's fun, but he doesn't understand why people make emotional connections because of it. As for Nightmare, he seems to have little to no interest in romance or sex. Since he feeds off negativity and both of those are generally associated with positivity, there's a low chance he'd want that kind of relationship with someone else.

Fresh is an intelligent, go-with-the-flow type parasite who struggles with empathy, receiving affection, and understanding other people's emotions, though the longer he stays in one body, the more human-like he becomes. The only emotion he can easily comprehend is fear, specifically the fear of dying, and when Fresh delivers this monologue, his need for survival, want to be entertained, and pessimistic outlook on existence are highlighted. Even the form he takes and the silly weapons he uses (like wiffle bats and furby bombs) are calculated moves meant to appear non-threatening and help make as little enemies as possible, all coming back to his need to survive. And being a parasite, he needs to harm others to live. He enjoys tormenting people, though he doesn't do it often because he wants to stay on as many people's good sides as he can. When addressing his point of view that everyone is selfish, the monologue touches upon his existential dread when he recognizes that his place in the universe is relatively meaningless. This shows that he wants to mean something and he wants to have more power and influence than he does, especially to secure an environment where he doesn't have to worry as much about death or eventually becoming bored.

Nightmare is the guardian of negativity and completely devoid of empathy. He only feels pure hatred and wants the entire multiverse to be subjected to eternal suffering, and he takes pleasure in other's pain. Due to his sadistic tendencies, his main goal is to take over the multiverse and inflict suffering on every AU in existence, corrupting positive AUs and subjecting them to eternal pain. The only obstacle standing is his way is his brother, Dream, who is the guardian of positivity.

Fresh and Nightmare have similar ideals and outlooks on life. They're also both sadistic in nature, take pleasure in hurting others, and feel little to no emotions, let alone romantic or sexual attraction. They also both have a limited understanding of other people's emotions and have no problem using others for their own benefit. In his monologue, Fresh states [I’m better and I deserve to get what I want, and I wanna mess with people and I want to hurt people, and since, ey, I gotta possess people to survive, I might as well ENJOY the process as well, ya know dawg? I wanted to take over the multiverse because yeah, it extended far beyond somethin so noble as ‘helpin’ people, I wanted to take over because I COULD, and because it was FUN, and because I couldn’t be STOPPED. I wanted the power to enslave E͏̷͏V̨̀͜E̸͠͠R̡̢͠Y̸͢͟T҉̢͠H͏͜͞Ì̴̕N̡̨̕G͡. The power to enslave everything. But. I can’t do that. Can I?] Keeping in mind that Nightmare is one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse, and his only opponent is Dream, and the Bad Sanses aren't quite enough to help him obtain complete control of the multiverse, if Nightmare and Fresh were to team up, that would greatly improve both of their chances of getting what they want. Fresh on a base level wants to survive, be entertained, and have unrivaled power. Nightmare on a base level wants to survive, subject the world to endless torture, and have unrivaled power. And because Fresh is a sadist, Nightmare's goal of subjecting the world to endless torture would be his idea of entertainment. So if Nightmare, Fresh, and the rest of the Bad Sanses had a shot at removing Dream as a threat to their plan (not necessarily killing him, seeing as Nightmare is the only one who can combat Dream's 'immortality' and there's a chance he may not be able to defeat Dream alone), they would have little to no setbacks in their pursuit of ultimate power.

So, all of this to say that Fresh and Nightmare's transactional relationship keeping them both alive, entertained, and unstoppable, would make them a good fit for a queer platonic relationship, or QPR. A QPR is a partnership between two or more people that exists in the gray area between a platonic relationship and a romantic and sexual relationship, which is very common with aroace people

And by "good fit," I mean the most toxic, hilarious, entertaining, confusing, and thought-provoking QPR in the history of the entire world.

Thank you anon for keeping me up until one in the morning because this ask interested me so much <3

This is usually where someone says "careful, papaya, your autism is showing," but oh well.

Anyway, I hope this character analysis gave you some insight on why I think this ship is cool! I spent three hours researching and finding credible sources, so I'm really pumped to be able to share my work with you!

Thank you so much for the ask this absolutely brightened my day ilysm anon

[artist-kreating-stuff]

I’ve been thinking about this little lady for a while now, so I figured it was about time that I introduced her!

Meet Eli, or Hack Rat! Her birth name is Elizabeth, but she thinks it makes her sound like a dead queen. She either goes by Eli (e-lie) or Hack Rat, thank you very much.

Facts:

- She’s a descendant of Sora and Arin, and the newest Elemental Master of Technology. On top of that, her father is a Whack Rat from the Prime Empire video game realm, which is where she got her giant ears. True to her mixed heritage, she’s a real tech head, preferring to keep her nose in some form of machinery then out in the real world. Whenever someone asks her why, her answer is always “Because the real world is f*cked up. Nobody wants to deal with that sh!t.”

Her father made sure she was fluent in curses and various swear words by the time she was 9.

- Her parents own and live above “Riyu’s Pies”, a generational pie shop located in the Crossroads. Growing up in a pie shop meant she was taught the family’s legendary pie recipes at a young age, and she’s expected to help her parents when business gets hectic, but she mostly uses the basement for her various projects. She can create devices with just a thought and a snap, but she likes to take various pieces of technology apart to get a further understanding of how it works.

She’s also down there because it’s only place where she can play her drums where her mother won’t twist her ear off for waking up the entire neighborhood.

- Despite being the Master of Technology, she rarely takes notes of what she creates. She always says that the only way to create something new is to forget the old, and that creating something that creates explosions isn’t that difficult. “You blow stuff up and then keep blowing stuff up until you get somewhere - it’s not that hard!”

- She’s especially a fan of devices that create flashy explosions, so she’s often commissioned to create fireworks for various festivals and fairs. She keeps slightly more dangerous versions of her fireworks on her to use as bombs if she’s ever in a pinch. Her go-to plan for any serious situation is “Plan Boom-Boom”. Shh - don’t tell her parents or PIXAL…

She can take any pre-made device and mentally rewire its circuits to turn it into a bomb. From there, she can mentally pull the trigger and set it off, but she likes to put on a show. She does this thing where she makes a gun shape with her thumb, pointer and middle finger and slowly counts down until only her thumb is left, like she’s about to press a button. “Tick… tick… BOOM.”

- Eli is often referred to as “the Fix-It Girl” by her customers and neighbors. She’s well known for being given a broken toy or piece of technology and fixing it up good as new and even better. But the title has another meaning. She has a strong sense of justice, and whenever she sees something going down that she views as wrong or “broken”, she will do everything in her power to “fix it”. If that means a blown up building, so be it.

- Unlike the others of her generation, her Elemental Power developed at a young age. It was a relatively easy power, in her opinion, as all she needed was a couple pieces of metal and/or technology and her imagination. And in her words, “I’ve always had a big imagination.” She thinks that her relative ease with her power gives off the impression that she’s had it easy with her training. It’s far from true, but she works hard to convince them otherwise.

- Her father and his kind have lived in Ninjago for several generations up to this point, but they’re still viewed as an “invasive species” by the city’s more conservative citizens. Eli has often faced the backlash from her mixed genetics, as well. She loves her father regardless and is not ashamed of showing off her rat genes; her ears are always on full display and she shaves sparingly (it wouldn’t change much anyway - it grows back the next day). She even designed a titanium “rat tail” belt that can unwrap and extend at her mental command.

Whack Rats are far from the only targeted “invasive species” in Ninjago, though. Eli often strikes up friendships with the children of these other “invasive species”, offering them whatever solace and support she can in the face of such adversity. She especially cares for her girlfriend, who’s a mixed child of the Serpentine tribes.

(I told my dorm mates I was designing a LGBTQ+ character and showed them the line art, and they went absolutely ballistic over her design. My girl already has fans 😂.)

- Her usual clothing ensemble consists of several pockets and a backpack, as she always keeps pieces of metal and technology on her to manipulate at a moment’s notice. Those pink sticks strapped to her thighs may look simple, but they’re actually the most sophisticated pieces of technology that she’s ever created. They’re practically indestructible and contain several settings for both long and close range combat, interchangeable only by her Elemental Power. These settings include:

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

you've talked about a lot of people your age are risk-averse homebodies; do you put that down to just helicopter parenting, or is everyone being broke also a factor?

Oh jeez is that post going around again.

Listen. Helicopter parenting is one of many factors. And I think that Helicopter parenting is only as common as it is because of Reagan era moral panics still having hold on society because of complex factors that have a lot to do with American exceptionalism and the cold war and American hyper individualism.

I don't think that being broke has much to do with it actually, I'm not saying it isn't part of it but it's kind of negligible in the specific problem of people refusing to touch grass. Like people are much poorer than their parents generally and it's a huge problem but it is possible and even easy to go out and hang out with people when you have no money. Literally go out and fuck around in the woods with your friends. Do it. It is easy and free and people have been doing it since the beginning of time.

No the issue is that the third space is being completely removed and part of that is manufacturing consent for it. For example community centers, if they haven't closed down altogether, have a lot fewer things for adults. You used to be able to go take a pottery class or some shit like that at a community center and it might cost you some money but those sorts of things were always intentionally affordable. Now everything is ages 5-12 if it exists at all. And as for spaces that aren't meant to be third spaces but which people use that way, loitering is being prosecuted way more now, especially in racially marginalized communities, but not just in marginalized communities. Like think about shopping malls for instance. In the 90s and 00s there used to be roving gangs of teenagers in those things now they're ghost towns. A lot of those stores will ask you to leave if you're not there to buy something. Those two things are directly connected. Bathrooms in coffee shops didn't used to be for customers only. When I was a kid I could walk into a coffee shop and sit down with a book and no one would tell me to buy something or leave as long as I was unobstructive, it's not like that anymore. Obviously COVID is a factor but that was happening before COVID.

Also people are wayyyy less religious than they used to be, which I think is good, but one side effect of it is that another third space disappeared. You used to go to church or temple or whatever once a week and Idk what non church places are like but usually you would sit for an hour and listen to some guy talk about God and you'd sing some songs and then you would go into the church basement and have coffee and food and talk to the other people who were there getting coffee and food. And the churches would have food drives and things of that nature on days other than Sunday. That stuff still happens if course but young people aren't there because we don't believe in that shit. Which yeah the church is a pretty bigoted institution and I think organized religion gives too much power to the leadership. If you connect god with some human guy that human guy can take advantage of your faith it happens all the time. But we have to replace that ritual of gathering somewhere and getting coffee and food with people once a week or we're gonna have a poorly socialized populace. And you can't really replace it with coffee shop because you have to buy your food there and you're not really encouraged to talk to other people you don't know that well the way you are at a church.

And yeah there's the financial aspect of it but it used to be easier to jump the fence and get into a concert, the bar didn't always have that cover charge, there used to be a public bathroom there, there used to be a public water fountain, there used to be a 30$ craft class, that used to be a public park and they'd do block parties and Shakespeare in the park there and now it's a parking lot, and so on and so forth.

Frankly one thing I find shocking is that even places that are expensive are getting less friendly to adults seeking activities. My town has 4 dance studios and not a single one of them offers beginner level dance classes for adults. And I'm not just talking about ballet either, they don't teach any classes to adults. I'm a drag queen that's a thing id be interested in paying for with my tip money so I can get more tips in the future. They don't have it.

Idk it just feels like "I'm broke :/" ok well being broke didn't used to mean that you had to stay in your apartment all day.

[tyrannuspitch]

controversial post but i trust u guys at this point. the crucial thing about thor and loki and overprotectiveness is that thor really THINKS he's got hashtag eldest daughter syndrome. but... he hasn't. what he actually has is like. proxy abuser syndrome.

(which is not to say that thor isn't also abused. but like... being conditioned to abuse others is part of his abuse. it's fucked up.)

like. thor is like oh no i'm the Eldest i must be Responsible for loki i must Keep Him Safe... but if you delve even a millimetre below the surface you find that his responsibilities is to keep loki *in line* and *under control*. and what he's keeping him safe from is their father's abuse. (and their father's bad government. same thing, bc kings and fathers are the same in this story.) and the way thor does that is by reproducing like 80% of odin's behaviour himself.

(in T1, thor demeans, threatens, physically intimidates and silences loki before odin does all of that to thor himself. and while odin is also aggressive to loki in that scene, what shields loki from the brunt of odin's rage is precisely the idea that loki is completely subordinate to thor and therefore couldn't have had agency in the treason they both committed.)

like do you get what i'm saying. thor has pseudo-parental responsibility only in the sense that he has pseudo-parental power and odin wants him (/the situation odin creates obliges him) to use it. his duties concerning loki aren't about anything real. they're not about needs. they're just various ways that both brothers have been taught to fear challenges to the pecking order. (not entirely irrationally!)

this is slightly complicated by loki's outsider status (misfit, magician, queer, jotun, etc) and reputation as the weaker sibling, which both pose threats beyond odin's household... but like:

a) outsiderhood is a real danger, yes, but it's also a self-fulfilling prophecy. the danger comes from the standard by which loki's judged to be an outsider to begin with. why is it dangerous to get above your station? because a lowly station is your rightful place.

and b) the idea that loki is weak, specifically, is just... not representative of reality. he's easily on par with any of the warriors three, and is anyone being weird about them being weaklings? nope. loki is only "weak" if thor is the standard for "strong". and the only people being held to that standard are loki and thor. if anything, the idea that loki is weak puts him in danger.

but then another layer of this is that like. because thor is too idealistic to see this situation for what it is. he will sometimes TRY to take on more selfless responsibilities. or to perform his role in a kinder, more forgiving way. in fact, he has self-sacrificial tendencies to a deeply worrying extent!

but the story's literally not allowed to go that way. all of thor's attempts to be a hero or a martyr get twisted around somewhere along the way. all his love is a little bit violent too.

and also, this is all so ingrained that like. thor literally doesn't get it. even if loki could flawlessly articulate how humiliating and frightening and frankly dehumanising this dynamic can be for him, thor wouldn't Understand. it's written into both their identities. and while loki's subordination (as far as thor sees it, at least) is defined by the family (and kind of keeps him trapped + isolated within it)... thor's authority/responsibility is meant to one day extend over all the nine realms. which thor, being an idealist, takes to mean a few different things:

my father is the only thing standing between the universe and the apocalypse, therefore his control of my brother (which i mimic) and of me must be (or once have been) justified.

very very soon, i will be the only thing standing between the universe and the apocalypse. perhaps even sooner, because the moment my father fails, everything falls to me.

i have to control everything, especially my loved ones and myself, and anything that goes wrong in the universe is a sign that i'm failing.

ultimately: my mistakes are unforgiveable + everything in the world is my fault.

and once again. you might look at that way of thinking and go oh jesus christ. elder brother syndrome. thor all-brother.

but once again, the crucial thing is that this understanding of ragnarok is not... true. it's imperialist propaganda. what does asgard really DO for its subject realms? for the most part, it fends off competing empires... while exploiting and subjugating those subjects itself.

[swinging-through-the-stars]

*beats down your door like weirdo Big Bird* SPEAK TO ME OF YOUR SITH!LUKE AU, LAY IT ON ME, go Charlie conspiracy from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on me

OH MY GOD you know EXACTLY the image of how I've been feeling for so long about this especially in the past week you are IN FOR IT

Since your question is so broad, I'm just going to dump all the very basics, the core of the AU in my mind if you will, which honestly might be the best starter for anyone who's interested in this concept that's been rattling around my brain.

I started making the AU in 2021 mostly as a joke or fun concept, and the Lego Star Wars Terrifying Tales of that year that had a bit of Luke joining the Empire just added to the flames.

Soon I was thinking about that "what-if" thread -- what IF Luke was a part of the Empire? What if he grew up there? What WOULD his relationship with Vader be like? What about everyone else? What about the Force?

I based a lot of the story on my head on the canon events of the Original Trilogy and Mandalorian (mostly season 1-2). I pull a little bit from Legends (especially since I've been reading through Timothy Zahn's Thrawn trilogy) and from my own Dinluke obsession because -- uh this is MY AU and if I want Dinluke to happen it'll happen. I've even thought about where the AU would go in the Sequel Trilogy timeline because I do like the Sequel characters, and by then the AU has changed so much that I basically do what I want.

A lot of what I think about has less to do with the trajectory of the war in the galaxy and more about who Luke Skywalker would even BE if he were raised to go down the path of the Dark Side -- and how his relationships with his friends, family, etc. would change or stay the same.

The point in time where the AU basically starts is when Luke is taken by the Empire as a baby and raised by Darth Vader to become his apprentice. Luke spends his life idolizing his father, almost to an unhealthy amount. He's a mold of Vader and JUST VADER, and yet, somewhere down the line, Luke begins to carve out his own destiny, his new sense of self creating tensions with his father.

These tensions meet their peak when Luke and Leia cross paths. Their meeting sets them both off on journeys of self-discovery, of questioning what family is, of finding their places in the galaxy's war, and of their relationships with the Force. The Death Star funnily enough is what brings them together and drives a wedge in their relationship from the very beginning. Luke for a while had been growing a disdain for Palpatine and his idea of "might makes right", his interpretation of the Dark Side of the Force that Luke fundamentally disagrees with -- because at the core of him, despite the changes, Luke still is an idealist at heart, he still has HOPE and trust in the Force that no one else has. When he finds his lost sister, sees that Palpatine uses his power to destroy Alderaan, all that Leia had, it's the final nail in the coffin for him. Leia grows up very similarly the way she had in canon, though meeting with Luke leads her to question what family is meant to mean to her. She gains an intense curiosity of the Force, of the powers she has, because she sees how it affects Luke's perspective, a way of seeing the universe at war that she can somehow understand. Because she eventually walks the path of the Jedi, alone, she struggles with the responsibilities of holding the New Republic together, protecting her friends/family like Han and Chewie, and finding herself and her part in the Force in the midst of ALL of that, mirroring the same kind of struggle that Luke goes through as well. It's VADER in particular that keeps the twins at arms length. To Luke, he is the man that is everything Luke looked up to his whole life, the only family he had, and a victim of Palpatine's control, who he knew they both hated. To Leia, Vader is the man that willingly acted as an arm of power for Palpatine's war, the man that held her back on the Death Star as it destroyed the only home and family she knew.

Luke spends a lot of time trying to fix the wrongs of the Empire against Leia, and Leia sees this, and she knows that Luke has a core of GOOD in him somewhere. However, he can't let go of Vader, he can't let go of the Dark Side of the Force, and Leia cannot sit well with that.

After that, a lot of what I'm interested in is post-Palpatine's defeat, when Luke takes over and makes a new empire from the ground up (The Neo Galactic Empire). He's fixated on renewing the Sith religion, in negotiation versus acts of force, in finding more of his family history, in letting the Empire heal as the Force intends. He wants to be a conduit, not a controller, of the Force, even from the Dark Side. He becomes attached to all of it, and slowly, it consumes him. This is basically the part in the story where I make a lot of stuff up as I want to, like with Din and Grogu becoming a part of Luke's life, Leia's journey as a Jedi and Council-Member of the New Republic, and the outlying Imperial Remnant that remains a threat to both the New Republic AND the Neo Empire.

Through all of this I'm also interested in dissecting the Dark Side of the Force itself, how someone as idealistic as Luke Skywalker would interpret or mold its ways, especially when it comes to power and attachments, and how Luke uses this knowledge in his rule, his relationships, and later, his own teachings.

Later in his life Luke really starts to become a whirlwind of questions of who he is. How much of himself is the Force? How much of himself is Vader? How much of himself is that undying light that lays dormant inside of him, the light that Leia continuously reminds him is there somewhere?

I've compared Sith Luke Skywalker multiple times to a red giant star, a star that quickly grows, trying to give off as much light and warmth as possible, but that scorches everything it touches, before its life ends in a destructive supernova and supermassive black hole. I'm tearing Luke Skywalker apart piece by piece, rebuilding him, seeing how much of him changes, what is left, what causes everything else to break down. It's also me having fun with what-ifs, with angst in relationships, with cool ideas with the Dark Side that I don't think normal Star Wars likes to touch.

AND THAT'S THE GIST OF IT.

I'm really slow at writing all of this in fic form proper, but I am glad I got around to putting everything down in an outline. I draw here or there too, anything that's creatively more my jam than writing just to get concepts out and formulate my ideas better.

BUT PLEASE--I always want to just talk more about it if anyone has any other specific questions or curiosities! And if anyone does want to read what I have gotten down so far, that's over HERE.

And again thanks for the ask @kuiilandtorch -- I haven't gotten an ask yet and I've been itching for one all week!! Hope you liked my lengthy overview!

[augment-techs]

Cliché, Fetish, kink, and trope headcanon asks

Javi/Ollie

C, B, D, T, L, N, F

(Still someone should throw me down a river 😭)

*siiiiiigh* This is really not a pair I'm inclined to think on, but okay.

Crying: Ollie is not one for tears amongst other people, even those that he trusts, even his mom. He did it so much when he was really little at the tiniest little things--raised voices, an engine turning over, a car backfiring, a cat ignoring his offered hand for pets, dogs growling at him. He can cry, it is not outside of his experience as a human, he just doesn't do it around other people. Javi cries in movie theaters during rom-coms showings when the protagonist and their love interest are in the middle of the movie when things get tough. He is a loving and sensitive soul and makes no apologies. Body: Javi is all about the hands and neck. What he considers to be his most important body parts; the tips of his fingers, the knuckles constantly under assault because of his guitar strings, the side of his palms near the pinkies and his pulse point as especially susceptible to biting. His neck is very ticklish, but suction just brings him down to his knees. The nipples, the top ribs that graze all of his shirts, and his navel are all places that Ollie has no objection to having handled with tender love and care, but. But--well, his underarms being licked will have him screaming. Disorders: ADHD is definitely part of Javi's personality; hyperfocus for his music, forgetfulness even when he writes things down, and a kind of restlessness that can't simply be cured from taking a walk around the black a few dozen times a week. Ollie on the other hand is somewhere on the autism spectrum, most especially apparent in that he has low empathy but not low sympathy and is prone to his rituals and only true belief in science, the things he can prove; which goes a long way to explain why he and Amelia can't agree about the paranormal IN SPITE of being a Power Ranger. Touching: Ollie is strictly inside the camp of not being comfortable being touched unless it is very temporary, or he needs it as a grounding technique. Holding hands is gross to him because he tends to sweat, prolonged sexual contact makes him prickly, and going through training is about as good as it gets for sudden impact if he doesn't give permission. Basically someone has a better chance of cuddling a feral bobcat than doing anything similar with him. Javi gets emotionally drained and sad if someone doesn't brush up against his shoulders, hugs him from behind, give him head pats, or give him kisses every three days. Lost & Alone: Ollie is too stubborn to admit, ever, that he has gotten turned around or lost. He has GPS on his phone, he has excellent landmark recognition, there is no way he could ever get lost, thank you. Javi has gotten lost a few hundred times in his life, but has never felt especially worried about it unless it was for something to do with being a Ranger. Like a house dog who gets out of the yard and gets to wander around for a few hours until its owner tracks it down by the chip in its neck. New AU: Javi met Ollie before he met Amelia, and while Ollie is the biggest, most prickly asshole he'd ever met before then (except for his own father), he is also kind of interesting when he paused to listen to Javi play his keytar, his mouth organ, his ukulele every other day when Javi was trying to practice while avoiding his dad. Ollie can go on talking about the origins of those specific instruments and what songs they were made famous for being included in, and Javi thinks the man looks very pretty when he's out of his head. The Ranger thing still happens, they still become teammates with the others they were meant to be with, but Javi works up the confidence to shut Ollie down in the kindest way when he's being a jerk, and Ollie goes to tell the Warden buzz right off, "He's an adult, he can have whatever hobby he wants." Fantasies | Frot:

Clothes being something of a necessity if they want to go anywhere being cheek pecks or nose nuzzles, Javi is resigned to Ollie wearing jeans, under garments, a vest an a button up even if Javi himself is in the buff and sweating like a pig. Which is not at all unpleasant, actually; there are ways around that. Ollie does not especially like the idea of someone trying to get him off or make him pop like a bottle rocket, but he finds that he likes the way Javi wiggles under his touch, and even likes the way his length slides across his tongue when Ollie puts his all into getting him off instead. They are both fully obliged to touch themselves in front of the other if asked.

[acourtofthought]

You know I’ve always been kind of anti Elain and Lucien ending up in spring because I wanted them in Day but your posts really make me think twice about it. I think I’d especially like it if the spring magic chose Elain. Also I really like the idea of Tamlin’s sacrifice? redemption? being about Lucien since Feyre has already moved on.

Thank you! That's one of my favorite things to hear, that you were against something but my post made enough sense to make you consider it 😊

Listen, I LOVE the thought of Elucien in Day Court.

But how does that really work?

SJM is keeps giving us more info on Helion. His growing friendship with Rhys, his Pegasus with their dwindling numbers, the fact that he and the LOA still seem to pine for one another, the Mask triggering a uncomfortable response in him.

I guess SJM could be laying that information out there to continue building up Lucien's future but it doesn't seem like that to me, I feel like Helion is here to stay.

And that means we need somewhere for Elain and Lucien to go until Helion passes away from old age, I don't imagine SJM would have them just sitting around waiting to take over until that happens.

So Spring really does seem like a solution. Would it be realistic for Tamlin to suddenly become the leader that Spring needs? A job he never even wanted in the first place and always seemed a bit miserable to be doing? Would the people even WANT to follow him again after the last few years?

It seems a little too neat and tidy to create a storyline where Tamlin finally becomes the ruler he was always meant to be. Maybe he doesn't need to die but I could see him becoming the general of Springs armies, he'd be great at that.

We don't know the ins and outs of the magic but if it can grant Tamlin the ability to become High Lord, it can probably take it away when he's not fulfilling his duties (which he hasn't been). In place of a High Lord, why couldn't it grant the powers to a High Lady of Spring. A female that was found worthy by the Cauldron? A female that Spring has been "made" for ? When she was Made by the Cauldron?

As far as Lucien, I'd say he knows just as much as Tamlin about being a High Lord at this point and has developed positive relationships across all Courts. Maybe he won't be High Lord in terms of his powers being tied to Spring however he does have a connection to the Land after performing in the Rite. And, there was that whole bit about a High King in SF and how Cassian couldn't think of any other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. Lucien would be.

I don't think it's a title he'd claim long term but it would create a storyline that temporarily gave him purpose. He's connected to the Human Lands, all the Courts in Prythian and he's intelligent and cunning.

I'm not pushing the High King aspect because I definitely need it to happen but I believe SJM put it into the story for a reason. I also don't know that Rhys would be a good option for the role since the other HL might not be comfortable having the Most Powerful High Lord in History in that spot. Lucien just makes sense especially if Helion isn't going anywhere and Elain ends up playing a major role in Spring.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary461

12/30-31/24

monday - tuesday

tomorrow the new year begins.

or when tomorrow becomes tomorrow to tomorrow (ha ha), whatever. today i haven't done a lot, i just saw something though that brought to mind horror of malformed men:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Fakearchivist (@pinakotheca_books)

this is a scan of a book documenting the first 5 years of an all woman butoh group, at some points they appear in body paint the way some women were painted in that film, and it brought to mind how i said despite the evident sexism of the film, the way they danced, it felt that the women there were articulating the horror of that position, and maybe that affect is lost somewhere... or maybe it's only meant to look odd but i don't think it so it seems more considered, anyhow, i had no idea about all woman butoh groups, i wonder if any of the women here were involved in the film at all, i like the first embed a lot, i find it reminiscent of gerorisuto, sort of taking yourself as an object of attention and making that frightening for everyone else, turning the thing inside-out, a kind of weird vomit terrorism. although i think from the other end people might have a point about the image/act being degrading. i can't tell which sways me more, i guess i want to think you can do things like this violently and escape the various machines which return you back to simply being sexy for doing anything with your body. on the other hand maybe i want to feel that way because i just wish i could do that, writhe in public, violently, as a kind of hate for my surroundings, i think though the only people who see that in those acts are other people who feel that way, and otherwise it's just different kids of... i don't know. but i really like the idea, i guess, and butoh feels powerful in some way still, as a way of expressing the body, although i guess one can also wonder about its absorption into 'japanese culture' when it feels borne from a wish to use that culture to get outside itself, and borne from many other things that were outside of it, all the decadent french stuff, the post-decadent stuff... idk. i guess i wonder where this kind of thing really lies in terms of japanese feminist discourse, if it was ever an art that moved them... i imagine it would be? but this feels so niche and distant.

here is something i found looking something cursory up, from a woman who has another all woman butoh theater (this article):

this is an interesting point, it makes me wonder about some of the perspectives i've seen talking about butoh in the past.

i was just helping my gf try to make her kpop bias in the sims 4. very ugly game, she is struggling, because it is so uggy. tragic. very funny to mess with though.

today i played video games a lot, i did 2 more bosses in no more heroes, destroyman was funny, i like how he is kind of this expression of how evil americans are basically, and a postal worker going postal, but holly summers is much better and i guess seeing her as a child did something to me because i would imagine blowing myself up w/ a grenade from some point on as a kid, it must have been her that made me want to put one in my mouth, as well as be skinny + have bangs, or at least one among many for the latter two. i thought about santa destroy a lot, while i played today, how ugly and sad it is, how it gets the feel of a dead end place in the american southwest down, even if it's in cali it feels doomed like places i've seen out here feel doomed, or doomed like vegas feels doomed, infinitely ugly and stuff. i liked the trash picking minigame, for some reason, that is the one that makes travis seem especially destitute, it makes it grim that he's living in a motel, rather than just sort of kooky and fun. the distance between that fact and how he behaves/poses makes it more depressing, which is probably why by holly summer what i imagined the game would do, which is somehow invert all the creepy horny man stuff travis has going on into some kind of gulf he can't cross, and how he really wished he could have like, been nice to her, but things were set for death.

i also played 2 yume nikki fangames, i'll talk about the one i was more shocked about, yuque got an update, like, i think 6 years after its last one, this year it's been getting some updates, since october? it's mostly how i remember but i'm excited to see new areas, still a really special fangame imo, it's very pretty... i love the art a lot. here are some pictures:

the sweets world is really one of my favorite places from a video game i think... idk, it's crazy how that place hooked me when i first played this years ago, in college, i remember sitting in the uni library on my laptop playing this waiting for friends to show up. an oddly meaningful experience, playing yume nikki fangames i found on pixiv at school and walking around campus at dark, walking home. this one also surprised me then, and now, for how some of its mazes take on a more game-y quality than other fangames, there's more mechanical things going on, one of my favorites is this maze where you activated a weird flesh thing and flowers get vibrant and certain platforms turn into jump pads:

i really love that place!! it's also, interesting for how some of its art is so near to the origin yn,not in that it feels the same but like that yellow and red world, the willingness to have weirdly differing styles and ugly clashing elements, the kind of digital neo-primitivism of it, the flooded park is rendered different from how kikiyama would do it, but the idea feels so, idk, the lost and dead forms of childhood washing up in pixel art now menacingly cute, the use of kawaii things to the point of becoming grotesque, and weird ancient looking things, and quotidian places, that red world feels like how office buildings feel in dreams, to me, and then the hell world equivalent being a claustrophobic loading zone almost? something to do with storage and machinery, but so vague and useless, lost in an industrial intestinal tract, yes, the maze our own guts we are lost in...

i will probably play more tomorrow... and make myself draw. i want to draw anime girls... or more anime-y things... just to try and get used to doing lines quicker or something. or maybe just because i want cute things.

the other one i played was withers, which is similar in tone i think, some bloody stuff, both are a bit indebted to .flow, or not a bit. but there's other stuff in both, both also feel closer to the original yn in how they are uncanny/weird and the kinds of freaked-out they portray, here are some screenshots:

that is my photo limit... whoa...

i should probably sleep, it's 5 am, that is crazy,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[countlessrealities]

@dynamoprotocol sent:

Snapping static stings Rick's cheek as Clarissa's hands catch his face, firm and tactile fingers forcing him to look at her and only her. Her blue gaze bores into him for a moment before her electricity bites his lips as she seizes him with a kiss. Clarissa shoves him and the backs of Rick's knees collide with some object solid and in the next moment, they're falling, Rick's back crashing into the mountain of strangers' coats.

Clarissa lands on top of him on the shallow leather couch, her hair fanning about her face, strobing pinks and greens catching in her blue locks as lights sweep overhead. The bass swells in her ears as she plunges in on his collar like some B-movie vampire and pins him with a fierce kiss directly below his jaw, not caring if the crowds dancing and drinking around them might stare as she slides her palm down Rick's drink-soaked shirt, her fingers wriggling downward between their bodies towards his belt.

SHE'S gunning to leave, but HE'D wanted to stay. Well... Either Rick is going to come around in quick agreement to her point of view, that they should take their share of the party somewhere private, orrr they're about to get themselves dragged out of the club before they can leave their fellow revellers feeling too jealous and left out.

Rick isn't even sure of what kind of party this is supposed to be. One of his acquaintances has invited him and he isn't one to say no to get rickety wrecked, especially when free booze is involved. As for why he has asked Clarissa along...well. They were supposed to spend the night together, so he had figured out that this wouldn't be any different than hitting some random club or going for a ride.

But damn, how wrong he had been about that.

He's not sure why she wants to leave so badly. Maybe it's because she has caught on the fact that he and their host used to fuck, or perhaps she just doesn't like the kind of crowd that's filling the place. It's not just the liquor to flow freely, but there are also far too many drugs. Not to mention that most of the guests can't be defined as "decent guys".

Yet, despite her insistence, Rick has put his foot down. It hasn't been two hours yet and he wants to take advantage of the goods he's being so generously offered. Also, it's a good ground to try and strike some extra deal.

He had expected Clarissa to get pissed, to demand a portal to leave on her own, or even to just stomp off out of spite. What he hasn't anticipated is the sudden electrified touch of her fingers on his cheeks, gripping at the sides of his face.

Ice blue eyes widen in alarmed surprise, but before he can ask her what the fuck she is doing, he is cut off by a shock of lips stealing his mouth away, and his breath, away. He has no idea of what's happening, but he quickly decides that he doesn't care. All that matters is the warm, solid body against his own and the sparks of electricity biting into his skin.

Rick doesn't realise that he's falling until his back collides with the couch, Clarissa's weight pinning him down against thick cloth and leather. She's straddling him, fierce and determined like a warrior queen, the kaleidoscopic lights painting the reflections of a hundred galaxies in her hair.

For a few, endless moments, all he can do is staring, startled and mesmerised. She's more than beautiful like this. She's glorious. Strong and powerful and so fucking hot, and he's not talking about her abnormally high body temperature.

Then Clarissa lunges forward, lips colliding against his flesh with bruising force, and Rick moans. Loud, shameless, and perhaps a little needier than he has meant to me. Heat rises under his skin, coiling in his guts, and his hands move on their own, locking around her waist as her fingers grope at his chest through his shirt and then move to pull at his belt.

"F-Fuck..." is the only word that leaves his lips while his hips instinctively rock up against her.

He is aware that they are making a scene, of the growing number of eyes that are turning to watch them. He knows that this is going to end with them either being kicked out or being filmed to be added to someone's collection of amatorial porn. Maybe they'll even get uploaded in some seedy streaming site, as free spank bank for material for whoever happens to stumble on the video.

A saner person, with a normal dose of shame and decency would stop there and find a more private place. But he is Rick fucking Sanchez and he has neither of those things. He has not shame, no decency and very little sanity left. Not to mention that being there, under everyone's eyes, is anything but a turn off for him. On the contrary, it just gets him riled up faster.

His hands move again, this time reaching out for Clarissa's front, one of them working to get her trousers open while the other slides under her shirt, feeling up the hot skin and the strong muscles of her abdomen.

His neck arches backwards, giving her more space to work on his throat, and his eyes slid close. If all this was an attempt to coax him into leaving, then it has completely failed. Clarissa has achieved on thing, though: Now she is the one and only object of Rick's attention.

[chernayawidow]

Saul’s bloody severed head was stored inside.

NOOOOO!!! I mean at least it wasn’t Frank, but still, Saul was basically the wine aunt of the crew and you’ve stomped on my heart by killing him off 🥺

Ben looked over at you, taking in your matching purple pajamas with a hint of a smile. 

He’s so smitten omg, I live for cute little moments like these between them. It really does cement that he’s falling for her heh.

“I’m gonna have to cut the head of the snake,” Ben mused out loud. 

I didn’t realise that Ben could be so poetic 😂

You watched him wearily, hiding a measure of concern at the darker shift in him.

It’s so painful watching her bury her feelings and concerns for him. I understand why she’s doing it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less less 😩

The effects of V24 had long washed out of your system, but it still stung—that that poison had saved you. And so had these men, who had kidnapped you in the first place.

Her feelings are so so valid. And it’s easy to forget that she’s literally their captive, and that no matter how much we love Ben (and especially Frank), they’re her captors. I feel like I’m getting stockholm-ed too.

Soon enough though, your shock melted into an angry glower as you tried to hide how much that actually hurt you. 

OH MY GOODNESS! This is so hard because we know he’s lashing out because he feels hurt by her and her avoidance, but at the same time, he’s really taking the cheap shots and using her regrets as ammunition against her.

That fell between you two for a while. Ben seemed to take it with his usual stoicism, but you knew him well enough by now. He’d been listening. 

I love this aspect of their growing bond, because she really does understand SB, and she’s really able to see beyond his stoic mask. She has an understanding of him.

“My father,” you replied. 

OH SHIT! Entering from stage left is the shitty father who should go and eat glass.

You glanced up at Ben before you replied. He gave you a nod.

This is probably not meant to be as significant as my brain is making it out to be, but I just adore this moment.

“To find Black Noir. It’s all he’s been moaning on about. He’s kind of a simpleton that way. Tit for tat on the vengeance beat.” Ben gave you a dark look for that one, but you ignored him.

THIS MADE ME WHEEZE! She’s probably the only person who could get away with saying that. Whenever he gives her a dark look, I always think “dude why even bother, you’re not gonna do anything to actually hurt her because she’s your pookie” and I love it!

You scoffed, hiding your disappointment, and maybe the beginning of tears burning in your eyes. You blinked past them with an unsettled breath.

NOOO THIS WAS HIS CHANCE, this was his chance to have a moment with her and prove that he’s not just a complete motherfucker *crying emoji* WE COULD’VE HAD IT ALLLLLLLL!

He remembered the sound of your scream, blood on his hands. He could feel your life slipping through his fingers…and for once, he wasn’t okay with letting it happen. 

I love that you give us a view into what’s going on in his head too, because it really helps to flesh out his character and it adds depth to not just him but their moments together. Seeing his perspective really helps to cement their development through this story, to see how they’re both affected by the other. It really serves to humanise him while maintaining that Soldier Boy key quality.

You were stronger on V. You were powerful, almost his equal. And Ben could admit, if only to himself, that he craved that: having an equal. When he’d had Countess, that bitch, he thought he had his life sorted. He’d figured he had time to settle, to have a family… But now that life was gone. His asshole team was gone. What the fuck was left?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is giving me the sense that somewhere in the very back of his mind, he’s starting to latch his hopes and dreams onto her. I feel like another reason he loves the idea of her being on V is because it could extend her lifespan, meaning there’s a chance he could finally have something meaningful in his life that won’t end up leaving/abandoning him. He’s got nothing, and so I have a feeling that somewhere deep down, he’s starting to see her as someone he could potentially have the things he wants with.

Ben hesitated, but he kneeled by your bed and carefully slid your hair away from your face.

NO STOP BECAUSE THIS LITERALLY MELTED MY HEART! I absolutely adore them oh my god he’s so soft for her!



But he wasn’t about to show weakness. Not in front of his men…

This really does resonate with him as a character, and I am in awe of how you seem to encapsulate him and his behaviour so well. Everything he does feels so so true to who he is, and I can always see it stem back to his already established traits.

Ben reached out and soothed a hand over the top of your head. His fingers slid through your loose hair, stopping when they reached some tangles. Slow and careful, he repeated this. Until finally, your breathing seemed to ease up. He unclenched your fingers out of their loosening fist, and he absently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand. You’re one deep sleeper…

You’re really giving me the feels with this one. He cares about her so much, because if he didn’t he wouldn’t waste his time doing something as menial as this sweet moment. 

“Do you even care?” you asked. Ben eyed you a bit sharper, but he didn’t comment.

I got whiplash going from that tender moment where he was soothing her, to this *laughing emoji* I almost forgot that she wasn’t exactly a participant in that moment.

Ben pulled out his shield from its sheath on his back, and with his free hand he grabbed you, yanking you into his chest. He all but dragged you several steps away from the jet and then kneeled to cover both of you when a missile soared overhead.

It feels like he has a subconscious instinct to protect her. The way his first move is to ensure her safety just warms my heart.

He wore a smirk along with one of his customary, glaring Hawaiian shirts and long black trench coat.

I let out a snicker when I read this lmao, gotta love Butcher.

Frank’s hand tightened on your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from leaving his side.

It’s moments like these that I’m forced to remember that our beloved father Frank is kinda once of the captors… ignorance sure is bliss. Also I saw someone say in a reblog of the other chapter that she picture Frank Castle, and now I can’t stop seeing it!

“If I was worth saving?” you challenged. He didn’t answer you, but his hand fell away from your face.

Pookie, I’m pretty sure that he could never regret saving you, he adores you too much. AHHH THIS IS KILLING ME, and now I’m starting to want her to become a Supe in the future because I can see the pain he would be in when she died, because he would without a doubt outlive her.

Maybe Ben had rubbed off on you a little.

I’m pretty sure that it got fucked into her... if you catch my drift.

You turned around to face your father, just in time to slap away something metallic headed for your neck. 

OHHHH SHIIIIIIIT!!!!! HERE WE GO GUYS, SHIT’S HIT THE FAN!

He knew that you’d tried to play him, but his mistake was thinking you’d been playing Ben too.

Brb just gotta go and plan her wedding with Ben because they’re soulmates (real because they told me) and they need to live happily ever after or else I’ll cry.

HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIT! This chapter was INTENSE oh my god how could you leave it off on that kind of hanger oh my god!! I don’t even know where to start, my brain is literally malfunctioning so I’ll keep it brief. This chapter had me in my absolute feels for so many different reasons, and it really had me gobsmacked with the turns it took. They may have not fucked in this chapter, but I love it just as much as the ones where they do! I’m so excited to see what you’ve got in store to rip my soul out in the next one!

Break Me Down - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them… [18+ only! Rated M]

**Start from the beginning: Prologue

AN: Song inspo for this one is “Caught In the Balance” by Toto!

Word Count: 5,300 Tags/Warnings: Violence, hints of past trauma, hurt/comfort, angst, and a (mean) cliffhanger...

Part 10: Caught in the Balance

“Christ on a cross,” Ben muttered. 

He was just trying to start his morning with some huevos rancheros. 

He hid behind a mask of impassiveness, while his stomach turned at the sight of the open cooler Frank had been forced to show him.

Saul’s bloody severed head was stored inside. Ben had asked for a report on the man’s reconnaissance mission, but this was a bit thorough. 

“Black Noir took out his entire unit,” Frank informed him. His tone was stoic, as usual, but his dark brown eyes betrayed his solemnity.  

Ben shook his head and peered inside. “I fucking figured…yep, that’s Noir’s handiwork all right.”

The cut was clean at the neck—sliced by a blade. 

Unfortunately, that was when you entered the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ben looked over at you, taking in your matching purple pajamas with a hint of a smile. Your hair was a bit messy, your face still tired with sleep. 

But when Frank swiftly snapped up the cooler, you still raised a perceptive brow.

“What’s that?” you asked. Ben shared a brief glance with Frank.

“Just some steaks for later,” Ben replied. You didn’t look convinced, sniffing the air with a grimace. 

“Is that why it smells like a meat locker in here?” you said. 

After you grabbed a mug of coffee, you took a seat at the far end of the kitchen island. It left an open seat between you and Ben, and he noticed the distance. 

“What’re Saul and Loco up to today? Think they’d be up for some Texas Hold’em?” you asked Frank.

He shook his head and tucked the cooler under his arm. 

“They’re on a job,” he said.

You warmed your hands around your coffee mug and nodded. “Ah, yeah. Trying to figure out how Black Noir pulled a Lazarus?” 

Both men stared back at you, confirming your assumptions. 

“You do realize this begins and ends with your buddy, Stan Edgar,” you said, turning to Ben. “Vogelbaum was his chief geneticist, the Head of R&D during your time. But Stan was the Steve Jobs to his Wozniak. Together they created Homelander.” 

Ben didn’t know who the fuck you were talking about there, but he got the gist of what you were saying.

Stan had played him from the beginning; he’d masterminded what went down Nicaragua, replacing Soldier Boy with Homelander, creating him in some petri dish with Ben’s DNA.

Now, it seemed Stan was partnering with the CIA to take him down. He’d even brought that cunt Noir back to life to do it. Also, likely, with the help of Ben’s DNA. (Well, probably Homelander’s, but that was still partly Ben’s.)

He couldn’t let that fucking stand, now could he?

His hand fisted on the counter, next to his forgotten plate. His brows fell over his eyes as he contemplated. He knew what he had to do next, just not exactly how he was going to do it.

“I’m gonna have to cut the head of the snake,” Ben mused out loud.  

You watched him wearily, hiding a measure of concern at the darker shift in him.

Ben nodded at Frank and the cooler still under his arm, dismissing him. “We’ll talk later. Take care of that.” 

Frank went with a nod, leaving you with Ben in the kitchen. You frowned. 

“If you go back to the U.S., especially to New York, they’ll have a much easier time finding you,” you pointed out. 

Though part of you kicked yourself for doing so. An idea was forming in your mind, and it could just mean your freedom…

And that was when Ben looked over at you once more. His eyes were guarded, more so than they had been with you of late. 

“Why do you care?” he asked snidely. “You’ve barely said two fucking words to me in days.”

Which was true. You’d been carrying your grudges and your anger, both at him and at yourself, and your own conflicting emotions ever since you’d arrived at this new house. 

The effects of V24 had long washed out of your system, but it still stung—that that poison had saved you. And so had these men, who had kidnapped you in the first place.

Shaking your head, you frowned at him to cover up your ongoing internal circus. 

“Because you’re about to go on a fucking warpath. With, I imagine, a lot of collateral damage in store,” you replied, maybe more sharply than you’d intended. 

Ben’s green eyes were dark and narrowed. 

“There’s that self-righteous fucking tune,” he said. But his next words cut into you like so many knives. “You’ve been a fucking lapdog your entire life. Doing whatever daddy, Vought, or the CIA tells you to do. So remind me, why the fuck do you care so much about what I do, huh?”

For a moment, you were speechless. 

Soon enough though, your shock melted into an angry glower as you tried to hide how much that actually hurt you. 

A harsh breath expelled through your nose. Maybe he expected you to blow your top, like you usually would. Because that had worked so well at getting through to him in the past. 

So instead, you tried to go with what seemed to work before.

“I didn’t used to,” you replied honestly. It seemed to make him pause, a little.

“When I joined the S.A., it was just my chance to break away from Vought,” you continued. “But…I don’t know. The more out of control supes we took off the street, the more I felt good about it. The work that I was doing.”

You let out a sigh, glancing down at your hands still wrapped around your cooling cup of coffee. 

“You were right before, about me. I was part of it too. I helped cleaned up Vought’s messes. I made their supes look good, behind the scenes,” you said. “But I’m trying to do something that matters. Something honest, that actually makes people safer. It makes my family safer.” 

That fell between you two for a while. Ben seemed to take it with his usual stoicism, but you knew him well enough by now. He’d been listening. 

And eventually, he spoke. 

“Then you should be grateful,” he said. “Noir. Stan. Vought. All those cocksuckers…I’m going to take them all out for fucking good.”

Are you, really? You couldn’t help but wonder. He’d been successful with Payback, and Homelander (with help from Butcher and Hughie). 

But Vought was a machine. It had been an institution for decades. A multibillion conglomerate with a thousand and one hydra tentacles of ways to fuck people over…but if anyone was powerful enough to try to bring it all down, it was Soldier Boy. 

Still, power isn’t everything. You thought of how he’d lost control against Noir, and how he’d blown up a hole in your bedroom ceiling and couldn’t remember much about it afterwards. Ben was still a mess. 

But you considered a world where Vought couldn’t create supes anymore, like pop tarts coming out of the damn toaster. You considered what Ben could accomplish, now that he was properly motivated to end his six-month sabbatical. 

And you considered what would happen if you helped him do it.

This is not the time to be reckless, the more rational part of your mind reminded. 

And yet, you just had to continue following the impulsive voice that had led you for weeks.  

“You can’t just run at this head on, guns blazing,” you told him. “Stan’s too smart for that.”

Ben eyed you with guarded interest. 

“You look like you’ve got something in mind,” he said. 

You nodded, though your lips pursed. You hated this idea, even though it had been growing since this conversation began. And you couldn’t even believe you were suggesting it, really. 

“We can get into Vought under the radar, if you let me make a call,” you said. Ben’s expression tightened. Yours did too, with the beginnings of anxiety.

“Who do you need to call?” he asked.

 “My father,” you replied. 

As Stan Edgar’s Chief of Security, Jon didn’t often receive calls from phone numbers he didn’t recognize. Certainly not to his personal, blacklisted cell phone. He took the call into his personal office and shut the door behind him.

He answered it with a healthy measure of suspicion, “Hello?”

The last voice he expected to greet him was his eldest daughter’s. 

“Hey. It’s me,” you replied. 

Jon’s expression slackened. He sat down heavily at his desk, and your name fell from his lips in disbelief.

“You’re alive,” he said in genuine wonderment. “I thought…I thought you were dead.”

Your response was dry. “Before or after you sent Black Noir after us?”

Jon frowned, shifting back in his chair.

“That was Stan’s call,” he said. “There was no sign of you in any of our reports.”

“Then you weren’t looking very hard,” you said. 

Your tone was matter-of-fact, unyielding. It was so like you that he had to smile. 

“If nothing else, you were ambitious going after Soldier Boy,” he said, rubbing his chin. It reminded him that he needed a shave. “I should’ve known you were still alive…it seems I taught you better than I thought.” 

On the other line, you had Ben’s cell in your hand while you spoke to your father on speaker. Ben and Frank were both in the room with you, sitting in chairs on either side. Frank suggested this conference room beside the study to conduct the call.

However, you tried not to look at either man while you tried to focus on getting through this.

“I managed to grab a phone from one of my guards,” you said into the speaker. “I can’t reach out to the CIA. They think I’m a damn turncoat at this point. But if you really want Soldier Boy, I can tell you where he’s going to be.”

“…Where?” Jon asked.

You glanced up at Ben before you replied. He gave you a nod. 

“He plans to be in New York in three days.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said wryly. “To find Black Noir. It’s all he’s been moaning on about. He’s kind of a simpleton that way. Tit for tat on the vengeance beat.”

Ben gave you a dark look for that one, but you ignored him. 

“Well, I can certainly give him a meeting with Noir,” said Jon. His voice shifted into that calculating tone you knew all too well. “That, and much more.”

“Good. Give him a big enough distraction, and I can lose his crew,” you replied. 

There was a beat on the other line. You and your companions waited, for his agreement, for some kind of confirmation, but he didn’t give you that just yet. 

“Are you all right?” Jon asked. “How’s your sister?”

Your lips pursed. “Clearly, I’m peachy. Are you in on this?” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll help you get out of there, don’t worry,” he said. He almost sounded like a father. It made anxiety crawl up through your lungs, into your throat. 

“It’ll be good to see you,” he added. “What’s it been, a year? More?”

You swallowed your unease. 

“Let me make this clear,” you said. “This is just business. If you want to help me, fine. But don’t make it more than that.” 

There was another pause, a heavy sigh.

“Oh, believe me. I know you wouldn’t be calling unless this was your last resort,” Jon said. 

You tried to swallow, and found resistance. 

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad we have that understanding.”

“See you soon,” he said. You ended the call afterwards. 

Both men had been monitoring you throughout the exchange, but it was Ben’s gaze you felt, hot across your profile. Even now, he watched you behind impassive eyes. You wished you knew what he was thinking. 

Regardless of things you’d said when you were angry, Ben knew too much about you now. There was no way he didn’t see it—how you were putting your all into keeping yourself together. 

You stared back at him, but he didn’t ask if you were all right. He just nodded.

“Are we done?” he asked.

You scoffed, hiding your disappointment, and maybe the beginning of tears burning in your eyes. You blinked past them with an unsettled breath. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “We’re done.” 

Ben watched you get up, and you let the cell phone clatter on the table before you left.

Late that night, Ben wandered the dark halls of this house. He was trying to familiarize himself, and remember why the hell he bought this gaudy thing. 

It was another big, empty shell that didn’t have much life in it—even less than the last place in Medellin. At least that one had character, surrounded by the mountains and wildflowers. 

This house, while beautiful, felt stale; like an old photograph in sepia tones.

He found himself stopping outside your door. It was late, and he couldn’t hear your TV on, so you were probably asleep by now. If he stood close enough to the door, his superior hearing could just make out your soft, even breaths.

He knew you were pissed at him, but really, he thought you were being a bitch about it. 

I fucking saved her, he thought sourly, and not for the first time. She should be fucking grateful I lifted a finger.

But then, he remembered just how pale you were when he found you in the helicopter, after the blast, and after he made his escape. Ben saw how wide your eyes got when you saw what had hurt you—that giant fucking piece of wood embedded in your body.

He remembered the sound of your scream, blood on his hands. He could feel your life slipping through his fingers…and for once, he wasn’t okay with letting it happen. 

So he stopped it. Or at least, he ordered Frank to do it. 

And afterwards, Ben couldn’t believe how you turned on him. That you were actually angry at him for saving your life!

What kind of idiot are you. He’d wanted to grab you and shake you until you saw good sense. 

You were stronger on V. You were powerful, almost his equal. And Ben could admit, if only to himself, that he craved that: having an equal. 

When he’d had Countess, that bitch, he thought he had his life sorted. He’d figured he had time to settle, to have a family…

But now that life was gone. His asshole team was gone. What the fuck was left?

Ben leaned against your door, as if he could brace against the depths of thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to fall into since he left the U.S. 

Still, he couldn’t help but think…after he became a supe, he’d reveled in standing alone, in the spotlight. When did it start to get harder?

Just then, his sensitive ears picked up on something: your breath hitched. He paused, listening closely. Soon enough, he heard a whimper. 

Ben debated for a few seconds, but he decided to open the door, quietly twisting the knob and pushing it open. His eyes found you in the dark, curled in on yourself on the bed.

He drew closer until he reached your bedside, and even heard your pulse starting to race. His lips drew into a frown as he read the distress in your features. You were dreaming, and whatever it was, it didn’t look pleasant. 

Ben hesitated, but he kneeled by your bed and carefully slid your hair away from your face. You were an angry, stubborn, mouthy little thing. He could just hear your voice now.

You still haven’t even apologized!

The audacity you had, to demand shit from him.

But then, he almost sighed when he realized he was glaring down at your sleeping form.

What the fuck’re you doing, anyway? He shook his head at himself and got up to leave, but your voice stopped him. 

It was a pained whimper, a shuddering breath. Ben’s attention shifted back to you as he watched you tighten in on yourself, your hand curling into a fist that pressed against your throat. He didn’t know if you were trying to choke yourself, or fend someone off—

And then, Ben had to struggle against a firebrand of anger under his skin. 

He finally realized what you were probably dreaming about; who you were fighting, even in your sleep.

He regretted letting you call your father. Maybe he even regretted pretending he didn’t notice…how talking to your dad had clearly fucked with you. 

But he wasn’t about to show weakness. Not in front of his men…

With a quiet sigh, Ben reached out and soothed a hand over the top of your head. His fingers slid through your loose hair, stopping when they reached some tangles. Slow and careful, he repeated this. Until finally, your breathing seemed to ease up.

He unclenched your fingers out of their loosening fist, and he absently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand. You’re one deep sleeper…

You sighed and shifted in your sleep, resting your cheek easier on the pillow. Your brows were still knitted, but after a while, even your face relaxed. 

Ben placed your hand down, giving the back of it one more tentative swipe. 

And then he left, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You never woke up to catch him.

A helicopter took you from the house to a private jet with Ben, Frank, Loco, and a few other hired men for the mission. You sat across from Ben, both seats facing one another. Your eyes were narrowed as you watched him accept a glass of whiskey. 

“Where’s Saul?” you asked. Ben gave you a side glance, and with a quiet exhale, he answered you. 

“He’s dead.”

You nodded through your sad, angry frown. You’d had a feeling that was what he and Frank had been hiding the other day, but you hadn’t wanted to face it.

“Black Noir?” you asked. 

Ben nodded and sipped at his whiskey. “Yeah.”

“Do you even care?” you asked. Ben eyed you a bit sharper, but he didn’t comment. 

“A couple of knocked banks didn’t get you this jet, on top of everything else,” you remarked, gesturing at your surroundings. “Where’s the money coming from?”

He’d bought back at least two properties from Vought, along with all the other shit he’d likely been blowing his money on for the last few months. 

Ben sipped at his drink. You imagined it was hard for him to cross his legs in his super suit, otherwise he might’ve, to complete the air of asshole-ish nonchalance. You’d decided to dress comfortable, but prepared in yoga pants, sneakers, and a matching activewear jacket. 

“Why do you think I settled in Columbia, of all places?” he asked you. His lips curved into a smirk and he shot you a wink. “Best drugs in town.”

His assets were frozen by the government, which meant he’d gotten the money from somewhere…

Your face soon fell as you realized your own stupidity. The shady characters he’d recruited, not just Frank, Saul, and Loco, but other men too that would occasionally traipse through the house. Plus the mysterious “jobs” they would routinely disappear on, sometimes for days on end. 

Ben had infiltrated a drug cartel. 

“Frank and his men were the muscle for some hot-shot kingpin, until I cut the head off the snake,” Ben revealed. “Which is what I’m about to do to good ole’ Stan.” 

You crossed your arms with a deep frown.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, I discover a new scum-ridden layer,” you said. 

His lips quirked humorlessly. “Disappointed?” 

You just shook your head and looked out the window of the jet. 

“Mostly in myself,” you replied. 

Ben didn’t show how your words sunk into him. He continued drinking. 

Hours later, you all arrived at JFK Airport in New York. The jet landed far enough away from the larger commercial planes, but somehow that made you even more nervous. 

You felt like you were stepping out into the Wild West as you disembarked from the jet and landed on the concrete ground of your home city. 

Ben’s presence burned behind you, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back. Frank and Loco had the bags (and weapons). But before you could ask where to go next, Ben paused with a thoughtful frown on his face. 

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but then you heard it. A thin whistling in the air that couldn’t be attributed to an aircraft.

Ben pulled out his shield from its sheath on his back, and with his free hand he grabbed you, yanking you into his chest. He all but dragged you several steps away from the jet and then kneeled to cover both of you when a missile soared overhead.

It speared into the jet, destroying it with an epic explosion that seared across Ben’s back. He felt the heat, but it only singed the back of his neck without even burning his skin. His suit and helmet protected him from the rest, just as his shield and body protected you. 

You could claim to hate him all you wanted, but your hands were braced against his chest as you leaned into him. And when you looked up, your eyes were wide with shock and fear. 

“Go,” he ordered, pushing you towards Frank. You went with him, but you still looked back at Ben as worry undeniably claimed your heart. Loco and the rest of his team stood behind the supe.

Meanwhile, Butcher had appeared on the tarmac. With a rocket launcher, naturally. 

He wore a smirk along with one of his customary, glaring Hawaiian shirts and long black trench coat. The hem of it fluttered as the wind blew between the long span of distance between him and Ben. 

“So the CIA’s partnering with Vought now? How does that fucking work?” Ben remarked. 

Butcher was joined by Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie, and then entire units of CIA and SWAT teams piling out of several armored cars.

“I’ll admit, you’re a tricky bugger to track down,” Butcher said. “But consider this your debt to fucking society paid in full.”

He launched yet another projectile from his gun. You gasped, but even though Frank pulled you towards the airport building and away from the fight, you still craned your head back to watch Ben bat away the missile with his shield. It landed far away, spilling concrete where it hit and shaking the ground. 

Then a warning star bolt hit in front of Frank’s feet, stopping both of you short. You looked up and found Annie and M.M., the latter with an impressive gun in both hands.  

“Stop right there, motherfucker,” M.M. ordered. “Time to let her go.”

“You okay?” Annie asked you. You had to smile, despite yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s good to see you guys,” you said. Frank’s hand tightened on your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from leaving his side. He was stronger than usual once again, with the help of V24. He wielded his own gun trained on M.M. 

“Step aside,” he ordered.

Annie pursed her lips at shot a star bolt at him. You took your opportunity and kicked at the back of Frank’s knee. It made his grip falter just enough that when M.M. jumped in to fight him, you scrambled away and Annie took your hand. 

While the two men fought, you finally noticed the black sedan the pulled up on the tarmac behind you. The tinted driver’s window rolled down, revealing your father in black sunglasses. 

Annie followed the path of your gaze in confusion. “Who the hell’s that?”

“Annie,” you squeezed her hand. “You know I’m your friend, right?”

Her brows furrowed, especially when you let go of her. “What’s wrong? What’re you about to do?” 

“I need you to trust me,” you said. 

You knew she didn’t understand, nor did she want to let you go. But you ran away from her, towards the car. She meant to follow you, but Frank held M.M. at bay long enough to aim a few well-placed bullets between you and Annie. 

It stopped her long enough for you to climb into the black sedan before it peeled away, speeding around to the private gate of the airport. While you caught your breath, Jonathan’s gaze peered at you through the rearview mirror, after he lowered his sunglasses. The car was empty except for you and him. 

Good, you thought. That meant he was the only one you had to watch closely.  

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

“Just fine,” you breathed. “Where to now?”

“Let’s get you to safety,” Jon said. You nodded. And when his focus was back on the road, you discreetly retrieved a tracking device from your pocket and placed it on the side of your seat, hidden from view. 

Ben had given it to you before getting off the plane. 

The device was small and flat, with a smooth back that would attach to almost any surface. 

You rolled it experimentally between your fingers and looked up at Ben. His face was harder to read than ever.

“Why are you trusting me with this?” you asked. 

Ben’s lips quirked wryly, but there was little humor in it. His hand, half-covered by his glove, reached up to brush your chin. 

“I’m not,” he replied. “I expect you’ll jump at the chance to get back with Butcher and your asshole friends. But either way, I’m gonna find out if you were worth it.” 

You frowned up at him. It was hard to believe that for all you two had been through together, this was really how it was going to be from now on. 

“If I was worth saving?” you challenged. 

He didn’t answer you, but his hand fell away from your face.

The car soon made its way out of the airport and onto the open road. There you were greeted by the familiar highways and approaching skyscrapers of New York City. You would be relieved to be home (almost), if you weren’t so tense. 

“I need to see Stan Edgar,” you told your father.

Jon’s gaze met yours in the rearview. 

“I have intel that he’ll be interested in,” you said. 

“Okay, and that is?” he asked.

“About Supe Affairs, Soldier Boy, take your pick. But it’s the kind of information you don’t play Telephone with.”

“Mr. Edgar is a busy man,” Jon started to say.

“And you’re his Chief of Security,” you cut him off. “Who’s wiping his ass while you’re here with me?”

Jon sighed. “Always with that fucking mouth. Do you want me to relocate you? Put you in a safe house until we finish dealing with Soldier Boy?”

And give your father abject control over your life? I think not, you glared at the thought. 

“I want to speak to Stan. I don’t care if it’s here, or Vought HQ, or in the middle of Times fucking Square. Take me to his damn office,” you demanded. 

Maybe Ben had rubbed off on you a little. 

“Or pull over right now, and I’ll make my way to the Tower myself,” you said. Jon came to a red light and had time to regard you in disbelief.

“Jesus…all right, let’s see if Stan will see you,” he said.  

You let out a breath and finally allowed yourself to sit back in your seat. When the light turned green, Jon took the correct fork in the road that would lead you to Vought Tower.

And before you left the car, you made sure to grab the tracking device from the side of your chair, carrying it with you into your bra.

It was strange to enter this building again. You had worked here for five years, but it had been a year and a half since you’d returned. 

It was still as busy as ever in the halls. Though you noticed the ratio of employees to tourists was about 30-70. It was incredible what taking out Vought’s golden psycho could do to a company’s profits.

Now they just needed to put the final nail in the coffin. 

Jon led you to the elevator, and all the way up the Tower to Stan’s office. You had only been to this room once, when you were hired, but it was more or less how you remembered. Very spacious, minimalist furniture in a desk and a slim couch set, complete with a long glass coffee table. 

But Stan was nowhere to be found. You frowned. 

“Where is he?” you asked. Suspicion and awareness pricked at your spine. 

You turned around to face your father, just in time to slap away something metallic headed for your neck. 

It was a syringe. You watched it spin across the floor, and you glared back at him incredulously. He had enforced his will on you before, but he’d usually managed that with his hands, not with drugs. Maybe Vought had changed him too.

“All right, easy,” Jon said, raising placating hands. He drew closer as you backed away from him. 

“I had a feeling Soldier Boy let you go,” he said. “That you’d probably planned this little bait and switch with him from the beginning.”

Heat made your cheeks flush as you glared back at him. Your father quirked a smile.

“Despite what you’d like to believe, I know you better than anyone,” Jon said. 

You begged to differ on that…but part of you knew he was right.

“You did what you had to do with Soldier Boy. I understand,” he said. “Playing both sides of the game was smart. But I’m going to make sure you’re safe.” 

“By sedating me?” you shouted. Your voice quivered, both with rage and fear. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

He knew that you’d tried to play him, but his mistake was thinking you’d been playing Ben too. 

“Later we’ll talk. When you’ve calmed down,” Jon said. 

He reached out to grab your arm, but you evaded him. He called your name in warning.

You just got into a defensive stance. And the next time he tried for your arm, you snapped back with a fist to the bridge of his nose. It sent Jon’s head back with a grunt. 

When his hand came back bloody from his nose, his demeanor shifted, from placating to stern. His cool gaze met yours, and you stared back at him stubbornly, poised for a fight. 

“You little brat,” he said, wiping his nose again. “I fucking pulled you out of the fire, and you’re being difficult. As usual.”

“You didn’t save me,” you retorted. Emotion burned in your eyes, but your anger (and a frisson of fear) allowed you to clamp it down. “You never have.” 

You shot out a preemptive strike, but your father surprised you by grabbing your wrist. And he backhanded you hard enough to make you see stars. 

AN: 🫣 Welp, we're back in the U.S. SB is storming the castle, but at what cost...

Next Time:

A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this. 

Right fucking now.

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[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

[always-andromeda]

“La Belle Fluer Sauvage” for Nick Flynn. Nick has a really rough night at the shelter and comes home to discover reader decided to surprise show up at his place. Nick actually wonders if he’s hallucinating. She’s wearing a sexy outfit and does some moves on the stripper poles to try to cheer him up (Nick isn’t really quite in the mood so it takes some time). She does win him over, and he becomes ridiculously horny for her - would love it if you include extended oral sex/fingering, primal/carnal vibes, real hot and heavy dirty talk, maybe they both take turns trying to dominate one another 😉

Lol sorry for so much detail ahhhhhhhh 😅

Author's Note | lmao, you're totally fine, bb!! in fact, I should be apologizing for this being part of literally the last batch of milestone posts? like damn, thank you for your patience on this one lol.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), y'all read the request lol, we have oral sex (female receiving), fingering, thigh riding, and a little bit of Nick being an ass, nothing else I can think of!"

A Disclaimer | As with any characters that I write who are based on real people, I would like to say that the Nick Flynn I am writing about here is not meant to reflect the real life Nick Flynn, merely the character Paul plays in Being Flynn!

The waiting is what makes the knot in your stomach twist tighter. And not the good kind. Regardless, the pressure keeps mounting with every minute that passes as you sit on the couch. Even though it's entirely the point of the skimpy red lace set that you have on, you felt unsettlingly naked sitting by yourself.

The only thing you could think of doing was stealing one of Nick's old flannel shirts. You buttoned a few of the middle buttons and fiddled with the ends of the sleeves. To say Nick had been having a rough time lately was an understatement. Ever since his father had shown up at the shelter, your boyfriend was seeming to do everything in his power to hold it together. Every time you saw him the circles underneath his eyes seemed to be getting deeper and darker. You can't even begin to imagine how much of a strain the emotional turmoil of his job wrecks on his mental state.

But now you're second guessing your assumption that Nick is just like any other guy; only in need of a quick fuck to relieve his tension. Because when Nick walks through that door looking as exhausted as ever, you feel none of that confidence you had earlier. Especially when he plops down beside you, barely sparing a glance at your unusual appearance.

He groans and leans his head back on the couch, burdened by some work altercation that you're sure you'll hear about later when he feels ready to tell you. But, for now, you push down the rising guilt and advance forward in your plot, bringing your legs up on the couch so you can kneel beside him. Laying your hands on your knees, your arms press your tits together slightly. 

You hope and pray that the awkwardness wears off. That somewhere in the middle of your act, it'll start to feel natural and effortless. The discomfort only deepens when you reach forward to place a hand on his thigh and Nick finally looks at you.

His eyes go wide in the worst way, betraying the same kind of unease that you're feeling. "Something bothering you, dear?" he asks hesitantly. 

You put on a bright smile. "No," you blink rapidly, "Just wondering how your day went."

"About as good as they all are now..." he sighs and runs a hand through his greasy hair.

"Oh," you swallow thickly. "Maybe I can make it better?" you wonder aloud, lifting yourself from the spot on the couch and strolling around it. Nick's turns so his gaze can follow your figure as you walk towards one of the poles mounted on the stage behind where he sits. His brow raises when you grab it and swirl around once, reaching your hand out with a flourish.

You plant a foot firmly on the platform and gracefully slow to a stop before looking at Nick again.

"That was...nice," he says carefully.

You pout, "Just nice?"

Realizing the obvious surprise in his tone, he over-corrects. "That was fantastic, really. I just didn't expect this...why don't you come here?" he looks you up and down, only now drinking in the whole look before urging you over with a sly tilt of his head.

You try not to give into your nerves as you step down from the stage and make your way toward him. Nick notices the way his flannel loosely hangs from you, exposing the thin, lacy straps of the scarlet lingerie laying on your skin. 

As soon as he takes it all in, he's grabbing your hand and bringing you around the couch again and encouraging you to straddle him. His hands rest possessively at your sides and slide up underneath the flannel.

"You look really good in this," he comments distantly.

From your spot on his lap, you look down with a bashful smile. "You actually like the set?"

Nick blinks blankly before shaking his head. "I mean this," he rubs the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, "I like this on you."

You nearly roll your eyes at the sentiment. You should've predicted that the poet would turn to jelly once he saw it. You could put in infinite amounts of effort on your appearance but it wouldn't compare to the simple but tender gesture in his eyes. But you're glad that something is working on him, regardless of if it fits in with your plan. He still looks up at you like you hung all the stars in the sky just for him. It's a type of exclusivity that makes pride swell in your chest. 

"What else do you like about me?" you lean in a little closer and roll your hips, practically daring him to do something to you with the sheer proximity between your bare skin and his.

Nick reacts with a deep breath and swipe of his tongue over chapped lips. "What kind of question is that?" he shoots you a trivial look.

"It's a simple question." Your fingers tease the folded collar of his leather jacket. "I think a smart guy like you should be able to answer it pretty easily."

Nick takes you by surprise, turning you so you're flat on your back against the couch. You adjust so you can sit up and get a better look at him as he begins to travel.

"Hmm, I'm a smart guy now...why don't you tell me what I should be paying attention to, honey?" He leaves sloppy kisses down your jaw before pulling the flannel away just enough to he could continue down your chest. Though his descent down your body is quick, each kiss is filled with vigor; you hear it in how he breathes and hums, waiting for you to answer him.

The closer he gets to your panties, the more your voice falters when you respond, "I think you should appreciate...how hard I try...for you..."

That makes him stop dead in his tracks between your legs. He rests his cheek against your inner thigh and when you look down, you see how his brow furrows.

His tone takes on a note of sincerity, "You know you don't have to try for me, right?"

You reply breathlessly, "I know. But I just– you do so much at that shelter and–"

Nick sighs and starts to chuckle humorlessly, "But that's my job. Not yours. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be just fine, okay?"

You catch how he sleepily blinks. Still, he's nearly salivating being this close to the warmth between your legs. His voice is hoarse as he teases, "Besides, why would you have to try when you already have the perfect answer right in front of me?"

"You think I'm perfect?"

Nick laughs again, "Of course. You know, Shakespeare once said, 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate..." Then he kisses you above your clit.

You groan, mostly from the cheesiness of the line. "I don't think that Shakespeare was talking about pussy, Nick."

"Who knows. It's open for interpretation," he waves your comment off as he hooks his fingers around each side of the waistband. You lift your butt off the couch to allow him to pull the garment down, just for him to crumple it into his pocket. 

Now gazing directly at your folds, Nick drags a long finger up the center of them, gathering the little bit of slick that's formed. It's been a while since he's touched you like this. So you're still sensitive when he dips in, coating his finger in the slick. 

"I take it that I should recite poetry more often when I'm about to make you come, huh?"

"I will slug you if you do, Nicholas,"  you threaten halfheartedly, earning another pompous laugh.

As he pushes the lubricated digit against your entrance and lets it slowly swallow him, he breathes deeply in time with the way your walls clench around him. He continues his recitation, "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, this gives life to thee."

And with that, he can't help himself any longer. As soon as his finger is buried completely inside of you, his mouth goes to your clit. He circles the bud with his tongue and smiles when he feels it harden slightly.

Hands flying to his hair, you hate the thought of possibly degrading him, but you need more of his face against you. So, using your grip on his dark locks, you begin to faintly thrust against his face, trying to find that sweet spot that you can ride all the way to the end of your rope. That's when his lips wrap around your clit, sending you through the damn roof almost entirely.

Nick lets you have your moment; lets you put an entire show into rolling your hips into the thrusts of his finger and the suction of his mouth on you. He waits for your gasps to get higher and feels your thighs tense up with the consistently building pressure against your clit. Each of your strangled little sounds of pleasure just increases his ego. And that, on it's own, builds him up enough to where he pulls his finger from you and grabs your wrists from where they'd been grasping his hair.

Gathered in one of his large hands, he holds your wrists up and crawls his way towards you again. "I thought that you were trying to impress me?" He chuckles before giving your parted lips a searing kiss. Even though you don't kiss him back, you taste yourself on your own tongue; it's impossible not to, considering you're all over his chin. But based on the way he smirks smugly into the kiss, you know he's enjoying the power play. And a Nick Flynn who is full of himself is one that you don't want to encourage.

Finally recovering from the devastating edge and regaining a semblance of a grip on yourself, you break your wrists free from his hand; a move that he didn't expect you to have the willpower to do based upon the way his brows raise. You push back on his chest until he's properly sitting up and take your place on him once more. But this time, you're planted firmly on his thigh.

Even if you'd been wearing those red lace panties, the material of his dark wash jeans would've overwhelmed your still sensitive cunt. But you commit to the moment and grind down on his thigh, bracing your hands on his shoulders.

"Maybe I changed my mind," you whine, barely able to stand the electric wave that makes you quiver.

Nick can tell that you're not nearly as strong as you're making yourself seem, spacing out each roll of your hips sporadically and reacting severely each time. The sight is almost pitiful.

"Then at least let me help you," he murmurs. With your eyes closed, you feel Nick's hands rest at your sides before they travel down to your hips. Then there's his fingers digging into your flesh and guiding you into a temperate rhythm, turning your pathetic rubs into steady grind against his jeans.

You squeeze your eyes shut as that really makes the coil start to form again in your belly. Like muscle memory, it all comes back quickly. Your body is familiar with this slow burn and is eager to rush through each twist and turn just to get to the ending. Nick is going to absolutely ruin you with this one and you can do nothing to stop it; and what's worse, is that you don't want it to stop.

Long after the end hits you, you're still clinging to him. The climax moves through you so fast that you feel like if you move even a little bit, you might just fall apart. So you stay, waiting for the tension to simply fade away. You bury your head into the crook of his neck, shaking as your arms snake around his torso.

"Fuck, I really needed that," you whisper.

Nick chuckles hollowly, taken aback by the way you attach yourself to him like a lump. He decides on rubbing your back over his flannel. That texture makes the smile reappear on his expression. He hums, "I think I needed that too."

Being at that shelter takes something out of him. Every single day he works his ass off, taking care of people, often to what feels like an unsympathetic audience. He thinks back to his father; always so disappointed that the world hadn't simply folded to his obvious brilliance. Seemingly disappointed with Nick for not bearing the burden of his mistakes. It's thankless work.

But this isn't. And Nick, himself, clings to that. That, here, especially when he's holding you, he has a place where he is treasured.

[audreydoeskaren]

do you know Chinese symbolism for homosexuality?

tw homophobia, pedophilia

Hi again, for gay men there are a couple really well known ones but I’m not sure if they were real or fabricated, because all the articles describing them always cite the same couple sources from Antiquity... I tried to verify them but the only articles that didn’t copy and paste from the same source came across as extremely homophobic, so I decided to give up. The most common and reliable one is probably 断袖 or “cut sleeve”, which I mentioned in a previous ask. I would like to use this opportunity to talk about some tangential but more important topics regarding homosexuality in China though.

As a followup to my previous ask where I said I'd look through some Ming and Qing novels to see how homosexuality was perceived at the time, the conclusion I (unfortunately) came to was that homophobia was very much alive and well in Chinese literature and society. A lot of people like to argue that gay people fared pretty well in China historically by either pointing to emperors who were or were rumored to be gay or time periods where gay sex was prevalent as a form of consumption. This is extremely shallow and also kind of Orientalist in my opinion, these arguments always go for the emperors and do not take nuance into consideration or dive into wider societal discourses on homosexuality in imperial China. If you research homosexuality in Europe by only looking at royalty, you’ll find plenty of homosexual behavior too, does that mean gay people had it very easy in Europe historically?? Not to mention that they usually don’t differentiate between dynasties, let alone centuries or decades, even though public opinion on homosexuality in China (or anywhere in the world tbh) could change very quickly. This is also sort of Orientalist, assuming “imperial China” to be a never changing entity with a never changing stance on homosexuality. Since I know nothing prior to the Ming Dynasty I’ll share some of my random findings on homosexuality and homophobia in the Ming, Qing and 20th century.

Gayness as disease

Nowadays the symbol of the cut sleeve is just a benign historical allusion but historically it seems that it was used in a negative and condemning sense, implying that people thought of homosexuality as a disease or deviation from the norm. The common phrase used for the cut sleeve is "断袖之癖", usually translated as "the passion of the cut sleeve" nowadays, but the meaning of the word 癖 here leans more toward "fetish", "obsession" or "hobby" with pathological connotations. I thought maybe this word had a different, nuanced meaning historically but it seems that it was used to describe what it means :(( The only silver lining is probably that with the progression of language it isn’t offensive anymore.

In a lot of popular novels from the Ming and Qing, homosexuality was depicted as a "perversion" and a decadent lifestyle that plagues morality, and gay characters were often either killed or straightened out by the end of the story. An example of this is the story 黄九郎 Huang Jiulang from the series 聊斋志异 Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by 蒲松龄 Pu Songling written in the 17th century. In this story, one of the protagonists was gay; he died after confessing his love to the other guy in a very fast paced bury your gays arc which somehow reminded me of the Supernatural finale, and reincarnated as a straight man because of his piety. Thanks I hate it. Pu uses the symbol of the cut sleeve to refer to the protagonist, presumably in a negative manner.

Gayness as power/status symbol

Another thing was that historically in China a lot of people confused homosexuality with pedophilia. This is a global thing, but its presence in China is often overlooked. This could be seen in the popularity of another term for homosexuality, "娈童", meaning something similar to "pederasty". I read somewhere that since the late Ming, pederasty was considered a type of tasteful consumption for high society, along with things like fashion, food, music and art. This was not equivalent to the "cut sleeve" or homosexuality as we know it nowadays, which refers to a personal sexual orientation, pederasty historically often refers to an imbalanced power dynamic where a wealthy, privileged man takes advantage of a young boy as a leisurely activity. It’s more to show off that someone in a position of privilege and wealth has the power to procure sexual objects, gender and age don’t matter much in this regard. I cannot help but cringe violently whenever someone brings up pederasty as proof of China’s historical “openness” toward gay people. Talk to me again when in this time and place you could marry someone of your sex (not a minor) and be considered a respectable couple instead of two jerks with a degenerate fetish (not saying that gay people have to marry, it’s just that the ability to do so is an important indicator of equality imo). Pedophilia and homosexuality are not one and the same good heavens.

I hypothesize that the reason why Chinese society was historically homophobic despite having no religious condemnation of homosexual individuals was the idea that having many concubines and male children was a status symbol for men. Women of marriageable age were seen more or less as commodities and male children could supposedly "continue the bloodline" 传香火 and were vessels for passing down prestige, so having them were of utmost importance to a privileged man. Being just gay or lesbian, however, meant that you didn't perform the "man strong working woman weak making babies" heteronormative family prototype, and was thus prone to criticism. When gay men didn’t have children they “couldn’t continue their bloodline” and were emasculated, when gay women didn’t have children they failed to “fulfill their duties as a woman” and were shamed.

It kind of makes sense considering how being bisexual was never a problem in comparison, especially for men. If you were a rich guy who had both male and female partners, you would still have children and concubines both male and female so nobody gives a shit. Emperor Zhengde of the Ming (reign 1505-21) was presumably bisexual and had both male and female lovers, nobody had a bone to pick with that; he famously liked to fuck around but those who criticized him did so for his debauchery instead of focusing on the gender of his partners.  This is different to homophobia in Europe where same sex attraction was considered evil and immoral in and of itself because of religious reasons, in China it was rather the other practical implications of homosexuality (not having children or a family) that attracted hate.

By the way can we just take a moment to talk about bi erasure in Chinese history. From all accounts of Emperor Zhengde I’ve read he comes across as extremely bisexual, but a lot of people try to make him a gay icon? I mean, he liked women too.

One interesting homophobic angle in ye olde China which I find kind of funny was straight women who wanted to climb the social ladder by marrying rich men talking shit about them after figuring out they were gay lmao. Historically, there were not so many work opportunities for women, so the easiest way to improve social standing was to marry a rich and powerful guy. Not saying that women didn't work, they did but their upward social mobility was restricted because they couldn't enter the imperial examination system which was how men became rich and powerful. This angle is relatively benign and kind of helps illustrate that historical Chinese homophobia was indeed fueled by classism and patriarchy.

Gayness as crime

I used to think that there were no anti-sodomy statutes in China (laws prohibiting sex between gay men), but it turns out that there was one decree in the Jiajing era (1521-67) and one in 1740, and private gay sex was not actually decriminalized until 1957. Same sex marriage is still not legal in China at time of writing. I couldn’t find detailed information on what these laws entailed or how they were enforced, but they’re enough to prove that homosexuality in China was legally punishable from the 16th century onward. On top of that, even when there was no law prohibiting private sex acts between people of the same sex, displays of gay affection such as kissing or holding hands could still be legally punished under “public indecency” or “hooliganism”, which was frequently what happened in the 20th century.