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flickeringquip · 12 days ago

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Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

Part 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe

(smut continues below the cut + link for the full nsfw aster pic)

(full & uncropped picture here)

(1) Arrive at Blythe's flat.

It's only when the engine cuts out from beneath you that you realize you're shaking, clinging to Blythe as tightly as you can. It would be easy to assume it was from some manner of fright or nerves from the reckless ride—

But it was certainly not fear that had your face burning beneath your helmet, caught somewhere between dazed by the experience and mortified at the very real worry you'd left a stain on the leather seat of Blythe's bike.

Blythe who disentangles himself from you with little difficulty despite your death grip, dismounting in a smooth, practised motion before turning sharply back in your direction. A few seconds later finds you free of your helmet — and realizing all at once that he hadn't worn one.

"You shouldn't ride one of these things without a h—" The concerned admonishment slips free of you before you even really think about it, but your scolding is interrupted when the Fighter hoists you onto his shoulder like a particularly prized sack of potatoes, your voice pitching high as you cling to the back of his shirt, "—elMET!"

(1) And once again you're along for the ride as Blythe makes for his apartment with the same single-minded focus as before.

You expect this ride to be much shorter than the last, and it is, but you can't help but be a little confused when you aren't set down as Blythe steps into his apartment like you'd been expecting.

It's a confusion that only grows when you remain slung over his shoulder as he locks his door. As he crosses the length of his apartment. As he steps into what you assume to be his bedroom.

He only lets you down when it's to drop you the short distance to his bed, leaving you to blink up at him as he whips his shirt off and tosses it somewhere out of your line of sight.

(1) Get a little distracted ogling Blythe's chest and biceps.

Look.

The man is shredded.

You may be a little restrained compared to some other residents of this hell hole, but you do have eyes. Eyes that are all too happy dip as Blythe shoves his trousers down his hips, and you aren't sure if he had simply skipped on boxers or if they went down with the pants, but it's a question that'll have to wait, because—

(1) Turns out Blythe was very proportional.

In the span of time it takes for you to force yourself to stop gawking at him, Blythe closes the distance between the two of you once more, stripping you from the top down with the same ruthless efficiency he'd rid himself of his own clothes. The last to go are your own pant and panties, tugged off in one go that leaves you splayed on your back on his bed, more exposed in front of someone than you've been in a long time.

"It's-" Your tongue sticks to a suddenly dry mouth as you push yourself into a seated position just in time for the Fighter to lift one knee to the bed — your voice pulls his attention up from your body so fast it almost startles you, the intensity in his gaze more than enough to have you squirming a little beneath his attention, "It's been a bit for me, that is, since the last time I, y'know— I mean, not as long as it's been for you of course—"

After transitioning to working for Landry full time, you had seen no need to continue doing sex work on the side; working for the Criminal had proven more than profitable enough, and you didn't even have to see Bailey's stupid face anymore thanks to automatic deposits. And without that pressure to constantly have to make more money, you simply had found your interest in sex greatly reduced.

You weren't unhinged about it like someone — and besides, you weren't part demon, so it's not like being abstinent would've even hurt you the same way — but it wasn't uncommon for you to go months and months between your little dalliances. You'd never experienced sexual attraction quite like most of your peers, and you found that now that it wasn't a transaction, you generally needed to get to know the person before you'd even really think about sex.

(1) Which was really all to say: you weren't fitting him anywhere without some prep first.

The moment you opened your mouth to offer to handle it yourself (look, you'd never really gotten the hang of the whole 'rely on others' thing), a yelp stole free of you instead. Why?

It probably had something to do with how Blythe grabs your thighs and yanks you towards the end of the bed, looking for the world like he'd heard the words you'd been about to say and found them truly, deeply insulting.

And then his gaze dips between down to your legs as he hoists each of your thighs over one of his shoulders, you, well—

(1) You're not sure what's going to kill you faster: the sudden shocks of intense arousal or the overwhelming embarrassment.

And you just wanted it on the record that you're hardly some blushing virgin, and while you have far more experience giving oral than receiving it, you had been eaten out before. It was just. . . a long time ago. By a client you really hadn't liked much.

And yeah, fine, you are blushing, but it's because this is Blythe, who you'd formed something resembling a friendship just by proxy of co-existing in the same spaces long enough for you to get a little attached — even if you hadn't really thought he felt the same. It had never bothered you, if the people you cared about reciprocated the feeling; you'd managed to shake the guilt over the years, but the caretaking habits had held fast. And it had been nice, knowing someone else who had clear, simple loyalties — him to Aiden, you to Landry. You didn't have to really worry about navigating weird backstabbing bullshit, and if down the line your respective employers' relationship turned sour, well. . .

. . .There wouldn't have been hard feelings, at least.

(But wow, that's an anxiety that's gonna haunt you later, isn't it?)

Which was ALL to say, you think you have a pretty solid grasp on what's about to happen as Blythe yanks you a bit closer, close enough that the feel of his breath has your thighs jolting a little overtop his shoulders.

(1) It only takes one lap of his tongue for those confident expectations of yours to Go Out. The Fucking. Window.

Because you were so wrong, holy shit, you were so wrong it's not even funny, you hadn't even come close up realizing what you were in for—

But how could you have possibly known he'd be this good? That it would only take a couple minutes for you to be squirming something fierce in his hold, mewling as his tongue laves through slick, sensitive folds to flick against your clit. That it would take barely a few minutes more to find yourself cumming embarrassingly fast, hips jerking fruitlessly in his hold as he keeps your climax going for as long as physically possible, pausing only when you slump in his hold, breathing hard.

". . .Why on earth are you so good at that?" The words spill out of you as soon as you have enough air for them, an arm tossed up and over your eyes because you aren't sure you could survive whatever sight he must make between your legs right now, "You've been abstinent for like— Ack!"

The startled squeak that leaves you is far from dignified, but that's a hard thing to maintain when Blythe slides your thighs off his shoulders — only to push them up towards your chest instead, making use of your flexibility to all but remove your ability to squirm and wiggle as he holds you in that position with just his hands.

. . . It's both a little insulting and incredibly enticing how little effort it takes him to keep you pinned down like this.

(1) That's the last coherent thought you have for awhile, because—

Blythe isn't satisfied with only making you cum on his tongue once. The man eats you out like a man posssessed, and each new noise he pulls from you only seemed to encourage him. And when he closes his lips around your clit with a moan that you feel all the way to your core and you're all but thrown into your next orgasm, he works you through it and keeps going until the next one, until your thighs are trembling in his grasp and you keen loudly enough for the sound to echo throughout his room. It's only then that he at last pulls away, and even the groan that escapes him is enough to have you whimpering from sensitivity.

Your legs feel like jello when he finally releases them, pleasure long having robbed your limbs of any semblance of strength. For all that you haven't really done anything, you feel like you've run a marathon, flushed and panting. Blythe's palms are rough against your skin as he smoothes his hands down the backs of your still faintly-trembling thighs, a soothing gesture—

And one that is very at odds with the salacious way he licks his lips and the ravenous glint in his eyes.

(1) Which is obviously a great time for you to realize that you had yet to even really touch him, let alone help him release all that pent up stress form his abstinence.

"Do you want—" A true seductress you are, truly a vixen to be feared, your words winded and blurted as your hand meets his thigh and sweeps upwards, "I could suck you off—?"

Your fingers don't quite get to brush against him before you find your hand caught in his grasp, a full-body shudder rolling down your spine when Blythe growls and guides both of your hands above your head, pressing both wrists hard into his sheets with one hand in clear command — stay — before letting go.

You- you stay.

"Next time," His voice is even rougher than usual, guttural in a way that would've made your thighs clench, had he not already reduced them to jello — he splays a hand over your belly that feels hot enough to brand, something in you coiling hot and tight beneath your skin, "Only place 'm gonna cum tonight is inside you."

(1) This man was going to fucking kill you.

A fact you become more and more sure of when Blythe hits you with that fucking bombshell and does not immediately fuck you into next week, because first he has to loosen you up a little first.

Any attempts on your end to convince him you probably don't need any more prep are utterly ignored as he works one, and then two fingers inside of you — and, to his credit and despite your assurances, even with you all but dripping off his wrist thanks to his earlier affections, there's just enough of a stretch to it to make you shift in discomfort.

And for all that you might have expected him to call you on being wrong about how ready you might have been, Blythe seems to instead throw all of that energy into actually accomplishing that goal. There's a level of meticulous care to the careful way he works you open that you wouldn't have thought possible for someone in his state, and it does things to you, things that have you clenching around his fingers with a shivery little moan.

(1) The sound seems to chip away at the remnants of restraint you're not even sure how he's been hanging onto.

Blythe fingers you through two more orgasms — once with his thumb pressing sinful circles around your swollen clit and another by fucking his fingers and curling them into a spot that makes your legs shake with every stroke — before you start to crack.

Like you'd been the one who'd had a decade-long stint of abstinence.

"—Please," There's just enough desperation in your voice to bring Blythe to a pause as he teased a third finger against your entrance, one trembling leg hooked over his forearm to keep you spread wide for his touch, "I'm ready, I-I promise I am, please Blythe, I want- I need you to—"

Blythe seems to freeze above you, but you keep pushing, because you're not sure how much more of this you'll possibly be able to survive but you know you have to at least accomplish the singular thing you'd set out to when you'd kissed him.

(1) "I need you to fuck me, Blythe, please—!"

Even if you hadn't already been spread too thin to have room for embarrassment, you simply wouldn't have had time to even feel things like that with how fast Blythe sets upon you. The words have barely slipped past your lips when you find them claimed, the kiss as ravenous as the man himself as he hitches your thighs up around his hips, the heavy weight of his cock a brand against your dripping sex that has you both moaning in tandem.

Blythe doesn't leave you in suspense, driven by a lust you barely imagine as he lines himself up and pushes forward with a groan so deep in his chest you can feel it through him and it's—

It's a lot.

Your arms twine tight around his neck as your legs squeeze tight against his hips, needing something to ground you against the almost dizzying sense of fullness as Blythe sinks deeper inside of you inch by agonizing, amazing inch. You realize at once why he thought to prep you to three fingers, but it is not pain that has your nails scrabbling against his back as you cling tighter to him.

It's the way every inch he sinks deeper has you pulsing around his cock; the way his weight above you presses you down into his sheets like he never wants to part from you; the way his lips suck bruising marks into your pulse; the way he sounds, the shuddering gasps and broken groans breathed right into your ear—

(1) And above it all it's the words spilling from him like the sweat across your brows, rough and breathless and adoring.

"Fuck, you feel—"

"You're so—"

"Perfect, fuck, Aster, you're perfect—"

And it's his fault, it really is, it's his fault because you're already so sensitive, so hyper-aware of his everything, and what right did he have to say your name like that? To talk to you like that? Of course you find yourself pushed to the very edge just as you feel him press flush against the back of your thighs, and realizing you'd taken every last inch of him does things to the both of you.

"Blythe—" Your voice quivers alongside the rest of you, his name nearly a keen as tension winds tighter in your middle, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to hold yourself together just a little bit longer—

(1) Only for them to fly open with a yelp at a stinging smack to your hip.

"Eyes on me," Blythe chooses then to begin to pull back, establishing a rhythm that's slow but deep as you shiver and squeeze around his cock, his words half-groan, half-command, "Want to watch you— cum."

His hips snap forward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs, feeling what scant control you'd mustered beginning to slip as you turn your burning cheek to the side despite his demand—

Only for the sound to taper off into a whimper when strong fingers catch you just under your jaw and turn you back to face him with a strength that brooks no room for argument and the barest little squeeze that sets your already racing heart beating even faster.

Your lashes flutter unsteadily, vision blurring as you desperately try to hold your pleasure at bay when every slam of Blythe's hips threatens to send you careening over the edge.

"Aster," One of his hands slips down from your hip, and your whole body jolts beneath with a stuttering cry as his thumb presses into your clit with tight, devastating little circles, "Cum for me."

(1) And damn him, you do.

A pleasure crashes through you that blinds you to all else; light splintering through a prism as waves of heat burn through your veins. Some distant part of you is sure you're going to be mortified by the noises you're making right now, sure to wake his neighbors, but you cannot stop them anymore that you could the climax currently shattering you to pieces.

And throughout it all, Blythe's rhythm only grows more desperate, the sordid sound nearly as loud as you as he fucks you deeper into his bed — and beneath it all, you can hear his voice, a strained mantra of curses as his fingers squeeze and shake around your hips.

(1) And all at once, even beneath the all-consuming tide of your climax, you're filled with a fierce, singular desire: make Blythe cum — isn't that why you'd come?

(a few times, at this point.)

"Blythe, p-please—" It's all you can do to mewl the words, your voice raw from all your cries and still shuddering through your own release; it takes everything you have to focus up on him with blurry eyes, to keep them on him like he'd wanted because you want to be good for him, "You p-promised— wanna feel you cum i-inside, please—!"

"Fuck—" He tenses above you, every muscle taut as his his hips slam into once, twice more—

Before a scalding heat bursts inside of you as Blythe makes a noise so relieved he sounds almost pained by it, fucking you through his orgasm while the feel of him has you whimpering a new, aftershocks of your own pleasure skittering up your spine.

(1) You all but melt into his sheets, feeling well-fucked and accomplished.

Blythe's lips meet yours in a kiss sweet enough to make your chest warm, hands rubbing up and down your sides as he breathes praise against your lips; how well you'd taken him, how perfect you feel, how perfect you are for him — and you ride an altogether different kind of high, a euphoria that has you shuddering as you coast along cloud-nine.

Before you can sink too deeply into the afterglow, all soft-limbed and sleepy-eyed even as the slow drag of Blythe's cock from inside of you, the spill of his cum making your face flush anew—

(1) You're startled back into full-alert as Blythe rises to his knees and rolls you onto your belly, pulling your hips back towards himself and pushing back inside of you with a groan.

"Blythe?" You shake and squeak below him, twisting to look over your shoulder in time to watch and feel him tug your hips higher, trembling thighs unable to support your own weight but so easily supported by his strength, "D-didn't you just—"

He does not start slow this time, setting a rough pace that quickly finds you keening into his pillows; you're just so sensitive now, pleasure bringing tears to your eyes as you squirm, only to yelp when Blythe answers your wiggling with a spank that makes you squeeze around him for reasons you aren't going to think about.

And then you hear a word you've heard once before tonight already, a pattern he's spent all night establishing as his fingers slip over your hip to find your clit, still flushed and swollen from his loving abuse—

"Again, love."

(1) And for the first time this evening you begin to realize the predicament you'd gotten yourself into. Good luck!

#I DIDNT EXPECT THIS TO BE SO GODDAMN LONG #this might the filthiest thing ive ever publicly posted but i am POWERING THRU THE EMBARRASSMENT #because Blythe Deserves It!!!#the world conspired to stop me by starting my period and rendering me bedbound for like 2 hrs immediately after work cuz #anemias a bitch all the time but gives me wicked headaches that make me hella light sensitive until i take some iron #but tylenol + iron + coffee FINALLY got me able to look at a screen again #and my determination to get blythe laid and aster absolutely wrecked handled the rest #this was very fun!!#i think im gonna do more of these aster pov 2nd person things #for when i wanna be creative but drawing is a little too much Brain #aster the gutsy #blythe the scrapper #aster the agent #blythe the fighter #degrees of lewdity #dol fanfic #flicker writes

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abnomi · 5 months ago

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PSYCHOANALYSIS ON CHARACTER PASTS IN WRECK IT RALPH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!

ok... so you know how some characters were never given a backstory to play off of? (like Turbo for example)

i dont know for certain the psychological impact that not having a past could have on video game characters (or if they would even care), but what i do know is that it is objectively damaging to not have anything that came beforehand to work with.

imagine being tossed into a world, have whatever code implanted into your brain tell you specifically what you need to do, not have any choice in the matter, and then be forced to go from there. whether or not the individual believes they need a past is irrelevant; they lack one, regardless.

the psychological differences between video game characters with a past and those without come into question... are those who have a solidified memory of who they were before more or less susceptible to growth over time? or are they both intrinsically equal? maybe it depends on who it is, what game theyre from. some could thrive off of the idea of not being latched onto a past that was chosen for them, while others could long for at least some semblance of an in-between.

all things considered, it would be significantly more difficult to have a broad understanding of emotions when you aren't granted access to the same grace that those with a "before" may have. without any memories, you'd have to rely on your external surroundings to achieve any kind of development; a noticeable contrast to those who already have at least some internal understanding of themselves that came with their programming.

characters who begin their life with a clean slate may be bound to being more actively involved with the world around them because it's how they have to learn. if they don't, they're going to get stuck in the same mindset for an indiscernible amount of time until some kind of external force pulls them out of it. they don't have knowledge of their initial life; all they have is the current moment.

a big factor that correlates with all of this is the psychology of nature vs nurture. in short, "nature" is the deterministic aspect of genetics (or in this case, code) influencing who one may be, while "nurture" is how one's development is influenced by the role that one's surroundings might play. in humans, we experience both of these; they go hand-in-hand. in the WiR universe, however, it's not always guaranteed that a character will have a chance at having both at once.

those with a past get both nature and nurture, bundled into one package. however, those without are only presented with nurture, tossed into a world and expected to move on from there (maybe with a faint sprinkle of nature, but not anything that goes beyond an implication of what their life was like before spawning in). they have limited options compared to the ones who don't have to start off on a blank slate.

something else to keep in mind is how without the presence of a past, there will be far more variations between the same character across different locations. without any code telling them who they used to be, they will learn about who they are through their environment and go from there. of course, no single character will be the exact same, but code largely determines the mindset of a character and how they process the world around them.

in Turbo's case, i personally think it wouldn't matter a whole lot to him because of its irrelevance to his main concerns, but it undeniably had a strong hold over his behavioral development as an individual; he is very immature. he had no foundation to start off with... well, other than the message that was branded into his mind, dictating every decision that he has ever made: he has to win.

he acted like a child when he first came around because, in a sense, he was one (not literally HAHA, i think of him as in his late 30s). his game was plugged in for about five years before he had the biggest tantrum of his life, and keeping in mind how game characters are technically immortal until the moment they're unplugged (unless they die in another game before then), this really wasn't that much time in the grand scheme of things. it was hardly anything at all.

without a healthy outlet to process his feelings, coupled with an unnerving lack of life experience beforehand, of course he'd lash out a lot! of course he'd be overwhelmed by his own emotions to the point of not knowing what to do with himself!

that doesn't excuse his behavior at all, as he did have opportunities to change for the better or learn from his mistakes, but he chose not to. he was too stubborn for his own good.

maybe part of the reason he's so hellbent on being the best is not only because it's lodged into his code to feel that way, but also because it would feel like betraying what little personality he was coded with to go against it. yes, he's never been too keen on the idea of having anything or anyone tell him what to do, but consider this: he's clinging to his own identity, protecting what small fragments he was given and holding onto them for dear life. he doesnt have a past; he has goals, and losing said goals would be losing himself and the footing he has on his own identity. he's defined by succeeding, and he refuses to let this go. this is more headcanon-territory but it is fun to explore concepts like these!!! bro is internally empty.......

Felix has a past, yes, but it's vague and uncertain. he had a father, but does he even know what the man looked like? who he was beyond a name and an heirloom?

notice how it took thirty years for the handyman to shift his perspective on who Ralph was as a person. this could likely both be a product of the nicelanders and himself all being programmed with the belief that "Ralph is a bad guy," thus internalizing it, combined with the external influence and pressure Felix upheld being the good guy. (EDIT (LOL!!!!!): i know felix doesnt hate ralph but constantly being surrounded by everyones fear of him would have at least made him cautious about interacting with him)

his younger years have no hold on how he makes decisions, especially considering how absent said years are. his code only hints at the idea of a father, alongside the foundational belief that he is good.

his lack of a clear upbringing contributed even more to his sheltered persona, oblivious to the hardships that everyone else might face. combine this with how every NPC he surrounded himself with never dared to criticize him, he was prone to experience stunted empathetic development. he was never a bad guy by any means, but his lack of exposure to difficult situations did not fare well for his psyche.

that isn't to say he hadn't ever been in any difficult situations before. the roadblasters incident absolutely shook him to his core and likely cut deep into him, as he hadn't ever experienced anything similar to it before. without a fleshed-out past, he didn't have a bright idea of what hardships might linger just beneath the surface.

to his credit, he has changed for the better, now having more awareness of how others feel and function outside of himself. he makes sure to treat everyone with equal amounts of dignity, regardless of any preconceived notions he might have. :-]

when it comes to Calhoun, her experiences shape her significantly, directly being the cause of her hypervigilant and instinctual nature. it can't be ignored that she suffers from PTSD due to how her character's life was mapped. this demonstrates that having knowledge of who one was before isn't always necessarily a wholly good thing. not to say that her condition makes her broken in any way! it just brings difficulty into her life that wouldn't have been present otherwise.

there is some goodness that can be brought to the surface from this; just as it isn't completely good, it isn't completely bad, either. on the opposite end of the coin, she knows how to keep herself and others safe. if it weren't for her predetermined past, she'd potentially face more struggles on the battlefield.

not only that, but it helps us, as the audience, empathize with her character, along with Felix. we learn that she isn't simply intense and nothing beyond that; she's just been through a lot. on top of all of this, she is very emotionally mature and understands how to push through horrific situations, especially when necessary. it is her job to do so, after all!

Calhoun's heavy experiences may be part of her character's mold, but they do not define who she is. a past only steers a character in an approximate direction; it does not 100% determine how they grow from there. we directly see evidence of this when she moves forward and marries Felix :-]

and then there's Vanellope :-] she did have a past, but it was ripped away from her. how does she cope with this? by defining herself and becoming her own person, unrestricted by her code. she didn't start off as a princess, she started off as Vanellope.

even when she had the chance to reclaim her status as princess, she didn't, instead choosing to stick with the version of herself that she passionately created. there's a great chance that she wouldn't be the silly little booger we all know and love if it weren't for her time to think about who she was and who she wanted to be; the omission of her past was a significant contributor in how she now presents herself, unconfined to how she is apparently "supposed" to be. she has more room to choose for herself.

she doesn't let anyone else tell her who she is, holding her handcrafted identity with pride. her eccentricity is nowhere near a flaw, making itself known as a strength. her perspective of the world is unique to her and allows her to emotionally connect on a deep level with Ralph.

one doesn't need to be tied to a past to be a person. it doesnt put any more or less weight on anyone's worth, and we see this as clear as day with her character! starting off with nothing, she grew into her own skin and found her sense of self all by herself without the guidance of anyone else. i am so proud of her. i love my baby ok

above all else, having a past isn't a surefire way to predict how one may develop; it is only an aspect of who someone is. an important aspect, yes, but there are many other things to consider in the sea of personalities and experiences...

the biggest difference between having one and lacking one is ultimately how an individual character might go about how they change over time and how long said progression might take. the past is only a starting point; a pre-written map without a marked destination created in order to provide a basic concept of who exactly one was earlier on. being left without one leaves some with a need for more effort to figure life out, and this distinction will affect everyone in many different ways. at the end of the day, though, a map is just a map. the road itself is what matters most 👍

#long post #wreck it ralph #i was going to write a little thinkpiece on ralph as well but i feel like his past (or lack thereof) is irrelevant to who he is #he seems to be more focused on the current moment or his future #i could be wrong!!!#i write these for fun not for grades #dont worry ralp we still love you <3 wreck yeah (heck yeah but wreck it ralph version)#i also dont want to write too much and burn myself out but im not good at that #character analysis #psychoanalysis #analysis #WHO SHOULD GO IN THE SOUP FIRST:#calhoun wir #sergeant calhoun #felix wir #fix it felix #vanellope von schweets #vanellope wir #turbo #turbo wir #turbo wreck it ralph #choose wisely..take your pick..#👶AAAUUGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!#psychology #or saomething #i dont knoe #i like writng essays a little bit i dont know maybe just a little bit #i love semicolons but i worry i use them too much; i also dont care FUCK;YOU HEHEHHHEHEHE!!!!!!!!!!! RUNS AWAY; MY FEET SLA;P ON THE GROUND #i struggle with past tense and present tense so if this looks weird i am working on it

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