#my big juicy brain in full effect

[strawglicks]

I see people say Misty's disliking of 'Rain' is actually referring to the TOON Rain, and while I like that idea, I had a thought:

Maybe she dislikes rain because it happens whenever she's feeling upset, so she associates rain with sadness and all her emotional baggage. Some of her dialogue also seems to hint that she does dislike rain as in the weather.

They also requested an umbrella and hood when they were getting their new uniform:

it does say she likes stormy nights, however, which could contradict everything here. but i feel that rain on its own may be different from actual storms. their storm cell dialogue shows that they like to feel powerful and make others fear them since they've failed at making others like them.

maybe storms are more angry, and make her feel stronger and more in control. Rain alone, however, is sad and gloomy and associated with crying.

They hate being seen as weak, which crying and feeling sad is often associated with. Misty is desperate to stand her ground and feel powerful over others due to the pain she's endured from others; it's a defense mechanism. Storms may make them feel safe and in control, while rain makes them feel weak and vulnerable.

or maybe it is just toon rain idk

[strawglicks]

It's a good discussion to have !

Some people turn away from Clash specifically because of this aspect or think the game gives the cogs too much depth or makes them too sympathetic rather than the flat evil robots they were before.

I think it's understandable, but I personally like the depth and personalities some of the individual cogs have, and I like how it's diving into how an evil company like this can negatively affect the individuals working under it.

I think it just depends who you are. It's not bad writing to add depth to these cogs, even if originally they were meant to be flat evil. But I also think it's important to remember where they DID come from and try to maintain some of that evil spirit rather than making all the cogs seem like innocent victims of the company they're working for.

So I think it comes down to your personal cup of tea. Some people like the evil robots with no real depth or personality because, well, they're robots, and some people like the more complex and sympathetic characters Clash has brought us. I also think Clash manages to provide both in a way. You have characters you can feel bad for like Misty or Chip, and you also have characters who are definitely on the more evil side, like Cosmo or Spruce.

anyway thats my own two cents, i think its up to personal preference

i'd love to hear extra opinions in the tags.

[oklotea]

I was rewatching eah season one, and I got to the Maddie-in-chief episode. And OH MY GOD did this single episode hold so much potential as a full-fledged special.

Just imagine with me for a second, before EAH asks huge questions about autonomy, the true reality of Ever Afterian society, or what secrets lie in Milton Grimm's head, they make a point to truly bring your attention to the underlying classism and favoritism in ever after.

It could have been the first crack that would eventually lead to them questioning Milton Grimm even further, and finding Giles, and eventually finding out the storybook of legends had been a fake.

AND OTHER SUCH IDEAS, I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!!!

We could have gotten the chance to develop Maddie's character further. They had strongly implied that Maddie was much more smarter than what you may first assume, what is it with that? How do those skills properly show themselves? Not just in debate, but on a daily basis? How is Maddie intellectual in a way only the wonderlandians can see? And better yet, how has the people in ever after high chose to neglect her and her skills?

THIS HYPOTHETICAL SPECIAL COULD HAVE BEEN AN AMAZING TIME TO ESTABLISH THE WONDERLAND CURSE AND HOW KITTY, MADDIE, AND LIZZIE HAVE BEEN DISPLACED FOR A GOOD HALF OF THEIR LIFE!!!!!!!

It could have been such a great moment to make the audience care about Maddie, and possibly the wonderlandians, even further.

We could have gotten Apple's first bit of character development, found in her earnestly looking at the non-royal characters as people equal to her, because let's be real, if we looked at the way she saw non-royals/commoners in the first book as something to build off of, it obviously comes off as disingenuous.

Maybe at the first half of the story, Apple is very sweetly and discreetly underestimating Maddie. Maybe going on behind her back about how, even though she admires Maddie's bravery, she doubts there'll even be any competition.

Only for as the special goes on, Apple watches how Maddie is actually a very talented, formidable and driven opponent

How will they show this?????? UHHHHH I HAVEN'T FIGURED THAT OUT YET

BUT COMPETENT, AND GENUINELY DEPENDABLE STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT CANDIDATE MADDIE IS A CONCEPT THAT COULD BE SOOOO SO JUICY

Like.... She's the kind of person who could be handed over an entire pile of student council work, the likes of which even sends a shiver down Apple White's spine, but thanks to the effects of wonderland, and wonderlandian photographic memory (I have no idea if that's a thing that only Lizzie has in wonderlandiful world but...... BUT LET ME COOK!!!! AGRHEGRGSVD) MADDIE IS DEPENDABLE, SHE HAS SKILLS THAT SHOW HER POTENTIAL AS A STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT!!!!! And not only that, she's got a big heart, and she cares about her friends and fellow non-royals very deeply, and just, having a non-royal as a student council president would be a huge step forward before all the crazy shit that would eventually happen in the future webisodes and specials.

EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS IN THE OG WEBISODE WOULD HAPPEN ONLY WITH THE STAKES MUCH MORE HIGHER, AND A MUCH MORE SERIOUS TONE

And Maddie decides herself that she wants to work alongside Apple, because she can see just how genuinely dedicated and talented Apple is, and with that, Apple's character development for the special is wrapped into a neat bow, and from then on her and Maddie being student council presidents is an IMPORTANT THING that gets BROUGHT UP

Like in Dragon Games, we could have hypothetically gotten Maddie walking up to Apple, sadly asking her how she could allow the dragon games to happen, and better yet how her mom can allow the evil queen to walk free!

Maddie requests that, since she doesn't have as much leverage over Snow White, how about Apple takes some action to stop the games and convince her mom to take the evil queen hostage once again?

Only for Apple to visibly be racking her brain, and snapping at Maddie, telling her she can't do that, and the games must go on.

It would have really sucked and it would have hurt and it would have been amazing.

That's just ONE example I've got on Apple and Maddie being co-presidents being acknowledged.

Apple and Maddie could have had a more defined dynamic.... It would have been interesting seeing two characters who are so drastically different in how they function being in such close proximity to one another, and having to work closely with each other!

Alright, my final point in proving to you maddie-in-chief should have been it's own special issss.......

JUST IMAGINE THE DOLLS

Here's what I have in mind,

Pin striped suit Madeline Hatter

Pillbox hat, pencil skirt Apple White

VERY MUCH PRESIDENT ELECTION CODED

I jotted down some scrappy sketches to show you what I mean

It's not the best, I spent like, 5 minutes on it, but YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYINH

YOU DO

I TRUST THAT YOU DO

THEY'RE BOTH WEARING SASHES THAT HAVE EACH OF THEIR SLOGANS ON

Maddie obviously wearing a sash that says, "Hats over Crowns" Cause that's iconic

And Apple wears something more, idk royally conservative???!???? Something with the sentiment that, the Royal way is the better way, OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU GET IT.

And we're not stopping with just Maddie and Apple! Even though they are both the crown jewels of this student council president election doll line (someone come up with a better name, god bless), the rest of the line consists of a handful of Apple supporters, and a hatful of Maddie supporters. Their groupies, per se.

All of them in dresses or suits, whatever it is, very much business formal, or business casual, they all look quite prim!

That's all I got so far on the maddie-in-chief special concepts.

If anyone wants to build upon them, by all means do so!!!! I would love to see what you people come up with!!! :D

Alrighth, take care everyone. Thanks for making it this far

[cassiesdevblog]

I Don't Wanna Know Anything!!!!!

Don't try to teach me anything!! I don't want to know any of it! ...Why?

Because this terrifies me...

...and this doesn't!!

So don't tell me anything! .....Except what I actually need to know!

I want to zero in on the Binding of Isaac's seemingly lackadaisical approach to teaching players. This is a game loaded with hundreds and hundreds of different items with various effects, and the biggest effort it makes toward explaining what any of them do is never more than one short line of text, which is sometimes more of a catchphrase than an item description

This is enough for some people to call Isaac a "wiki game," and many will say you should just download the mod that puts a detailed description in the corner of the screen before you pick up an item, but I'm here to make the case against that

As a new player trying to get into Dead Cells (the game I pictured above with the detailed item descriptions), I found it overwhelming to try and digest all the information given to me every time I found a new item. The deluge of stats and attributes made it all feel super important, like I was already being expected to carefully consider every morsel of info while I was still trying to get to grips with the basic controls and movement. I'm sure some people are into that kind of thing, but I dropped the game fast

And I think the big question here is: would I need all this information to have fun?

Isaac's answer would be a firm no!!! You can pick the game up, not understand half the items you find, and have a blast anyway. Most of the time though, you'll have enough of an idea of what something does just by the short blurb of a description that you can make effective use of it without needing all the details

I think it would be awful if the game had the item descriptions mod (pictured above) preloaded by default. I'd like to think I'd just say "I'm not reading all that" if I found it overwhelming, but it's hard to ignore juicy, helpful information. After all, the player's job is to win, and it's the designer's job to make that process engaging

Not only that, but Isaac's approach actually removes the decision making from the process entirely for new players, because it doesn't give you any information until you pick the item up. If you waltz into an item room and see something you've never seen before, are you just not gonna pick it up? No, of course you just take it, and if you regret it later, that'll stick in your mind and you'll remember it next time. As you play, you'll gradually build your knowledge of what each item does, and eventually the game will be full of interesting decisions because of it

The short, catchy "item descriptions" are perfect for this purpose. It's easy for them to get stuck in your brain so they can help jog your memory next time you see the item. After playing enough, I've found myself reciting the ones I remember in my head before even picking an item up

It's a system that works great for all kinds of players, because the game is already fun even when you know nothing (plus, it's fun to discover what items do organically!), but you can reach new heights of strategy by naturally building a well of knowledge as you play, usually without even trying to

...Alrighty, so that's all nice and ideal, but what if players just crack open the wiki anyway and drag out the pace and volume of information waaaaaaay more than they would by downloading the item descriptions mod?

Well... I think that's fun too actually! If you're willing to go to the effort to go to the wiki and type in the name of every item you see before you pick it up, it's probably because you're super engaged with the game and you're in the mood to gather knowledge so you can make super informed decisions

Speaking personally, I sometimes do play with the wiki open if I'm in the right mood for it. But even then, I only actually look something up if I really want that extra advantage. The slight inconvenience of having to type into a search bar means I don't overdo it and suck the fun out of it. Rather, I generally only use it when I'm in the sort of mood where I find it fun!

Isaac is able to match so many people's moods and levels of experience by sparing the details and encouraging curiosity, discovery, and long-term accumulation of information, rather than trying to make sure you know everything upfront. I kind of think this is at least half of the game's secret sauce...!!! Seriously!

So if you ask me, the next time you want to tell your player something, you should ask yourself:

Do they need to know this to have fun?

(btw me and my friends just finished a whole ass game go play it)

[freeuselandonorris]

i haven't able to be a normal functioning human being ever since the fic dropped... your brain is so big and juicy...

“You know. Didn’t want you to feel like I was just — taking it without asking.”

He’s unprepared for the effect of his words. Lando gasps, thighs going tight around Oscar’s chest, and then he’s coming, abrupt and intense, through his fingers and running down his wrist to drip onto Oscar’s skin.

“Ah,” Lando grits out, fingers fluttering over the bedding. He finds Oscar’s hand and tangles their fingers together. “I’m gonna. Is it okay?” Oscar pulls off — Lando whimpers, pathetically — and raises his eyebrows. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Here, this isn’t very good. Put something else on if you want. Your choice.” “Nah,” Lando says. He picks up the remote again, pushing it into Oscar’s hand. “You choose.”

these parts absolutely defined the fic for me. the fic of all time actually. i'm still scrambling for words to grasp and i feel like no verbal expression could do it justice.. i just love it so so much, thank you, thank you, thank you, what a masterpiece!!

🥰 thank you so muchhhh!!

it was actually really interesting and quite tricky to write free use without it either just being like, a series of sex scenes with no buildup (bc you often don’t see the “hey shall we have sex tonight” buildup in fic anyway) or just veering into full CNC, which is delicious but not what i wanted to achieve. so it was a tricky balance of reminding the reader that lando’s lack of agency is the kink for them, but not in the sense of it being done “against his will”. i thought lando would enjoy it because of the brain-off implications as well as the slutty implications, which is what those lines are getting at, especially the ending. in my head neither of them really know anything about D/s or total power exchange or anything like that but they’re both kind of vaguely conceptualising an idea of oscar gradually getting more and more control over lando and getting off on it 😵‍💫

[cyberrat]

77th Batch Of Fics: 5th Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Part ¾ – biting; blood; – Alpha on Alpha actionnnn.

---

Hanzo’s hips keep slapping against Cole’s hairy ass in a soft ‘pap pap pap’ staccato that is almost drowned out be the older Alpha’s throaty groaning.

His face is turned just in a way that lets Hanzo see how blissed out he is on his dick; eyes rolling up into his head, mouth open and drooling. He looks like he is having the time of his life being underneath another Alpha and letting him use his cunt like a fleshlight.

He looks like he might start to get mouthy if Hanzo weren’t going to provide him with a nice, bone-deep fuck.

As if to confirm his foggy-brained suspicions, Cassidy starts to rouse. He moves, somehow getting his arms into some semblance of working order that lets him push himself up on all fours while Hanzo is practically lying on his back, fucking like some kind of pup that just freshly came into its own damn dick and figured out how to use it.

“Fuck… yeah… yeah, give it to me good-”

The whole situation is surreal. Hanzo almost produces a thought that he should maybe stop this and do… something, but the vague notion goes as quickly as it moved through his brain. His hips are too hot, too loose. His cock keeps flexing and his knot is aching to lock them together. To make sure and drive home that he is the Alpha here and Cassidy is nothing but a submissive bitch.

It’s difficult to achieve, though, when the other Alpha is all for it. Despite his earlier rough sobs and protests, he is now carrying Hanzo like a damn backpack and telling him to go faster. To go harder. To really give it to him.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re such a stud, aren’t you? You’re gonna breed me up, huh? Gonna fuck your fat juicy knot deep into my guts? Gonna show me who’s the Alpha?”

If Hanzo weren’t so deep in his mating frenzy, he would undoubtedly think that Cassidy is making fun of him; but as it is… well, the old guy’s words are effective. They grab him by the base of a tail that he does not have and make him go slower and harder. They make him get up on the balls of his feet into a mating press, his thighs protesting the movement but his whole body screaming yes at him once he gets himself properly situated above Cassidy again.

The big Alpha is still on all fours, but now Hanzo is undoubtedly above him as he fucks down into his guts, riding his ass like a man possessed.

Cassidy just takes it all. He takes it like it is nothing; his head thrown back and sweat glistening on his back. Hanzo has trouble bracing himself on it because his own sweaty palms keep wanting to slip against Cole’s skin.

Staring at the flushed back of the other Alpha’s neck, he has to think about the times they spent sitting in the Hotel’s club; the times after their tryst in the supply closet that he spent trying to subtly inhale his scent, wondering when the old bastard would offer himself up again.

He never did. But at least Hanzo got his scent anyway. That thick Alpha musk that is being carried on top of Cassidy’s own, warm body odor and aftershave.

Riding on that high, he leans forward, grabbing Cassidy’s shoulder with one hand and a fist full of his hair with the other. He pulls on it – rips, really – while he slams harder into the Alpha, his balls aching from the harsh slap against Cassidy’s body but not as much as his knot that is about to pump itself up to a size that Hanzo doesn’t think it ever had been at before.

Cassidy growls again, low and so rumbling that it gets Hanzo’s hackles up. It makes him go even harder probably; meaner. If that is even possible. He fucks out his frustrations into the Alpha bitch. All the pent up aggressions from it feels like years ago coming out through the motion of his hips and the force with which he pulls on the old Alpha’s hair, half annoyed that he even has the strength to hold himself up on his arms after his earlier orgasm.

“Fuck you’re a mean bastard- shit, ah… yeah… yeah! Love it when an Alpha shows me. My. Place.” Cassidy is talking through clenched teeth, his words getting more disjointed the harder Hanzo fucks into him.

Hanzo’s eyes are fixed on the other Alpha’s back; how broad it looks, the muscles tense beneath the skin, a wave going through what fat he has there whenever Hanzo’s hips slam against the meat of his ass.

He hadn’t been able to reach his neck earlier when he’s been in a traditional mating position, but now that Hanzo forces him to rear back as far as his bones will allow…

Hanzo leans forward. He only sees white; the white hot curtain of an Alpha at his peak, his hips grinding forward, spearing his cock as deep as it will go into the fever hot insides of his Omega. No. Alpha. He’s fucking an Alpha. He’s knotting an Alpha – and he bites him while he’s at it. He lets go of Cassidy’s shaggy hair so his arm isn’t in the way as he fits his teeth in a mean bite around the back of his neck.

He vaguely feels Cassidy bucking beneath him but it’s not like he can throw Hanzo off at this point. Not now that he’s knotting him, locking in tighter than the pathetic toy he rode earlier. It’s also the only reaction he seems to have to getting scruffed like that. No self-respecting Alpha would…

But then again… Cassidy seems to absolutely delight in throwing off the norms. In fact, whatever his life’s experiences have been up to this very moment have shaped him to be in love with the notion of getting fucked and dominated and bred by another Alpha which is just so weird-

Fuck, but Hanzo is starting to understand it.

Heat swamps his abdomen, focusing in the small of his back. He can’t feel his goddamn legs anymore. He can’t hear or see anything. His ears are filled with the rush of his blood, forced through his veins by his frenzied heart. All he is really aware of is the taste of copper in his mouth while he bites Cassidy, nose full of his thick Alpha musk.

It’s so antithetic to everything that Hanzo has experienced as an Alpha by now… but he can’t deny the mindless rush it gives him.

He comes back to his senses early enough. In fact, his state of dumb euphoria only has lasted a few seconds, though it had felt that much longer because the first thing he becomes aware of is Cassidy’s insides milking him for what he is worth while the sturdy Alpha beneath him is shaking through yet another orgasm.

There’s no way he can even produce any more cum at this point; his last high had been just a few minutes earlier, after all.

Hanzo likes the thought that he’s forced him into a dry orgasm. Loves it, even. Absolutely adores the power he has over this man. This Alpha.

Rarely has anything be as addictive as knotting a man like Cassidy and feeling him come for him like a bitch. It is flattering, really. Enough so that he does not even feel any animosity once he finally stops biting him and just lays down on his back, breathing through it all, tongue licking the blood off his lips.

This was the best fuck of his life.

[fantasyideas1]

quotes almat

your opinion is an empty phrase, we’ll do it in my opinion, you helped me, I won’t help you, go away we don’t need you, he can handle it himself, and we’ll go to rest, the snake leads a herd of pawns they have a herd the instinct of collectivism and the snake knows it, they are afraid of losing their salary, the snake does not give a bonus, the snake does not recognize you, the snake hides your success, Poetry You are a confectionery musi, pussy masterpiece, your buns (ass) are picking me up, your breasts are manipulating me, my brain is evacuating, a catapult of a rush of passion, tenderly loving beauty plunges into the depths of delight, you are my growing pleasure from your presence, eggs burst with excitement like a watermelon between the thighs women with big muscles, hot abyss of seduction, immersion in your beauty, in the depths of the beauty of your soul, seductive tenderness, gentle magnetism of seduction, juicy bliss, super-hot burning passion, bang-gasm, gasm passion, you are the sexual power of seduction, radically fall in love, conquers with tenderness, your approach starts the motorboat of excitement, all the motor skills of the body do not obey from the huge amount of beauty, Every moment with you is sexy, thoughts about you hit like a jackhammer, I think about you again and again, I like your computer textures of ass and boobs, your ass sexy textures, jokes You lied to me as a child that acorns are male eggs, they fall because no one gives autumn Your obese wife is a solid bulletproof vest, bulletproof stubbornness, you can’t even put her down with a shotgun, she’ll just brush off the bullets, she wrinkled my pink dress, don’t offend my pet Yes, and you worked as a butler in a brothel, I just owed prostitutes My big bladder is full, but you don’t want to drink, the camel has a hump with water, and you have a bladder, an evil look in the direction of your father, be patient until we get to the first motel The resort was expensive and he stepped on a poisonous sea urchin to avoid paying This cougar is fifty, I want sex, it's time to tear men's trousers with my teeth Super jock bet friends, in a tight leopard suit in a nightclub, put on a cat mask, look you haven't gone through the effects of Viagra yet, because they dragged me out of bed with my girlfriend, how balls and penis stick out, go meow meet people, I I'll get to you, go ahead cat What's your name boy, I see that you're already five years old, what's your name, I see your mom, what's your name don't dance for me Did you wear a BDSM gag to unlearn cursing, smoking and drinking? I like to talk to myself, I have the right to privacy

Author musin almat zhumabekovich

[edutainer2022]

Oh my, Scott's mind is indeed a minefield! So many excellent insights to navigate - and lots of traps his brain readily sets up for him.

He couldn’t help worry that sitting there and telling his younger brother of some of the horrors had made things more ‘worse’ than they needed to be, however. And then hearing John’s calm but clearly emotional description of witnessing his elder brother relive that time while feverish and incoherent…

That's really such a good thing they did group therapy with John. Scott needed a candid glimpse into how his turmoil affects those who love him. But of course, it's Scott, so his conclusions are maybe sideways - it's his fault, he shouldn't burden or scare them, he should be strong.

Scott hissed quietly to himself. It went against everything he stood for. He was supposed to have been the strong one, he was supposed to have shielded them from all of that. Too late now. His clear cut role as the protector had shifted irrevocably. He knew John, Virgil too, would now always feel more of a drive to look after him because they’d seen him at his worst, his weakest. He hated it. He hated it so much he wanted to burn the last three months from history and restore their innocent belief in their big brother’s invincibility again.

That's the point I really wanted to cuff him up his head! Because THAT'S THE POINT of healing - to share the burden and accept help. His role as protector is not set in stone - a protector needs protection too. Maybe Patricia needs to reach deeper than Bereznik for the root of Scott's almost obsessive need to protect, to shield his brothers, to control what hurts them - Mom. The loss that left him one on one with the world being chaotic and cruel - not receiving substantial protection from that elsewhere, he stepped up for his brothers. Then Dad - same thing. Response to trauma of captivity is maybe a symptom, not the whole problem. There's also a lot tied up to the self-image reflected in his brothers - if they think he's invincible, maybe he is. But if they see him weak and fallible - maybe he's not earning his keep. If he's not doing his job as protector - what is he even good for?

But it was what he didn’t see but had dreaded for a decade if the truth ever escaped in this way - the disappointment, the pity. They were missing, miraculously, gloriously absent from his brother’s reaction. What he saw instead was respect and admiration and acceptance and it had blown his mind. The idea that he could so utterly fail to be what he was supposed to be and John would still look at him that way was… well. He guessed he’d be processing that one for a while yet.

You do that, Scotty! The brother loves you unconditionally and, actually, too wants to control what hurts you - that is, nothing ever again. The brother looks at you and doesn't want an infallible bronze statue, he sees a human of extraordinary strength and courage - someone who came out of unimaginable pain still so full of love. If John even didn't think him a hero before, he certainly would now.

He’d seen it so vividly he’d sometimes woken believing he’d somehow been the perpetrator, having to race to the bathroom as his stomach let him know it was as disgusted with him as his mind was.

This is such an evocative glimpse into how persistent and creative Scott's mind is in weaving guilt. Real or perceived, or misplaced, or irrational, his brain just wouldn't LET GO of such a juicy way to hate and blame himself.

He knew now his mistake had been to show weakness. His reaction had clearly tipped them off that this… THIS was a way to torture him where more conventional methods had been less than effective.

Goodness, this is so cruel! Vicious! Of course they spotted an "in" - the tiniest emotional investment - and blew it up into a full on horror. The translator to make sure he got the details... That's truly next level mind games and torture. What if they looked up his family ties - father and brothers. What stopped them from saying they had Dad tortured or killed in the next cell over? Or Virgie kidnapped from university by their "agents"? And of course now he's also blaming himself for believing the spun lies. Under torture. Scott's brain indeed cuts him no slack whatsoever.

He blinked back tears as the relief washed over him yet again. If they’d only known it was much easier to make him cry with relief than with pain.

Scotty, you big ole sap! But who's to say they didn't know?

But the real, selfish reason was he needed to see her with his physical eyes again. To reinforce his belief she was real, that he wasn’t imagining it. So he could more easily picture her alive and happy. Hopefully then his subconscious would catch up and maybe sleep would be less… complicated. Was it ok to want to do something just because it would make him happier? People often said it was… he’d just never been convinced.

Sure, Scotty, you're not allowed to want anything for your own sake ever. You're selfish and needy. You don't deserve to see or talk to people because they make YOU feel better. You can only do, have, give or be things that are useful to others or are demanded/expected by others of you. You shouldn't impose your company on anyone and you should, preferably, just quietly martyr yourself for humanity's salvation not to bother anyone. That's exactly how it should be. *end pained sarcasm* Oh dear... There's SO MUCH to unlearn there. And SO MUCH self-worth to build up from scratch (it's in negative numbers now). I can't imagine where he should even start... Bless Virgil for suggesting a hack to be kinder on Scott's psyche, but it's like a warzone there. His mind is his own worst enemy. Doctor Patricia has A LOT of work cut out for her. It's good Scott sought counsel to check if his company would also be good for, not damaging to Estera. But hey... chatting with an acquaintance, even a friend, and offering facetime shouldn't be the military campaign of logistics and self-doubt, and second guessing. It's okay.

He had spectacularly failed to follow Patricia’s previous advice about not letting himself feel responsible for the woman. He already felt as though the fact Estera was alive was an invisible thread holding him together, keeping him steady, keeping him here. That… might not be ideal.

No, it's not ideal. Which is, yay, self-awareness! But it's also external validation and measuring worth by an external factor. It's a duct tape and a Hail Mary, holding him together right now. And, sadly, it can't last for long. She could have died in the warzone later that same day for reasons, absolutely unrelated to his actions (because warzone). She may be hit by a bus now (literally) - something tells me Scott is gonna readily make it his fundamental fault and failure, unironically. If only her phone is run over by that bus - Scott would probably find a way to believe he was too intrusive, imposing, and she didn't want to ever speak to him again. I'm making an educated guess here.

Estera - Ch 20 - Thread

Things are ticking along nicely aren’t they? Could so easily leave it there… but… nah, life isn’t that easy chaps.

It’s been a while since we last saw the rambling chaos that is (in my imagining at least) the inside of Scott’s head. So we shall have a little catch up with that. And a smidge of Estera’s too, just to keep it even.

Recrudescence (to which this is a sequel) and earlier chapters are here.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The interior designer had done everything possible to make it not feel like a clinical setting but you only needed to come a couple of times before the high-end-hotel-lobby look developed an association with the reasons behind the reason you were there.

Scott sat in the waiting room and tried to lose himself in the wallpaper. John had managed to spend 7 minutes tracing a continuous line through the swirls from one side of the room to the other but frankly Scott didn’t have that sort of patience.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, casting his mind back to the time they had come to see Patricia together. It had been good. Awful. Genuinely awful. He shivered. But objectively a good thing. As she often said “It usually needs to get worse before it gets better”. He couldn’t help worry that sitting there and telling his younger brother of some of the horrors had made things more ‘worse’ than they needed to be, however. And then hearing John’s calm but clearly emotional description of witnessing his elder brother relive that time while feverish and incoherent…

Scott hissed quietly to himself. It went against everything he stood for. He was supposed to have been the strong one, he was supposed to have shielded them from all of that.

Too late now. His clear cut role as the protector had shifted irrevocably. He knew John, Virgil too, would now always feel more of a drive to look after him because they’d seen him at his worst, his weakest. He hated it. He hated it so much he wanted to burn the last three months from history and restore their innocent belief in their big brother’s invincibility again.

But.

The revelation had been what he saw in John’s eyes that afternoon.

The horror, he’d expected.

The simmering anger, yes.

But it was what he didn’t see but had dreaded for a decade if the truth ever escaped in this way - the disappointment, the pity. They were missing, miraculously, gloriously absent from his brother’s reaction. What he saw instead was respect and admiration and acceptance and it had blown his mind. The idea that he could so utterly fail to be what he was supposed to be and John would still look at him that way was… well. He guessed he’d be processing that one for a while yet.

Scott hadn’t told him everything though. Not the very darkest part. He’d said only what was necessary to explain what his little brother had been forced to endure with him. He hadn’t mentioned Her: His first great failure.

Then she’d exploded back into his life and it turned out that she wasn’t.

He hadn’t.

They… hadn’t.

Ten years of nightmares as his subconscious picked through what they’d told him and treated him to the lowlights. What she’d endured because of his arrogance in thinking he could make a difference. How much more painful and humiliating her death was thanks to him. He’d seen it so vividly he’d sometimes woken believing he’d somehow been the perpetrator, having to race to the bathroom as his stomach let him know it was as disgusted with him as his mind was.

He knew now his mistake had been to show weakness. His reaction had clearly tipped them off that this… THIS was a way to torture him where more conventional methods had been less than effective. He should have spotted the story became more embellished each time. Should have realised what they were doing. They’d even brought an interpreter to his cell, just to make absolutely sure he understood every last detail. The man had looked so sick, so disgusted by the words he was forced to say. He wondered what happened to the guy… if it ever kept him up at night too.

If only Scott could let him know it wasn’t true. They hadn’t… he hadn’t.

She wasn’t.

Because it meant everything. He blinked back tears as the relief washed over him yet again. If they’d only known it was much easier to make him cry with relief than with pain.

Nothing was immediate though, not even Thunderbird One and especially not the process of persuading his unconscious mind that things had changed. Probably 75% of the times an image of her came to mind it was… not a good one. As Virgil had suggested, every time it happened he tried to imagine her face as she’d sat across the table and teased him about the action figure. The little grin and flash of mischief in her eyes. But that memory was weak and fleeting compared to how reinforced the decade old ones were.

Which was why he was here to see Patricia.

Because he wanted to see Estera again.

Yes, of course it was partly to check she was ok… he was still worried about her. She still seemed very alone, although she had at least opened up a little in her messages he was concerned that might be her only outlet beyond the weekly half hour session with the state-provided counsellor. Oh, and the dog. Seemed like she talked to the dog a lot.

But the real, selfish reason was he needed to see her with his physical eyes again. To reinforce his belief she was real, that he wasn’t imagining it. So he could more easily picture her alive and happy. Hopefully then his subconscious would catch up and maybe sleep would be less… complicated. Was it ok to want to do something just because it would make him happier? People often said it was… he’d just never been convinced.

If she hadn’t been keen, he’d forget it. He wasn’t THAT selfish. But she seemed keen last time he mentioned it. She’d even seemed pretty pleased to hear from him when he’d accidentally called her in the middle of the night, once she’d gotten over the very Virgil-esque half-awake grumpiness. Scott had nearly called again several times since but couldn’t quite think of a good enough excuse and so had ended up channelling his desperation to know she was alright into another silly joke or a jibe about the British weather or asking after the kids in her class.

He had spectacularly failed to follow Patricia’s previous advice about not letting himself feel responsible for the woman. He already felt as though the fact Estera was alive was an invisible thread holding him together, keeping him steady, keeping him here. That… might not be ideal.

It was certainly going to be a different Patricia conversation to the usual. For once, he knew exactly what he wanted. The question he needed to get straight was: was it a good idea?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The sky was a brilliant blue.

So very close to the shade she loved most of all, toned down perhaps a little by the faintest wisps of cloud lingering in the stratosphere. As she let the surgery door swing shut behind her and paused at the top of the ramp, the wind dropped to the merest breath as if the world was pausing, waiting for her next move.

“Look, see? The UK can manage sunny weather after all.”

Ah, she was doing it again. Chatting away in her head to the imaginary blue-eyed friend she’d carried with her so long he felt closer than family. Not that he ever spoke back… she wasn’t that far gone.

It was still a bit of a shock every time she realised she could actually communicate with the real life version now - she took a quick photo of the sky and a seagull swooped into shot just in time. Nice. She sent it over and watched for a few moments to see whether it would show as received. It didn’t. She pushed back the tendril of panic that edged up her spine. He was just busy. And he’d said Dawn would let her know if anything happened and she hadn’t heard anything so logically everything was fine. Everything was fine.

The gull wheeled, seemingly aimlessly, far above and she watched it for a while before shaking herself and striding purposefully towards the footpath for the main road and the bus stop. She’d booked herself a treat for after the appointment today and didn’t want to miss the bus that would get her there in good time.

That had been the 6th session of the 12 she would get, and so in theory she should be half way there to sorting herself out. It was always hard to know immediately afterwards, as she generally came out feeling as though she’d been run over by something large and extremely weighty… perhaps Virgil Tracy’s big green behemoth… but things were improving. The dreams were still an issue, but she wasn’t losing focus on the present nearly so often during daylight hours and that was definitely something to be thankful for.

The guilt, ‘survivor’s guilt’ as the counsellor called it though Estera hated the phrase because, as she’d pointed out on at least two occasions, she had done far worse than just survive, was perhaps the heaviest thing. She understood and mostly agreed on an intellectual level that it was irrational and, particularly as the supposed victim of her actions didn’t appear to blame her, it was something she should let go of. She knew it in her head. But the knowledge hadn’t made it as far as her heart and she accepted it likely never would. Perhaps she was just supposed to carry the burden… as a way of redressing the balance somehow.

She jumped backwards as a seagull dived to snatch a discarded piece of pastry from a few feet in front of her. She wondered if it was the same one she’d photographed and proceeded to distract herself from more unhelpful trains of thought by trying to work out whether it had been pasty or pie it had scored. A small piece of filling remained behind on the pavement - probably apple? Or potato. Bez would have happily eaten it either way of course.

The bus tracking display on the shelter clicked over to “due”. She straightened up and pulled out her phone in readiness to pay but it vibrated suddenly, slipping from her hands and skidding into the road. She saw the message notification pop up just as the bus swung around the corner.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

[see-arcane]

Hey all, I need help making a poor decision.

I am currently working on a Big+ writing project and, me knowing me, I will inevitably hit lulls where I lose steam/interest. I’ll usually circle back, but since I don’t want to waste those interim periods, I like to have a side story to chew on. While I have a good variety of percolating plots already, I very much still have Dracula on the brain. Counts and Harkers and what-ifs and maybes all over the place. Including one specific variation that’s been driving me crazy for weeks. You’ve probably seen others like the amazing @animate-mush floating the idea around already:

Jonathan Harker as the New Dracula.

Current general thought is having the story take place in the 90’s (with all that good clunky tech at the start of the Information Age). But for my purposes, it’s less a direct ‘1890s reflected in 1990s’ deal, and more ‘born in the 90’s/at the100 year anniversary of original death’ deal. The story would then take place in the 2010s, with everyone being 90’s babies grown into their early twenties. That aside!

It's basically taking Coppola’s reincarnation love interest plot and retooling it for a version that would actually make sense and play into the interesting untapped tragic ‘what-if?’ of a hero-slain Mina and vampiric Jonathan left all alone until Mina 2.0 (somehow) returns a century and change later. It would also be able to play into the ‘Modern Dracula adaptation’ plot line, as it would still involve Jonathan luring in and attempting to re-romance Mina 2.0 on his turf, effectively placing her in the same position Jonathan was in at Castle Dracula—albeit in a more genuinely caring, if warped/vampirically fixated way. It’s a juicy idea to play with!

But the issue is what happens after the big buildup and reveal. I can’t make myself get started without knowing how it’s meant to play out.

A)   Go full Jonathan VS Himself, coming to grips with how he’s become his own monster by trying to entrap Mina 2.0 and drag her into his unlife. He tries to destroy himself, or to convince Mina 2.0 to do it. 

She will, of course she will, he says. She was always the better of the two of them, he never deserved her perfect pure goodness, mush, mush, pedestals for her, self loathing for him et cetera. 

All of this gushing has the opposite effect. Because Mina 2.0 is still Mina at her heart, and she finds she cannot raise a hand against her undead beloved any more than the living Jonathan had been able to do so against her a hundred years ago. She finds the same heartsick selfishness in herself that exists in her husband. The shoe is finally on the other foot, and she finds she cannot let him go either…

B)   Same as the above, but with a full-scope Dracula-sized narrative including—WHAT’S THIS?—all of the main cast! All reborn into the modern day! With eerie exactness! From spirit to face to uncanny proximity and familiarity! 

This version would be a more full-sized horror novel concept, complete with everyone uncovering the mystery of exactly who Jonathan the Dracula is, and exactly what his and their deal is. Who are all these reflections in the Victorian photographs? Why are they here again? And what is Jonathan the Dracula doing behind the scenes? Dramatic reveals abound, but the conclusion/epilogue features roughly the same bittersweet scene above for Jonathan and Mina, albeit with some convenient accident leaving both of them ~mysteriously unaccounted for~. The heroes, shaken but having survived, get to live their lives. And elsewhere, a young and claret-eyed couple checks into a honeymoon suite on the other side of the world. Newlyweds with sharp smiles.

Bonus spooky points for this version because Renfield—yes, he comes back!—gets to join the team as more of an equal, albeit by equaling and outdoing Van Helsing in the eerie knowledge arena. I’ve always pictured him as somewhat psychically sensitive, leaving him open to the Dracula radar he seems to develop while the Count’s messing with him, and I imagine this would lead to him catching onto the whole ‘We’ve been here before’ vibe. This leads to him gravitating to the group, starting out by stalking Jack 2.0 first, having the closest connection with him. Renfield being the resident madman (who was kind of right) in the original timeline gets translated into him being the resident conspiracy theorist who’s been collecting historic paraphernalia that connects a few too many dots for their present-day selves. Ominous!

 C)   ANOTHER TWIST! This one being purely to add more genuine danger to the cast and to be a nice self-serving treat to myself. I admit that. Because this version features, dun dun dun, Classic Dracula skipping out of Hell and getting his own return! One that’s far more quick-to-canniness than the others, knowing who he is at once, and making plans to get back to undead conquering, take overdue revenge on the reborn heroes, and (inevitably, because come on, IT’S A DRACULA FIGHT) duke it out with Jonathan. There’s a whole heap of lore and the ‘you kill it you bought it’ trope in play for his Scholomance powers and the Weathermaker title and yadda yadda.

But the gist is that, while Jonathan has remained more of an anti-villain/anti-hero for the past century, Dracula is still a bastard whether human or not. I like the concept of him turning up as a foreshadowed surprise. One who is also a red herring for some seemingly classically evil murders that the gang mistakenly pin on Jonathan…up until the power of Dates and Times and Paperwork comes in once again, and shows that Jonathan was in the wrong place, complete with witnesses, to have done the deed.

Cue a spark of Human Jonathan flaring up in recognition, ditto Mina and Renfield 2.0’s psychic prickling, realizing there’s someone familiar spilling/stealing blood.

Extra bonus points if we don’t get to suspect Dracula’s return right away because his reincarnation wasn’t as carefully curated as the heroes’ was (hello Jonathan playing with his new Dracula sorcery privileges). He got to come back and look entirely different; say, as a cultured, suave prettyboy of the modern day.

(No relation to Gary Oldman and Luke Evans and the 1000 other Sexy Suaveman Draculas. Honest.)

It turns into an uneasy reassembly of the original Drac Attack Pack versus the Classic Count, this time needing to do exactly as Jonathan had wanted to do a century ago: Send him to Hell forever, lest he resurrect himself again. Yes, it’s pure guilty fourth wall-cracking meta junk food at that point, but, like…that’s the point. And if every single Dracula show and movie in the past three decades can do their nonsense, so could I.

The climax is a big harrowing thing, Dracula the First is undone, but we still have to circle back to Jonathan and Mina’s predicament. Jonathan did very much do some murders in his past while he was trying to claw his way back to self-control—the difference between Count Dracula’s methodic and purposeful actions and the more kneejerk impulses of the Brides and the Bloofer Lady come into play here, all of it gets examined—and despite all the good he’s tried to do in tandem with that history, he thinks himself unworthy of redemption, let alone Mina.

Mina thinks otherwise. Blah, blah, holiest love epilogue. Aww.

ANYWAY.

I am not making guarantees on this one in the same way I’m trying with Barking Harker. There are oodles of ideas on the backburner for me to circle through as insulation between B.H. stints. But with the Jonathan the Dracula thing in particular, I’m frozen by indecision—depending on the ending, the foreshadowing and overall size of the story differs hugely. So I’d like to know what you guys think:

A)   Short and bittersweet, focus solely on Jonathan and Mina in their private gothic vignette?

B)   Heftier tale showcasing all the reincarnated cast—along with the reveal of exactly how and why that happened—and turn the whole thing into a part sequel/part revamp (ha ha) into a Modern Gothic Romantic Dracula?

C)   B, but with a dash of taking the wind out of Sexified Dracula tales, having Original Dracula appear in his pretty new face and doing evil against the reborn heroes’ and Jonathan’s more nuanced side, getting destroyed once and for all (hint wink meta meta)?

I’m honestly stuck because they all feel a certain amount of right versus just fun, so it seems like they all have equal merit. Thoughts, feelings, ideas?

[strawglicks]

Misty isn't selfish for wanting friendship with toons.

Misty is selfish for her lack of consideration of toons, their feelings, their perspective. She only focuses on herself and how she has been hurt.

She feels hurt by Bessie's actions, claiming "there was no reason" for her to do such a thing. But toons and cogs are at WAR. Bessie didn't see Misty, she saw a COG approaching her and retaliated. She did not see them as an individual, she saw them as the enemy that's been terrorizing and colonizing their land. And rightfully so.

That being said, Misty did not have ill intentions approaching Bessie. Because of this, they feel hurt that she responded in such a violent way. Misty can feel hurt, but they need to understand why toons feel the way they do towards cogs. They are at WAR. And Misty just doesn't seem to realize that.

She feels entitled to play with toons and garner sympathy from them despite their ongoing battle against the cogs.

It's all about "you still tried to hurt me" and "i've done nothing wrong". Misty truly believes she is the victim and thinks she's entitled to sympathy from toons. But she's not.

Misty genuinely wants friendship with toons, which is why she feels so hurt when they reject her, even if they are right in doing so. Much of her dialogue implies she really is oblivious to the gravity of this war and why the toons, obviously, don't want to engage with her:

Misty may want to befriend toons with no bad intentions, but that doesn't erase what the cogs are doing to the toons' land. And the toons are still justified in fighting Misty. She is a cog at the end of the day.

Misty is so focused on her own, personal pain that she is completely disregarding that a WAR is going on. She disregards what the toons endure due to Cogs Inc. and thinks, just because she doesn't personally hate toons, that they owe her friendship.

I think Misty is probably the main reason for the fandom's villainization of toons and woobification of the cogs. But it's not the fault of how she's written, it's the fault of people who feel bad for a character and suddenly think all their morals have to align with that character. Now, they all have to adapt to Misty's way of thinking: that she is an innocent victim who has done nothing and doesn't deserve any of the treatment she's gotten from toons, and that toons are just evil monsters who attack her for no reason.

THIS COULD NOT BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH.

You can enjoy a character, like Misty, and feel bad for her. It's obvious there is some real suffering happening here, but it does not justify her view or lack of consideration for others. They are so focused on their own pain that they never think of others. They are so focused on being the victim that no one else can be a victim.

This line of thinking is so flawed, and when a big chunk of fandom REPEATS it, it leads to wild mischaracterization and woobification of. colonizers.

You can like characters who are bad people and disagree with their actions. Misty is not a good person. I think they are suffering, they are hurting, but that cannot be the end of the story. There are others, like the toons, who are suffering and hurting as well. And that should not be erased for the sake of your blorbo. You can still love Misty while condemning her way of thinking. I do myself.

There's the opposite end as well, where people acknowledge this character is not a good person but suddenly think they have to hate the character as a whole because they are morally bad.

Misty Monsoon is very flawed as a person and suffering from her own victim mentality, which hurts others as well. But I love this character. They're fucked up and just want a friend, but they're going to need to be more considerate and aware of their own poor actions if they want to earn that friendship and respect from others. Give and take.

[writertothemaximum]

Yuta Aoi x Reader

Summary: You and Yuta have been dating for a while and he’s anxious about meeting your parents. Maybe he needs something to help him relax.

Word count: 1.5k

Warning/Content: nsfw/smut (18+), sub!Yuta, dom!reader, Yuta is aged up, handjob, cute wholesome couple goals

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045316/chapters/63012241

It was only halfway into the afternoon when you noticed how utterly anxious Yuta was. He was pretty good at hiding it, really, considering you had spent the first half of the day with him at his photoshoot. Although, you supposed that was the effect Hinata had on him. They really found their confidence in each other, it was quite sweet.

The problem here is that you and Yuta had been dating for the past two months and it was time to break the bubble. The, “you should meet my parents” bubble, to be more specific. You were supposed to have dinner together that night and Yuta was, well, unprepared mentally, to say the least.

You sat on your couch together, Yuta glued to the armrest away from you. You could feel quiet rumbles in the seat, his body softly shivering from a sheer force of ice-cold stress as deep as the heart could get. He kept skirting his eyes between his phone and your eyes, almost as if he were trying to gauge your expression. Pupils dilating between the light from his hand and the shimmering darkness around you. Well, that’s at least how Yuta saw it.

Lips pursed, small words sputtered out of his mouth.

“Will they like me?”

Yuta was being self-conscious again. You laughed.

“I hope so.”

It didn’t seem to help.

“But what if they like, I don’t know, think I’m weird or something…Will they think it’s weird that I’m an idol? Are they okay with keeping that under wraps? What will Aniki think?” he said, words rambling endlessly, getting ever gradually faster and faster as his tongue refused to stop. He put his hands to his head, pushing his blue headphones down his neck, grasping ever desperately at his mind, as if he could convince his brain to stop thinking if he pushed hard enough. “Oh god, oh god, what if I say something callous and they get all aggravated at me? I don’t want that…”

You put a finger to his lips, pushing into sweet flesh.

“Shh, shh.”

Yuta quieted down. You scooted forward, entering his personal space, placing a hand on his arm. You rubbed up and down, comforting him. Yuta started to breathe, letting the air fill up his lungs until the blood decided it was time to go back to his head. You leaned onto him, placing your free hand on his forehead. It was singing with heat, burning up like dry grass in a wildfire.

“Yuta, you’re getting a bit hot, do you have a fever?”

The shaking paused if only for a second.

“H-Huh? Huh, well um, I don’t feel sick?”

You hummed, getting closer to him.

“Hm, are you just a little embarrassed, then?”

“Y-Yeah, a little,” he said, his voice shrinking away.

“Hm,” you started, humming. “And why would that be?”

Crystalline light shone off of his jade-like eyes as they skirted around the room, avoiding you.

“Well, I, I um…” he sighed, not normally stuttering like this. His shoulders hunched up, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for not being good enough. You’re just this great producer that everyone relies on and I still feel like some kid…I don’t want to disappoint you when your parents see me.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. It finally all came to you.

He’s anxious because of what he knows. The rejection he knows of a father who disowned him. It was a little sad, in a way. The way everyone saw reflections of themselves in everyone else. Especially Yuta, practically glued to a mirror of himself, forever linked, eternally tied by a sweet, pink string.

“And why would all that make you embarrassed?”

Yuta’s breathing shorted, his throat clenching, his face shredded thin with the feelings of a short cough.

“Well, it’s because I like you,” he muttered through his teeth.

“Oh, it’s because you like me,” you said, reiterating his words.

You let your weight loose on his arm, letting gravity crush him against the sofa cushion, pushing him close to you. Carefully, you slid your hand up his knee, tracing up the soft part of his upper leg, slowly pushing into the pillowy skin of his thigh. You felt the fabric of his shorts puff out at you, thin strands of thread, all sewn together, wrapped so delicately around these two legs.

“I like you and I don’t want you to hate me,” he said, the words sputtering out.

Cupping your hand, you lifted off the leg and wrapped it loosely around his groin. With the pad of your hand, you carefully pushed down on him, adding such gentle pressure. It was so teasing, just barely making any friction, the frustration of almost making it but missing the mark. Kneading into him, you felt his groin push back, dick hardening into your hand.

“Yuta-kun, don’t you think it’s a little indecent to be hard while you confess to your crush?”

Yuta started to wiggle around, like a fish, soaking wet, flung onto dry land.

“I-I confessed to you ages ago. You’re clearly coming onto me, just hurry up already!”

You put a finger to your lips, looking off into space as if you were simply considering the repercussions.

“Hm…Well, we’re going to meet my parents in a couple of hours, it wouldn’t be good if you smell like semen and sweat.” You bent forward and shoved your nose into his shoulder, taking in a big scent, strong, full of sweat—Absolutely Yuta in every meaningful way. “Although it certainly turns me on.”

You could feel it as Yuta’s heart sank deep into his chest. As his hands slid up your body pinning him against the seat. As everything started to slow down and he forgot how to breathe again. He was floating in a sea of ecstasy, frustration, almost there, just so close.

He wasn’t shaking anymore.

“Please…”

Yuta’s eyebrows clenched, teeth fumbling with the edge of his lips, as if considering whether or not to bite them.

“Please what, Yuta?”

His knees puckered out, his feet straining as his hands clenched down on the armrest.

“Please touch me already, I don’t care,” he said, looking down at the cushion. “Please.”

You laughed, “Alright, alright.”

You plucked out a tissue from the box on the coffee table and carefully unbuttoned him, zipping him out. His dick popped out, juicy and frustratingly hard. You slowly wrapped your hand around it, stroking very softly. You felt around, careful to attend to each point of heat, each vein piercing with pressure, leaching out at you, begging to be touched. Yuta writhed slowly in his seat, biting his lip to keep the moans from pouring out.

“Does it feel good, Yuta?”

He looked off to the side before nodding frantically.

Each quiet slosh of precome made such a lovely sound in the room. He was so lost in the pleasure, his hips rocking slowly against you, completely unaware of your rhythm, as if he were humping a seat cushion. His mind was so blank with the feeling of your hands around him, he found himself not caring anymore. Not really thinking about anything he didn’t need to.

“Do you like it when I touch you here?”

You put your free hand above his groin, spreading your fingers spread apart, thin nails brushing ever so delicately against the peach-fuzz hairs on his belly. You pushed, sinking into doughy flesh, pushing deep against his stomach.

“Do you feel the pressure in here?”

“Uh-huh,” he managed to get out.

He started to shake and you knew he was about to blow his load. Yuta, convulsing and twitching, desperately grasped his hands around you, as if guiding you through the last strokes to get him off. Yuta grunted through his damaged lip as he came into your hand and the tissue. Yuta made another small sound as he sank into the corner of the couch, completely spent.

You held the soiled tissue up to your nose and gave a whiff before deciding it was gross and tossing it into the trash.

Yuta smacked your thigh lightly with the back of his hand.

“You know you can’t fix all our problems with sex.”

You turned around and hugged him.

“Yes, but I can fix your confidence with it.”

Yuta blushed hard.

You patted his head.

“I can fix it with this, too,” you said, your fingers running through silky orange hair. “You’re a good boy, Yuta, have more faith in yourself.”

He pouted, the blush still sore against his cheeks.

“I know, but it’s hard sometimes.”

You kept patting his head.

“Good Yuta, good Yuta~”

Embarrassed, he swatted at you with his hand.

“Stop that, we have to get ready, you know.”

You laughed.

“I thought you didn’t want to go see them.”

He stood up quickly, looking down at the ground and quickly swiping his sweater off the coffee table.

“Well, now I know I don’t have to make them proud because you’re already proud of me.”

It took you a second before you realized what he said.

A big smile crossed your face.

You jumped up and gave him a big hug.

“Let’s go find the cutest outfit for you!”

“Wouldn’t something bright and flashy be better?”

“Nah, let’s go for something cute!”

He couldn’t hide the smile through his pout.

“Alright, let’s find something cute.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 13 | I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it

A/N: So this is the last chapter of the main story for Tom and Vivian.  But not the last I am sure we will see of them. Thank you for all the wonderful support for these two!   

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: With the air cleared, Tom and Vivian continues to move forward in their relationship.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

1 Year Later

“Does this get any easier?” Vivian leaned to whisper to Sophie as they made their way to their seats in the audience. 

“No. The press junket is the worst.” Sophie squeezed her arm. “But this one is much more bearable with you here.”

“That goes double for me.” Vivian smiled. 

“Tom, is he…” Sophie raised a knowing eyebrow. 

“I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it.” Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Ben, still being a brat?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yes. We can discuss that later. I need punishment ideas.” 

Vivian smirked. Sophie and Ben had been exploring their own relationship dynamics over the last several months. Both of them knew Tom and Ben were trading notes and so they did likewise. “I’ll think about and text you some thoughts. Something Tom wouldn’t have warned him about.” They both giggled. 

The past year had been hectic. The kitchen remodel took twice as long as Vivian hoped, forcing the two of them to eat out more than both wanted to. While the speculation regarding Tom and her relationship status died down significantly after Luke made a statement denying any secret marriage ceremonies, but it never really went away. She grew used to the stares and mutters and closed up her circle of friends and family in response after Ashley spilled that Tom and her met on an online dating site, effectively ending their friendship. Vivian found solace in her new friendship with Sophie, who understood better than anyone her unusual life circumstances. And life with Tom was as exciting as ever, especially with introducing new toys in the bedroom and elsewhere.

The two of them settled into their seats in the front row and waited for the show to start. Vivian beamed as both Tom and Benedict were introduced onto the stage to promote the newest Marvel film. Tom’s hair was longer, and he grew the beard back. He smiled at Vivian as he caught her eye in the audience. She recognized that smirk; he was up to something. And she was certain that something did not include the cage he was sporting under his navy double breasted suit. No one could tell unless they were looking for it. Tom had gotten good at hiding it. 

“Now, Tom,” the interviewer leaned in after he asked several questions about the film to both Tom and Benedict. “your love life has been quite the subject of the papers this past year.”

Tom’s cheeks reddened, and Vivian’s fists clenched. “So it would seem. I try to not pay too much attention, Graham.” 

“Well, I can imagine with such a stunning woman taking up all your attention.” Graham flashed the picture from the day Tom suggested she move in together. “Vivian, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yup.”

“Is it true the two of you met on a dating site?”

Tom blushed at the question. An old one at this point. They both rehearsed an answer for such an occasion. 

“I don’t comment on the specifics of my relationship, Graham.”

“But I do!” Ben interjected. Tom frowned at him. Vivian’s eyes cut to Sophie, whose face was frozen in panic. “And I can say their relationship…” Ben glanced over at the two of you and winked. “… is built on mutual respect and trust.”

Tom sighed in relief and leaned back on the couch.

“Hardly newsworthy, Ben.” Graham groused. 

Tom perked up and leaned in towards the host. “Well she is here in the audience, should we ask her for any juicy details?” 

Graham pumped up the audience, who cheered as Vivian sunk deeper into her chair. Sophie scowled next to her. 

“Darling, can I tell them anything about us?” Tom smiled as he looked over at her.

“No.” she called out. 

Tom’s eyes sparkled again. “Not even our big announcement?” 

Vivian’s brow furrowed in confusion as the audience oohed and cheered. She had no idea what announcement Tom was talking about. Certainly nothing had been cleared with Luke. Or her.

“I think she might need a little convincing, Graham. May I?” Tom gestured towards Vivian. 

Graham nodded. “Why not? It’s not like you are here to talk about a movie or anything.”

Tom chuckled as he stood and moved towards Vivian. He kneeled in front of you. It was only then she noticed his hands shaking. He fiddled with his signet ring. 

“Tom…” she started.

“Darling, this past year has been an adventure. A journey I have gladly taken with you. You have enriched my life in a way I could never imagine. I know that you are it. You are the one. You are mine and I am yours.”

Vivian’s brain swirled, only snapping back to reality when Tom fished a small box out of his jacket pocket and Sophie grabbed her arm. Tom popped open the box to reveal a brilliant cushion cut diamond set in platinum. 

“Will you marry me?” Tom’s voice cracked. 

Vivian sat there silently as a hundred eyes stared at her. But the only ones that mattered were right in front of her. Impossibly blue. And brimming with tears. Pleading, begging and full of love.

“Yes.” Vivian’s voice warbled. She cleared her throat, her own eyes now watering. “Yes, yes!” She repeated.

Tom’s face broke out into the widest, most perfect boyish smile ever as he slipped the ring on Vivian’s finger. She grabbed his face and kissed him, pulling him onto her lap. The audience erupted into wild applause.

“You saw it here first, Tom Hiddleston is now engaged.” Graham announced 

“You are going to pay for this later.” Vivian muttered against Tom’s lips. No one else could hear her.

“I was planning on it.” Tom smirked, kissing her again.

“I was talking about Luke.”

Tom chuckled, kissing her cheek. “I already ran it past him, darling. I have to get back up there.”

“We are talking after.” She pushed him away playfully.

Tom winked at her and headed back onto the stage. Vivian showed off the ring to Sophie. She smiled.

“I know. He asked my opinion about it a month ago.” she confessed. “But he picked it out all by himself.”

Vivian admired the ring. “Am I the last to know about this ring?” 

Sophie giggled. “No, it is probably your mother.” 

“You’re right. She is going to flip.” 

They didn’t get to say much else as the show was coming back from commercial break. 

The rest of the interview went better than perfect. Tom beamed on stage, constantly catching Vivian’s eye. More than once, Ben had to nudge Tom’s knee to bring him back to the interview. Vivian giggled from her seat. Sophie and she slipped backstage to meet Tom and Ben back in the green room. Ben came in first, catching Vivian in a hug.

“Congratulations! Despite my first misgivings, I can’t think of a more perfect match for this ridiculous man.” Ben commented as he kissed Vivian’s cheek.

“Um… thanks… Ben.” She responded. 

“How come I never get a greeting like that?” Sophie groused, smiling the whole time. 

“Sorry, darling.” Ben rushed to dip Sophie and kiss her. 

“And who is the one that gagged when I did the same thing?” Tom commented, sidling next to Vivian, his arm wrapping around her waist. Her hand instantly fell to the small of his back.

“That was before I knew the truth.” Ben commented, righting Sophie, guiding her to the small sofa in the room. 

“You mean I could have had this romantic guy the whole time?” Sophie playfully swatted Ben’s thigh, which he dodged. “You are paying for that.”

“Add it to my list of transgressions.” Ben leaned to kiss Sophie again. 

“Which reminds me,” Vivian piped up. “I will send you ideas first thing in the morning.”

Ben and Tom groaned. Tom called over to his friend. “Stock up on ice and a soothing cream.” He turned to Vivian and kissed her lips softly. “Do you like the ring?”

“I love it. You did so good.” She ruffled his hair. Tom’s cheeks turned a dark pink. 

“Thank you, darling.” He squirmed in place. 

“Would you like a reward tonight?” Vivian’s hand slid down to cup Tom’s ass. 

Tom moved close to whisper in her ear. “What did you have in mind, darling?” 

She whispered right back, sending shocks through Tom’s body. “How about you get to pick which toy I use to peg you with tonight?”

Tom’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Vivian, the blush deepening to cover his entire face and neck. 

“I… I…” he muttered, his cock straining in his cage. 

“I mean it is not every day you get engaged, and you have been the best boy, sunshine.” Vivian cupped his face and kissed his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Vivian.” Tom wrapped his arms around her. 

[mrstaeminlee]

Mission Complete Ch. 5

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, eventual smut, lmk if I need to add anything~

You wouldn't consider yourself a believer in God; you always attributed your good luck to just that with a touch of hard work and a stubborn as hell mindset; yet somehow you found yourself thanking whatever higher power existed as you sat down. By some fucking miracle you had convinced Levi to join you at the bar where you were currently nursing your fourth glass of wine. You weren't completely trashed, but you had definitely forgotten the effect that wine had on you and you were feeling bold as fuck.

"So Cap, what's the plan from here?"

Levi rolled his eyes, taking a long swig from his own glass. He'd opted for whiskey, because 'that shit you're drinking tastes like rotten ass'. "I've told you at least three times since we got here you idiot, once your alcoholic ass drags itself to bed we'll wake up at first light and begin the walk back to camp and hope your horse is smarter than you and ran back to camp. If not, we're fucked."

You pouted. "The fuck I am."

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

You sighed. At this point, you were tired, you were wet -still not in an enjoyable fashion although you had mostly dried off by now-, you were tired, and you were also considerably tipsy next to your captain who also happened to be the subject of each and every one of your graphic sexual fantasies over the past year. In other words, you didn't give one single fuck. "Cap, can I completely honest with you?"

"Aren't you already?"

"Not exactly. Your second in command is in desperate need of a good fucking, and soon."

Levi chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He looked delectable dressed in his casual clothes, he was wearing black pants that fit nice and snug against those juicy ass thighs, and you were certain that the top two buttons of his white shirt had been buttoned when you walked into the bar. "Is that so? What are you, fifteen?"

"I'll have you know that I'm a spritely young twenty eight year old, thank you very much."

The captain scoffed, finishing off his glass and waving to the barmaid for refills for the both of you. "That's even more pitiful. You should consider having some actual priorities instead of spending your time fantasizing about such a filthy activity."

You had just finished taking a long swig from your glass when all of a sudden that vital, precious information Christa had let slip decided to waltz its way back into your brain, and before you could stop it a big, stupid smile spread across your face. Taking another drink as to not alarm the captain, you decided now was as good a time as any to have a little bit of fun. "Aw come on. Even a clean freak like you has to appreciate a good lay every now and then. Sure, things can get a little hot and dirty, but don't you think it's worth it?" Your voice dripped down to almost a purr at the end, and you felt a delicious shiver run up your arms at the way Levi began to look mildly uncomfortable.

His silence only fueled your drunken bravery and you dared to scoot a little bit closer, resting your arm along the table and even being so bold as to make sure your breasts were nice and pushed up against the table. "Don't get shy now, cap, you don't have to keep secrets from me," you cooed, mirth making your body feel weightless as he desperately downed the rest of his drink while waving for yet another refill. How many had he had now, six? Seven? Surely he would be feeling something by now. "You're downing that whiskey like water, you sure the bar has enough stocked to keep you satisfied?"

Levi shrugged, raising his eyebrows in thanks as more drinks were placed in front of you two. "I've told you a million times, you know I hate that name. And it takes a lot more than a few glasses of whiskey to get me drunk. You, on the other hand, look like you've about had enough," he tried to make his voice seem stern, but it was pretty fucking hard looking at that flushed face and those tits just begging to burst out of that shirt. It didn't help that he'd plowed through eight glasses of whiskey trying to distract himself, and they had chosen this precise moment to hit him with their full effects.

"Then what should I call you then? Captain just sounds boooooooring."

You grinned then, downing the last of your wine. "Am I cool enough to call you by just your name? Levi?" You tested his name on your tongue, expecting it to taste different by speaking it in front of him. You licked your lips as if to savor the taste. "Leeeeeviiiii," you repeated slowly, giggling and bringing a hand up to cover your mouth.

Levi visibly straightened the moment you said his name, cursing himself for finishing his drink as he now had nothing to cover the pathetic cough that left his throat. He tried to ignore the flush that warmed its way up his neck, the way your name sounded from your lips curling in his ears and giving him goosebumps. He cleared his throat once more, trying to regain his sense of dignity before he did something that he knew he wouldn't regret, but also probably would.

"Come on, you go cool off outside while I pay the tab, it's getting late and we need to sleep this off before we head back."

You clumsily threw your bag over your shoulder, humming a made up tune as you made your way outside. The air was cold but the alcohol dulled your discomfort. You took a look around the block, it was dark and empty, with almost everyone in bed by now. You had no idea what time it was but based on the fact that the sky was almost pitch black you surmised you two had spent quite a bit of time drinking. You were jolted out of your daydreaming by Levi suddenly appearing beside you, rolling his eyes.

"Tch. You dumbass. Your nose is bright pink, why didn't you bring a jacket? You're going to die if you don't start taking better care of yourself," he chided, sliding off his own black jacket and all but throwing it at you.

You greedily slipped your arms into it, your thirst returning with a vengeance as you reveled in the fact that you were wearing Levi's jacket. His scent filled your nostrils, the warmth from his body that clung to the jacket blanketing your skin and in that moment you really did feel like a fifteen year old girl because you swore your heart had been beating at a normal pace just a second ago. "Well I never took you to be such a gentleman Mr. Ackerman," you quipped, mimicking the way you heard the rich people within the walls talk. Thankful for being able to blame your pink cheeks on the cold, you let the wine control your actions as you linked your arms with his, giggling again at his surprised grunt.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Why, I'm allowing you to escort me to my sleeping quarters of course!" You announced, taking note that he had made no attempt to unlink your arms. You walked in a comfortable silence the short walk to the hotel, giving a hearty salute to the young man at the desk. You begrudgingly pulled away when he stopped in front of your room, pausing for a moment before reaching to slip his jacket off your shoulders.

"Don't."

You halted for a moment, meeting his eyes. "Don't what?"

You were beginning to feel surprisingly sober now.

Levi awkwardly cleared his throat again, and you didn't even have the heart to tease him about it. "Th-The jacket," your eyes widened at his voice. Did the great Captain Levi just stutter? "Just keep it for now. You can wear it on the way back and give it to me when we return to headquarters," he felt another wave of heat creep up his neck and he clenched his jaw. "B-Besides, it's filthy now, don't give it back until you've cleaned it properly." Jesus Christ since when did he fucking stutter all the time?

You stayed quiet, your hands lowering themselves to rest at your sides.

You were drunk.

You felt completely sober.

You took in his eyes, his face, his body.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you reached forward, grabbing his hand in yours, and you both sucked in a breath at the feeling of your skin finally touching.

You kept your eyes trained on his, wondering where you had found the courage to muster up the words about to leave your mouth.

"Come inside, Levi."

tags: @levisbebe, @dannylothbrok, @sueshiishell, @anackermangirl, @ackermanluvr

[sarasa-cat]

Regarding work, education, and lifelong learning (for profession or hobbies), I know there are lots of people out there who feel deep in their bones this need to connect in person, in real-time, face-to-face on a regular basis.

As for me -- someone who initially tried out a couple of years remote work when the internet was still sort of young, before the days of reliable video-chat of any kind -- I am noticing in new ways how I SO MUCH DEEPLY PREFER most of my professional interactions to occur online and mostly asynchronously.

This week I am watching a number of hours of video after it has been recorded -- meaning I am electing not to log in for the live-chat but instead wait for the upload. The fact that I can repeatedly pause the video and just WRITE DOWN MY THOUGHTS (and apply those thoughts to my projects at hands) and make all the notes I need to make, rewinding if I missed something, changing the playback speed during the less interesting parts of the conversation lulls (that would have been edited out if time/budget allowed for it).

That ability to not feel rushed and to just THINK (ffs).

Ah. And then step out onto the porch, drink in some sun, stretch my back and shoulders, and then come back in to the computer, pick up my pen, and hit play.

Like, again, I know that (brief glances folder with professional C.V. from days gone by) that different people have different preferences for taking in information and interacting with information and integrating that information into their brains/projects/lives. Setting aside various rules of thumb (from psychological studies) that work best for most people on average regarding information understanding, learning, application, creativity, etc etc., (because what the fuck is average? context matters. expertise matters. purpose matters. neurological differences matter. etc.), HOLY SHIT let me just say that at this stage in my life (and possibly all of my life but I lacked the opportunity until recently), I realllllllly realllllllllllly realllllllllllllly prefer to have videos I can refer to with the option to pause, rewind, speed up, slow down while my notebook is at hand and NO ONE ELSE IS IN THE ROOM so I can just think thoughts.

I mean, I used to do this with books and (academic) journal articles. Or with whatever artifact or corpus I was working with (images, computer code, text being written, qualitative or quantitative data being analyzed).

One on one meetings or very small group meetings with focused agendas (e.g., working out the architecture for some software/hardware thinger, stitch together the pieces we have so far to finish writing this journal article, do big sweeping blue sky design brainstorming, cross check our current data analysis) were always far more helpful in a synchronous manner, either face-to-face or using whatever technology we had at the time (now it would be teams or zoom or discord or something to that effect but in prior years? well, we made things work across wildly different timezones: synchronous editing tools online while simultaneously being on the phone with each other).

Anyhow. Just thinking a lot this week about how I prefer to think.

I need to think DEEPLY and SLOWLY while processing the information I am receiving bit by bit.

My mind is full of graph structures that greedily want to grab on to each new info bit and connect it up with other stuff already tucked away in my brain.

That requires me to do things at my own speed.

In my own space.

And this is good.

.

Also, taking a brief break to watch this wet idiot for a minute does a lot to help info settle into my brain so I can move on to the next juicy nugget of info that requires my brain to wire it into something much larger -- something to be written about or put into practice or whatevz.

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

- 

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence. 

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

-

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

- 

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos. 

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.” 

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him. 

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table.  He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop. 

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock. 

-

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

-

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really. 

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in. 

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit. 

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill. 

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom. 

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s 

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT”  /end ID]

-

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin. 

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left. 

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

-

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

-

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how 

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left. 

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand. 

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

- 

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]