#my brains cells are dying trying to do work

[trashyboi10]

[ravensmadreads]

Um

....

What

the

F U C K

I read this AT WORK (of course i did did you think i was going to wait?? Pls. Self restraint who she? And theres still about EIGHT HOURS left on my shift HOW am i supposed to be CALM ABOUT THIS

I can't believe you made me read soft AND rough Max in one fic and I lived. Esp when he started talking when he was all pissed off.. like i can't.. i CAN'T! im gonna need like 6 business days to even process that let alone recover because FUCK ?! I can't believe you wrote this period. I can't believe you. You broke me.

Brb gonna go fan myself like a victorian lady because this is awakening thingggggsssss

blood makes noise

rating: E for explicit! 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 2386

summary: you are being very nice to your vampire boyfriend on your day off, so you are rightfully annoyed when ted interrupts your time together.

warnings: cockwarming, light dom/sub, blow jobs, semi-public sex, mentions of blood, no use of y/n, no beta we die like the marketing department

a/n: this is entirely @ravensmadreads 's fault. She did this. Title comes from the Suzanne Vega's song of the same name.

🤍AO3 Link

🤍Masterlist

“Baby girl, wake up.” 

A soft thumb strokes the arch of your cheek and your eyes flutter open, your head turning on his thigh. Your hips are just beginning to ache from the position and you adjust on your knees. 

“Gently, baby, gently, that’s right.”  

You sigh, your jaw going loose again, the smell of his heat, his cologne almost lulling you back to sleep. Max grins down at you from above on his leather chair, your head in his lap. “You were drooling.” 

You make a sound of protest, lifting your head up from the wet spot on his dress pants, but he chuckles and wipes the bottom of your lip with his thumb.

“That’s alright. I like it when you drool around my cock.” More awake now, you suck once and he swallows, that smirk faltering for a moment. “But I slipped out a bit. Open up now, baby.”

You nod, jaw easing open, tension releasing from the back of your throat, and his hips thrust forward just an inch more. Max groans, eyes fluttering. Your hand on his other knee tightens. “Mhmm, that’s good. You’re so good. Just a bit longer. It’s almost noon and we’ll go home after that, alright?”

You nod slowly staring up at him from under your eyelashes, with your jaw as slack as it can go with the weight of his cock pulling your mouth open. The edges of your mouth had cracked, lips dry from the open air. With concern, Max gently turns your head up to see the small cuts better, careful to not move your jaw too much. 

“We’ll get that fixed too,” he tsks. “I can’t believe you agreed to do this on your morning off.” 

You hum with contentment – you had actually been the one to suggest this weeks ago – and press your tongue up against the length of his cock. Max huffs and the hand on your jaw moves to the back of your head. He had specifically requested you pull back your hair for this and he threads his fingers in the space between your hair tie and the back of your head. 

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.” Gently, his fingers push you forward, his other hand on your shoulder. You hollow your cheeks out, ready to take even more of him. Max is nothing if not a workaholic and you lived for the moments when you got his undivided attention, when he was willing to blow off hours at a time just to eat you out. And he praised you the whole time he did it. “You’re such a good cockwarmer, baby, best I’ve ever had. I –,”

There comes a sharp rap on the other side of the desk, against Max’s office’s doorframe, and you freeze. Max’s fingers tighten on your shoulder, nails scraping your scalp.

“Howdy there, bud, you got a second to chat?” 

It’s Ted, but it’s Max’s fault for leaving the goddamn door open for anyone to waltz in. And anyone did. You huff in annoyance up at Max who briefly glances down at you before sitting back in his seat. Had it been another employee (Evan), Max wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him to fuck off. But, unfortunately, there is a hierarchy. 

Max’s shoulder jerks as he adjusts his tie, trying to wipe that blissed out look on his face. He sits up in his seat, pulling out of your mouth just slightly. But no, this is his fault. You dip your head to fill up your mouth, easing farther between his legs, even closer than where you were before. This close you can smell the musk of his groin, your throat tickling, and you muffle a moan by breathing slowly out of your nose. Max’s cock twitches. 

“Ahh– sure, Ted, sure. But uh, lunch time is, ah, coming soon, so–,”

You flatten your tongue and lick as much of his velvet skin as you can reach without moving your head. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it! Just as long as you don’t turn me into lunch!” Ted laughs at his own terrible joke. Max literally says: “Ha, ha.” 

“But, uh, before we get into it, would you mind closing the door?”

“Sure thing, buckaroo.” 

You hear Ted’s big feet clomp back over and immediately Max’s hand latches onto the peak of your ponytail, pulling you back off him. He stares down at you with almost frantic eyes.

Stop it, he mouths at you. Wait. 

But he’s grabbed your hair tie and you drop open your mouth, eyes never leaving his, letting your tongue flop out past your bottom lip. You tilt your head down, down towards his cock weeping precum, and pry open your mouth as wide as it will go. Max’s eyes go dark. His grip loosens. That’s all the confirmation you need. 

You know he’s already sensitive after having his cock in your mouth all morning, so you only lick it gently, smearing his precum over your tongue. Max shudders, his hand easing up to the crown of your head. Just waiting, sitting. Ready to pull at a moment’s notice.

“Everything okey dokey there?” 

On the other side of the desk, you hear the chair squeak and Ted’s ratty loafers come into view under the gap. Your superior’s feet are inches from your own. You adjust as quietly as you can, sitting your knees more firmly under you and you rub your hands on the inside of Max’s knees. 

“Yep. Okey dokey,” Max grits out. “Hunger pains.”

“Well, I’ll make this quick . . .” Which is physically impossible for Ted. He’s the kind of guy who wraps up a fifteen minute rant with “so, long story, short.” 

For once, you weren’t bothered by this. 

As Ted bathers on, you inch Max’s cock deeper into your mouth, your precum-soaked tongue flexing against the bottom like a heartbeat. Over the hours, his cock had gone half-soft between your cheeks, but now it flushes hard. You feel it swell and lengthen the further you take him. You reach his pelvis again, and opening your lips, you inhale. His short hairs fluttered. And then you breathe out, hot and humid. Above you, Max hides a moan by acting like he’s cracking his jaw. He tugs on your hair, not a warning, but an encouragement. Keep going. 

Max got off on this as much as you did.

The freak he is, with this suggestion, you knew you’d tease the exhibitionist in him who got painfully hard at the idea of voyeurism. Semi-public sex was like catnip to him. And watching him squirm made you drip.

You draw your hands from his knees, towards his inner thighs, as you drag your tongue against him as you tease him on the way out. All the way out. You come off with a quiet pop, that Max covers with a cough. You go back down, giving his tip the attention it deserves with a wet, slick swirl – Max’s nostrils flare, you were right he is extra sensitive – and you mold your mouth around him again, hollowing out your cheeks as you began to dip up and down, up and down. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

If vampires could sweat, Max would be drenched. His thighs tense beneath your hands as you blow him, that familiar spark settling at the crux of your legs. His lips are pulled between his mouth, frowning behind his fist, nodding, as though considering whatever Ted was rambling on about. You take him to the back of your throat and swallow. 

His whole body tenses, a mix between a groan and a gasp flying out of his throat, hips jutting forward and he hits the back of your throat again unintentionally. Your eyes water but god you want to moan, so you dig your nails into his thighs to let him know. 

“You alright there, chief?” Ted asks behind you. 

“Mhmm hmm.” You’re surprised Ted doesn’t say anything about his white-knuckled fist over his mouth. The hand on the top of your head pulls your hair and your scalp tingles pleasantly. 

You rub your thighs together. Now you were teasing yourself. He throbs in your mouth and you eagerly lap up the precum dribbling onto your tongue. You grind the heel of your hand against your clit, desperate to lower the heat humming between your legs. You need him to know that it’s time to wrap things up. 

His cock red and straining in front of you, you lick your palm and, with a smear of precum threading through your fingertips, you press your thumb up against the vein on the underside of his cock. You suck his tip. 

His fist slams down on the table, cutting Ted off mid-ramble. 

“Ted,” Max rasps out. He clears his throat. “Ted, I love this idea. Definitely a direction to take next quarter. But I’m on a s-schedule here and I’ve got meetings a-after lunch, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

“Sure, sure, Max! Glad to hear we’re in agreement! We’ll talk later.” 

“Sounds great.” He sounds wrecked. Ted’s feet disappear from the gap under the desk and he lumbers off. You pout up at Max, cheek on his thigh and you jerk him faster. Max’s jaw is cracking. He’s shallowly trusting against your hand, his fingers a knotted fist in your hair, and he hasn’t looked down at you in five minutes.

“Just s-shut the door on your way out,” Max groans – he can’t help it. 

The second the door sniks shut, Max’s seat jerks back, his wet cock slipping from your grasp, and his hand pinches your cheeks. 

“Open your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his irises pitch black. You open as wide as you can go, tongue cupping forward to receive whatever he’s going to give you. With his other hand, he slaps the tip of his cock against your tongue. “Lick it.” 

You do and his entire body quakes, a low grunt punching through his chest. You don’t dare move as his hand furiously strokes himself. The ache in your clit is almost painful and you whine, loudly. 

“Cocksleeve wants to tease me, huh? Wants to make me lose it in front of my boss?” His hips buck wildly, his tip driving up and down your tongue. Your heartbeat is uncontrollable. You actually drool watching him fuck his fist and you spread your legs, just a bit, but enough. You know he can smell you. His face is flushed, only slightly less red than his cock. He growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “Cocksleeve gets off on this, doesn’t she? The second we get home, I’m gonna fuck your brains out. You’re gonna lose your fucking mind.” 

You whine, from the ache and anticipation.

“I’m gonna come in your mouth now. I want you to swallow all of it. Take all of it.” 

You’re halfway nodding when his hips thrust his cock into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat. You swear he bumps the back and comes directly down your throat and you gag, but you take it. Tears streaming out of the corner of your eyes, your torso between his thighs, you swallow and swallow and watch as Max goes boneless, squeezing the last of his spend, before slumping back in his chair and out of your mouth. 

There’s a gummy string of spit and cum from your lips as he pulls away. He’s gasping out of reflex, not a real need to breathe. 

“J-Jesus Christ.” He closes his eyes,the sight of your mouth so thoroughly fucked making him twitch painfully, and moves his chair back to give yoau room to climb out. You wipe your mouth on his thigh and go to move but you realize your feet have gone numb. 

It’s a sight, to watch him lose himself entirely, so that he reverts to his unconscious human impulses. To watch him devolve to his most basic primal state. 

“Ma-a-ax–,” the back of your throat is gooey and you struggle with his name. He rubs his chest with his knuckles before leaning forward and helping you up. Your knees almost immediately give out and you stumble into his lap. He chuckles as he pulls you in tighter, still breathless, and buries his face in the curve of your shoulder. 

“Fuck, I thought I was gonna come right in front of him.” His breath is warm, humid. It makes your already sensitive skin tingle. You know your orgasm wasn’t going to be easily earned – you were teasing after all – but you knew it was going to be good. You card through his hair, the ends near his scalp damp. 

“I kind of wanted you to,” you hum softly. “Would make your upcoming performance review very interesting.”

Something red catches your eye over his shoulder. “Max, your hand–,”

Chuckling, he lets you bring his hand up to your chest for a better look. The meat of his hand just behind his thumb has two small puncture marks, the blood drying. You brush the wound with your thumb as the skin closes before your eyes. His other hand cups the back of your neck in a way that makes your hair stand on end. He snickers as his lips tickle your ear.

“You made me bite myself, baby. Fuckin’ fangs came out when you did that thing with your tongue. Couldn’t help myself.” A shiver slides down from the top of your spine to the heat between your legs. 

With precision, you kiss his hand, the blood smears the last trace of any wound. 

He leans back and takes your chin between his thumb and the curve of his finger. His eyes are warm, pleased, but already they edge towards that hungry blackness. Vampire stamina really was a wonderful thing.

“No more talking about Ted. Only have half an hour left in my lunch break . . .” He tugs you into his mouth and you inhale, his scent a balm and a crank that ratchets your desire up higher. His thumb pets your jaw as he breaks the kiss. “Besides, I think I made a promise or two there. Something about fucking your brains out.”

His hands are already going up your skirt. 

“Sounds like you’re on the clock then, sir.”

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Non-consensual, Intox (aphrodisiac), Mind breaking.

Two years. Two fucking years of work down the drain. The worst two years of her life, working towards a goal she knows she’ll never see, and all because someone up the chain of command got bribed or threatened or who knows what else. What matters is someone fucking sold her out and now she’s bound up, staring at the gang of absolute sadistic freaks she has pushed herself so hard to infiltrate. 

Shit, the things she has done to be accepted as one of them! Well, “one of them” is stretching it. More like a trusted groupie, she figures. The amount of “slutty, fiery latina” acting she has been forced to do almost makes her throw up. It’s a stereotype and a racist one at that but damn it if these dumb motherfuckers raised by porn didn’t appreciate it, in a sick way. And all of it for a goddamn rumor.

They have this new shit, this kinda spray thing, makes any girl wanna fuck you like crazy… True Love, they call it.

Yeah, right. But still, the chance that such a drug could exist and flow through the streets, paired with some rather bizarre incidents of victims fighting to remain by their captor’s side… it was enough to try and get someone on the inside. And she’s ambitious, young, and most importantly, with the proper… attributes to play the gang-doll. Even now she almost wants to chuckle at the memory of the chief trying to explain that part, fighting so hard not to mention her ass. She’s not dumb. Wasn’t then, isn’t now. Without what she, modesty aside, considers the most spectacular ass in the city, the gang would have never even taken a second look at her. And she wouldn’t be here, now, tied up. 

Fuck. She realizes her mind is rambling, going on tangents, trying to escape the simple reality of the situation. She can’t move, and seven men are looking at her like she’s dessert, discussing exactly what to do to her. 

“Maybe we should use it, you know” one says.

She thinks she’s “it”, for a moment. She realizes she’s wrong as Karl, who has more muscles than brain cells and yet for some reason always calls the shots, removes one of the floorboards. Fuck! She has been in this warehouse dozens of times, looked everyone for evidence of the supposed magic drug, and has always come up snake-eyes. And it’s right fucking there, under the goddamn floor. What the fuck is it, the 1950’s? She’s tried every phone, installed keyloggers on laptops, learned every password- in her head, there had to be some clever operation at work, some devious method to keep such a huge deal secret. Nope. It’s under the fucking floor. She wants to tell them to untie her, just so she can kick her own ass. 

They laugh as they get naked, and a wave of shame crashes over her. She realizes she has seen all of these bodies before, and it makes her sick to her stomach. Sure, men get talkative when bragging and trying to get someone into bed. And men lower their guards after they bust a load- that is, if they don’t just roll over and fall asleep instantly. She has used that, over and over, to get information, to get chances to snoop.

Did she have to, though? That question has haunted her, and now it seems to grow solid, like a rock in her chest. Did she truly have to play up all those stereotypes to become some fucked up fantasy of whatever a hot latina is supposed to be? Did she have to buy all those booty shorts, those cheap jewels, those slutty heels? 

And didn’t a part of her enjoy the attention?

Fuck. Chances are she’ll die here, and she doesn’t want to die a delusional bitch. Yes, fine, being the center of attention felt nice. But the sex? No. That was awful. Pretending to be attracted to these meatheads, doing anything they wanted just so her reputation as a grade-A piece of ass would spread, faking orgasms…

Bull and shit. You’re dying here, Mariana. Stop lying to yourself. You didn’t fake all of them.

She’s yanked away from her little spiral of shame by the loud hiss of spray being applied. They’re passing a little can around, coating their cocks with… 

No. It can’t be real. It just can’t. There is no magic spray. It can’t possibly work. Sure, these idiots might think it does, but in reality, no, True Love isn’t a thing.

The images flow into one another like photographs. She knows, rationally, what is happening. A knife is cutting her bindings as two sets of hands are holding her arms. Her shorts are being sliced, ripped off her. Her legs are being held wide open for Meathead Karl. She files these things in her mind, and feels nothing. She’s there, but she’s not really there. Ah, yes. Dissociation as a defense mechanism for trauma. Mariana has read about it, and now feels mildly fascinated by the experience. 

The pain drags her back to reality. Her instincts kick in, and she braces for the suffering that is to come after that initial opening salvo. She grits her teeth, and…

The pain doesn’t come. She hears laughter as her eyes grow wide, a horrible realization dawning on her. The feeling between her legs is a warm thing, a pleasant thing, slithering up her body, unlike anything she has ever felt before. 

“Starting to hit you, Officer? Oh, this is just beginning”, someone says, his voice coming to her as if from a million miles away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s real. Fucking True Love is real. Her mind reels, the interviews with previous victims rushing in her memories. The way they spoke about their abusers as if they were Gods. The way they defended them. The way they longed for them, like junkies going into withdrawal. She can’t become like them. She can’t lose herself like that. She can’t…

She can’t focus. Her mind is getting fuzzy as the delicious sensation reaches her nipples. Every inch of her skin feels sensitive, overwhelming. A pussy. My whole body is one giant pussy. She has no idea where the thought comes from, but it grows inside her as she squirms and little moans escape her lips. No. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t moan. Don’t move.

“Oh, now you’re getting it. Don’t worry. It will get much, much worse”

Whose voice speaks? She can’t tell. She finds it harder and harder to care. Suddenly, her body betrays her as her hips start moving on their own, seeking pleasure, trying to coax the cock inside her deeper…

She feels on fire. She hates herself, hates how good every thrust feels, how much she needs more and more and more. Thoughts flood her, like a strange invasion taking over her mind. Cock. Cock feels good. Cock feels so fucking good. This is good. This is perfect. This is exactly what I should do. This is all I want. This is all I have ever wanted. Her mission starts to fade away. She can barely recall why she ended up being fucked like a good girl by this marvelous cock, and it feels so unimportant, so insignificant. Only the pleasure matters. She needs more. Her eyes cast around her. Cocks. Big, hard cocks, stiff for her. She starts drooling. The men laugh. She doesn’t care. There are hard cocks near her. Why aren’t they using her?

No. Snap back, Mariana. This isn’t you.

Why not?

Isn’t this better than whatever she was before?

One of the men lowered his body, his cock inches away from her face. She needs to taste it. She needs to wrap her tongue around it. She needs to worship it, body and soul.

“Oh, poor slut wants it?”

She’s not sure she understands the words. But she does understand, with a frenzied animal cunning, the desire behind them. They want her to beg. Some distant remain of sanity is pleading with her not to give in, not to surrender her voice, to keep some small part of her true self. It screams in vain.

“Please… give… cock…” she manages to mumble between moans.

“No. Not yet. You see, officer, your mind might be going, but your body is learning very fast. It’s so open now… And we intend to keep you around for a long time. No quick sell for you. So we need to… train you a bit”

Mariana knows the man is talking. The words don’t reach her until he starts playing with her nipples, and a single word takes over her entire existence.

“Cum”

She shakes. She screams. Her entire body is reduced to a single, shining sensation of absolute pleasure. She can feel something inside her breaking, giving in. She pants and a part of her expects the sensations to subside, but they don’t. If anything, the constant pleasure grows, leaving her right at the gates of another orgasm. She tries to grind, to move, to use the cock inside her to cum again…

“Not without permission, toy”, someone says. She almost manages to squeak out a complaint, but the stimulus is too strong. All she can do is squeal and moan.

The world swirls around her, colors heightened, bleeding into each other. She never wants to go back to the gray, solid, difficult past. She wants to stay here, be this- be pleasure.

“Cum”

Yes. She cums, and nothing else matters. This is all she needs. All she exists for. Her eyes are unfocused, her mouth hanging open. She feels the cock touch her lips before she even consciously sees it. The imperative is immediate. Suck. Lick. Take it deep in your throat. Use your tongue, pressure with your lips, the vibrations of your moaning. Use everything you are to please cock. 

“Cum”

Every time it gets stronger, going beyond whatever she ever thought possible. No mind can hope to withstand such a tidal wave of pleasure. As soon as she realizes they’re starting to move her, she hops up. The men don’t have to tell her what they want from her. She wants the same thing. She’s just holes. Holes need to be filled with cock. She impales herself on Karl’s dick and leans forward, letting him suck on her sensitive nipples, leaving her asshole ready, eager. She’s presenting herself like an animal in heat, and she’s loving every second of it. She’ll do anything to keep feeling like this, forever.

“Ass…” she manages to say.

“Not good enough, cunt. Come on, you can use your words better than that”

Words. Words for cock. Words to make cock happy. They own her words. They own her mind. They own her body.

“Please… use my ass… fuck my tight little hole… ram it hard! Wreck it! I need it so bad, need it so bad, need you to take me, take my ass, make me cum, never let me go, please please please…”

Even the pain feels good. Everything feels good. Humiliation feels good. Their mockery feels good. Their spit on her skin feels good. Obeying feels good.

One cock in her ass, using it with no care for her or any pain it might cause. One in her wet cunt, driving her mad. One in her mouth, using her like a breathing fleshlight. One in each hand, the promise of cum to come. This is it. This is bliss. This is heaven. This is all any woman could ever desire. This is home. 

“Such a good fucktoy…”, one mutters, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The word infects her. Fucktoy. It starts overwriting everything inside her. Fucktoy. Her police training crumbles in her memory. Fucktoy. Her memories of her family fade away, forever. Fucktoy. Her hatred for cruel men vanishes. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. It is all she is. All she has ever been. All she ever wanted to be. She’s mumbling it in between taking cock in her mouth. It rises like a gigantic obelisk in her mind, ruling over her, conquering all.

Fucktoy.

“Cum. Cum. Cum.”

Wave after wave of pleasure overtake her, crashing into each other, blasting away all that was and all that could ever be.

By the time she gets back something resembling consciousness, warm cum is coating her skin. She can feel the wonderful jizz inside her holes, taste it on her tongue still. She must have swallowed it. Like a good fucktoy. She feels so proud, so valuable, so beautiful. She made cocks cum. She was good. She was useful.

“Officer, remind me… what were you looking for?”

She looks at the man like a confused puppy.

“Cock?”

“I see. And what’s your name?”

She straightens up, full of pride. This one she knows.

“Fucktoy!”, she smiles.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[scientia-rex]

Because my most popular post is about weight loss and how it's a crock, I get a lot of questions about various things, including bariatric surgery--just posted the link to the post I did about that--but also Ozempic/Wegovy, the once-weekly injectable semaglutide medication that was developed for diabetes but was found to have independent benefits on weight loss.

I always said that weight loss was like Viagra: when a medication came along that actually worked, it would explode. We'd all hear about it. Fen-phen in the 90s worked, but it was bad for your heart. Stimulants, like meth, may cause weight loss, but they do it at the cost of heart health, and raise your likelihood of dying young. Over the counter weight loss supplements often contain illegal and unlisted thyroid hormone, which is also dangerous for the heart if taken in the absence of a real deficiency. Orlistat, or "Alli," works the same way as the Olestra chips Lays made in the 1990s--it shuts off your ability to digest fats, and the problem with that is that fats irritate the gut, so then you end up with fatty diarrhea and probably sharts. Plus Alli only leads to 8-10lbs of weight loss in the best case scenario, and most people are not willing to endure sharts for the sake of 8lbs.

And then came the GLP-1 agonists. GLP stands for glucagon-like peptide. Your body uses insulin to make cells uptake sugar. You can't just have free-floating sugar and use it, it has to go into the cells to be used. So if your body sucks at moving sugar into the cells, you end up with a bunch of glucose hanging out in places where it shouldn't be, depositing on small vessels, damaging nerves and your retinas and kidneys and everywhere else that has a whole lot of sensitive small blood vessels, like your brain.

Glucagon makes your liver break down stored sugars and release them. You can think of it as part of insulin's supporting cast. If your body needs sugar and you aren't eating it, you aren't going to die of hypoglycemia, unless you've got some rare genetic conditions--your liver is going to go, whoops, here you go! and cough it up.

But glucagon-like peptide doesn't act quite the same way. What glucagon-like peptide does is actually stimulating your body to release insulin. It inhibits glucagon secretion. It says, we're okay, we're full, we just ate, we don't need more glucagon right now.

This has been enough for many people to both improve blood sugar and cause weight loss. Some patients find they think about food less, which can be a blessing if you have an abnormally active hunger drive, or if you have or had an eating disorder.

However, every patient I've started on semaglutide in any form (Ozempic, Wegovy, or Rybelsus) has had nausea to start with, probably because it slows the rate of stomach emptying. And that nausea sometimes improves, and sometimes it doesn't. There's some reports out now of possible gastroparesis associated with it, which is where the stomach just stops contracting in a way that lets it empty normally into the small intestine. That may not sound like a big deal, but it's a lifelong ticket to abdominal pain and nausea and vomiting, and we are not good at treating it. We're talking Reglan, a sedating anti-nausea but pro-motility agent, which makes many of my patients too sleepy to function, or a gastric pacemaker, which is a relatively new surgery. You can also try a macrolide antibiotic, like erythromycin, but I have had almost no success in getting insurance to cover those and also they have their own significant side effects.

Rapid weight loss from any cause, whether illness, medication, or surgery, comes with problems. Your skin is not able to contract quickly. It probably will, over long periods of time, but "Ozempic face" and "Ozempic butt" are not what people who want to lose weight are looking for. Your vision of your ideal body does not include loose, excess skin.

The data are also pretty clear that you can't "kick start" weight loss with Ozempic and then maintain it with behavioral mechanisms. If you want to maintain the weight loss, you need to stay on the medication. A dose that is high enough to cause weight loss is significantly higher than the minimum dose where we see improvements in blood sugar, and with a higher dose comes higher risk of side effects.

I would wait on semaglutide. I would wait because it's been out for a couple of years now but with the current explosion in popularity we're going to see more nuanced data on side effects emerging. When you go from Phase III human trials to actual use in the world, you get thousands or millions more data points, and rare side effects that weren't seen in the small human trials become apparent. It's why I always say my favorite things for a drug to be are old, safe, and cheap.

I also suspect the oral form, Rybelsus, is going to get more popular and be refined in some way. It's currently prohibitively expensive--all of these are; we're talking 1200 or so bucks a month before insurance, and insurance coverage varies widely. I have patients who pay anything from zero to thirty to three hundred bucks a month for injectable semaglutide. I don't think I currently have anyone whose insurance covers Rybelsus who could also tolerate the nausea. My panel right now is about a thousand patients.

There are also other GLP-1 agonists. Victoza, a twice-daily injection, and Trulicity, and anything else that ends in "-aglutide". But those aren't as popular, despite being cheaper, and they aren't specifically approved for weight loss.

Mounjaro is a newer one, tirzepatide, that acts on two receptors rather than one. In addition to stimulating GLP-1 receptors, it also stimulates glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP) receptors. It may work better; I'm not sure whether that's going to come with a concomitantly increased risk of side effects. It's still only approved for diabetes treatment, but I suspect that will change soon and I suspect we'll see a lot of cross-over in terms of using it to treat obesity.

I don't think these medications are going away. I also don't think they're right for everyone. They can reactivate medullary thyroid carcinoma; they can fuck up digestion; they may lead to decreased quality of life. So while there may be people who do well with them, it is okay if those people are not you. You do not owe being thin to anyone. You most certainly do not owe being thin to the extent that you should risk your health for it. Being thin makes navigating a deeply fat-hating world easier, in many ways, so I never blame anyone for wanting to be thin; I just want to emphasize that it is okay if you stay fat forever.

[joydemorra]

Do you ever start something as a joke and lose complete control over your life?

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more... [read the full blurb here]

What is Hunger Pangs?

Hunger Pangs, often shortened to “Phangs” by the self-proclaimed phangdom, is my debut romance novel, published in Nov 2020, featuring a deaf, disabled werewolf, a neurodivergent, mad scientist vampire, and an all-powerful enchantress who is the last of her kind.

It is the first book in a slow-burn, polyamorous gaslamp fantasy romance series focusing on the relationship(s) and antics of the three main characters, Nathan Northland, Vlad Blutstein, and Lady Ursula, as they work to save the world they love from imminent magical and ecological disaster.

The first book primarily focuses on the relationship between Nathan and Vlad, with Ursula heavily alluded to in the next book (Pride and Folly) via some shameless flirting and stolen, impulsive kisses.

No love triangles here. Just three highly competent, world-saving bisexuals sharing the same brain cell the closer they get to each other.

There are two editions of the novel. The Flirting with Fangs edition depicts on-page sexual acts, and the Fluff and Fangs edition which uses alternative scenes/fade-to-black scenes for those who prefer not to read depictions of sex. You can read more about why I decided to do this here.

How Did Phangs come to be?

Like most things on my blog, the original concept began as a joke. My friend and enabler, @jeneelestrange, and I were talking about our least favorite tropes in romance/erotica, including but not limited to toxic “alpha” werewolves, brooding stalker vampire boyfriends, and the absolute profound bullshit that is the Conflicted Love Triangle and Bury Your Gays.

Eventually, it culminated in this post:

(source)

It was meant to be a joke. I really cannot emphasize this enough. It was meant to be a shitpost between friends.

A throwaway ADHD impulse.

Tumblr, however, wanted more of these posts, and like a swarming mass of drift-compatible rats in a trench coat, grabbed hold of my lack of impulse control and Ratatouille'd me into becoming an international bestselling author, and, well, here we are.

I also started writing the series while dying, which I highly do not recommend as a functional creative process.

Absolutely do not start a 500k five-part novel series about love and hope while dying from an undiagnosed genetic disorder. Or if you do, make sure you actually die so you don't have to edit the damn thing. (I am mostly kidding.)

What are the themes/tropes/character dynamics of the book?

In the simplest of terms, Phangs is a queer-polyamorous-paranormal-satirical-romance series featuring vampires, werewolves, and all other manner of creatures that go bump in the night.

It is set in a pseudo-regency meets fake-Victorian Gaslamp Fantasy world, complete with gothic castles, enchanted forests, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust.

Style-wise, Phangs has been described by readers as "like reading the queer, goth love child of Terry Pratchett meets Jane Austen," and I've never been more proud of anything in my life.

If Game of Thrones ascribes to the idea that the night is dark and full of terrors, Phangs is the monster-fucker politely sidling up to them at the bar and asking if they can buy them a drink.

It is also primarily a love letter to fandom, which has led some people to believe it’s fanfiction with the serial labels filed off. But as the person who spent five years agonizing over the world-building, I can assure you this is all very much the product of my weird little ADHD brain picking up tropes, shaking them upside down, and running off with whatever fun and interesting things shake loose.

As already stated, the first book, True Love Bites, focuses primarily on the relationship between Captain Nathaniel J. Northland and Viscount Vlad Blutstein.

The first part of the book primarily focuses on Nathan coming home injured from war and trying to find his place in the world as newly deaf and disabled -- something which alienates him from his werewolf family, who don't know what to do with an injury that can't be mended by a full moon.

While working on the island of Eyrie, he encounters Viscount Blutstein -- Vlad-- a neurodivergent, mad scientist dandy vampire with an enthusiasm for demonic botany and a streak of unfailing kindness as broad and expansive as the sky.

It's not so much love at first sight for the pair as instantaneous lust hampered by the restrictions of polite 1880 society and old ingrained prejudices that make them think the other couldn't possibly be interested in them that way. They're just misreading all those heartfelt stares and sexually charged chess games.

(The love is requited, your honor, they're just idiots.)

Both characters are explicitly queer/mspec, as is Ursula, who drops into their world like a magical atom bomb going off, but not before she spends her own parts of the book desperately trying to figure out what manner of dark entity is killing the magical shrines around the world that keep the world alive.

Thematically, the series touches on many things, but the book’s overriding theme is love. Romantically, of course, and love between families, both found or otherwise. But also love as an act of courage. As a choice. An act of defiance in dark and troubling times, and what it means to be loved and belong even though you’re different.

Especially when you’re different.

And I really fucking hope you enjoy it.

To read the full synopsis and check out the heat ratings, buy links and content tags, go to www.joydemorra.com

[heartfullofleeches]

Zombie God Reader-

Dazed and barely conscious, you wake up after going to a party you didn't even want to attend with a killer headache - and your teeth on the floor. You scramble to the bathroom, come to find that every denture was still in place. A voice in the back of your skull mocks your panic. Just what did you take last night? As the evening's events unfold, you learn that everyone at that party is either dead or missing. That "voice" is the remnants of a decaying God who's blood you consumed from an infected glass of bunch. It tells you the only know cure is to eat another humans flesh, and that's only temporary. You have the choice of clinging to what little humanity you have left by commenting one of the most heinous acts known or giving your body and mind to this ancient deity. Your thoughts deteriorate by the day and you... wait....what are you eating? it hurts..stop that. STOP-

Who would've guessed your terrible diet would be the one force capable of stoping a world ending horror from devouring your brain?

You're eventually scouted out by the cult members at that party. They commend you for holding on this long, but you'll succumb soon enough. They always do. Unfortunately, none of the other candidates they've chosen have survived or kept as much of a physical form as you. Was your will that strong to resist their lord's presence and influence like that? They plan to kidnap you to see how your brain works. Maybe you will be the only host they need. As luck would go, they try to capture you on one of your off days. You ambush their leader and beat them half to death. They're uncaring of their fate as someone else will take their role. Your teeth close around their neck and.... And...

"...nh...n...o."

No. You climb off their battered body and tied your jacket around their twisted ankle before sprinting off. The others ask what happened and they..don't know. They watch you closer. You become something else in their eyes. A survivor. A fighter. You are not their god. You are its rebirth - killing off the disease that was once their idol. They band their members to praise you as you are and slaughter those who oppose. They offer you home cooked meals with bits of their flesh and blood baked inside to help you in your battle. They sneak micro doses of the god's cells to further your ascension. You just want to go home and eat fast food and nearly expired goods from cans.

Crackpost under cut

-

[Zombie God Reader being held at bay by three cult members when a fourth runs up to them with a severed arm in their hands. Reader kicks them square in the face and flails around like a bat out of hell]

Yan Cultist: What in the nine circles are you doing? We don't do that shit anymore! When you kill someone for our master, you throw the body away! Hurry up and get some frozen pizzas. We can't hold them off much longer.

-

Dying God: Help me, my child. Once I am reborn, I can make your wildness dreams a reality.

Yan Cultist, staring at Reader wearing a muzzle as rabid foam drips from their mouth as they snarl: Believe me.... They already are.

-

"What can I get you today?!"

Dying God: Flesh.

Zombie God Reader: burger

Dying God: Human Flesh, you moron!

Zombie God Reader: Three burgers

[crusty-chronicles]

Airheaded S/O Headcannons #9: Hiei (Yu Yu Hakusho)

He wants you dead at first

But that's just because he's a bit standoffish

You'd waltzed in right as he had Yusuke suspended in his clutches at a warehouse.

"Yusuke, you left your calc homework on your desk, you ditz!"

And then you looked up and saw the three eyed demon and your friend.

And he was a little shocked that a human had found his hideout, even with his manipulated spirit energy.

"Kinda in the middle of something here," the greasy haired boy responded.

"Well cut that out for a second. I've got places to be."

Like you weren't just witnessing him about to be killed

It was so baffling how you just completely dismissed the situation, that Hiei's powers actually faltered and let the detective get away.

What the actual hell????

"Get out of here, now!" Yusuke warned.

And you'd just frowned

"Dude, it's not that deep. Why are you even here?"

Now was Hiei's chance to attack

But when he disappeared and quickly reappeared behind with his sword raised, you just caught the blade and glared at him

"Can you back off, I'm trying to talk to my friend."

You shooed him away like a pest.

And that was the moment he decided he wanted you dead.

A strong believer in survival of the fittest

And what the hell, because you had not a single working brain cell but were somehow stronger than him????

Kuwabara is your best friend and the two of you combined are stupid²

And it's horrible because there's only so much stupidity Hiei can take.

During the time he's still conforming after being caught, he spends most of it in the human world scouting you out for any weaknesses.

He still holds a grudge from the first time you met

But he's so damn surprised to find out that you're a walking hazard

How does one leave the stove, microwave, and oven on?

How does one forget that they're all on at the same time????

It would be so easy to let your own recklessness kill you

But his damn pride won't let that happen because he wants to be the one that defeats you

So, you wake up from your nap to see all your appliances turned off

Which is surprising because you vaguely remember cooking something before you feel asleep.

You do earn his respect eventually

It's when Yusuke is tasked with defeating the Saint Beasts

All of you were struggling to keep the roof up from collapsing

Yusuke had suggested Hiei be the one to pull the lever because he was the fastest.

And you'd said something then. Something that made him not want to kill you anymore.

"I might be able to hold the whole thing by myself. You all have to be really fast though."

"Are you crazy?!? There's no way we're gonna leave you behind. We're in this together or not at all," the oaf had protested.

You gave a dopey smile and released all your spirit energy at once, lifting the ceiling with all your might and alleviating the pressure from all the others.

"You scared, Kuwabara? People die everyday. What's one more?"

Hiei had never moved as fast as he did when he pulled that lever down.

You were a fool for risking your life over the others.

A fool for wasting your power on the weak.

But you weren't scared of death, of dying for your morals

And that had his respect.

Hiei does not baby you and finds great amusement in your failures

After all, you're not his responsibility

You accidentally got captured by a demon?

Good luck to whatever idiot thought they'd last more than a minute in the same room as you

You swallowed a poisonous plant Kurama was growing because you were hungry?

That's what you get for giving into your human whims

You threw a punch at an enemy that missed and hit Yusuke instead?

You should've hit him harder

Uses your naivety to his advantage

The tape with Yukina?

You'd told him without much thought about the situation

Only for Hiei to drag you towards where she was being held captive.

"Ooh, where are we going?"

"Just quiet down and follow me, human."

It's because you can sense spirit energy a little better than he can.

That and if he's spotted, he can just pass it off as you dragging him along to see Kuwabara.

Surprisingly, you're quiet and don't make a sound that gets the two of you caught.

And maybe he's a little grateful you don't question him about it.

You don't question why he wants to save this girl you've never heard of up until a few days ago.

You just go along with it because 'We're friends.'

You're so stupid for trusting him that easily when he wanted so badly to kill you not long ago

So unbelievably stupid for following around a demon just cuz

You had a fool's heart, that was for sure.

You were a trustworthy ally during the Dark Tournament, a strong warrior during the battle with Sensui, and a true fighter during the demon tournament.

It's the last event that he realizes he values you a little more than he should.

He had just barely beaten Mukuro and was set to fight you next.

The thing was, Hiei could barley stand with his injuries, while you hadn't broken a sweat.

This was the one fight he looked forward to the most, besides the one he wanted with the spirit detective.

But there was this look on your face

An uncomfortable yet sorrowful look.

Why weren't you as excited as he was?

He shrugged the feeling off as the announcer told them to begin.

His sword was long destroyed, so he resorted to basic combat skills instead.

He lunged, fist clenched to hit, but you just dodged with that same look

He tried again and the result was the same

You didn't even try to block his attacks, just moved out of the way.

Like he was beneath you to even try.

He recognized the look now

It was pity

And that infuriated him.

"Why won't you fight back!" A kick aimed for your side.

"You think you're so-called friendship matters here? Your emotions mean nothing. Not in here. So quit acting like a fool and fight!" A punch aimed at your throat.

You stopped it this time, but didn't attack him back.

You were making a fool out of him.

And before he could berate you again, you spoke.

"I don't care if we're friends or not. Either way, the fight still isn't fair."

And that had temporarily halted his anger.

"What do I gain from beating someone so injured, they can't stand up? What do you gain from fighting when you have no power? Think about it."

You didn't want to fight because you wouldn't enjoy it?

It wouldn't be a win for you

"It's not fair to either of us if we fight like this. We'd never get to find out who's really stronger."

Hiei was the fool.

He'd lashed out at Mukuro for letting her feelings get in the way and here he was, doing the same.

Letting his pride get in the way of rational thought

He'd been the one to get upset that you weren't fighting him as an equal, when the condition he was in clearly said otherwise.

"I know you don't want to lose the tournament, so I quit. But I want you to heal up and get stronger. Don't die because next time I see you, I'll kick your ass the way you want. Got it?"

Don't die

You and that oaf shared the same moral code.

But something about it being you made him tolerate it.

"...I surrender. I'm in no shape to continue. Y/n, you better not hold back next time."

Much to the dismay of the audience, the two of you walked back together. The outcome of the match: no winner.

There was something for him to look forward to now. A new goal.

He'd surpass you and then Yusuke.

Following the events of the demon tournament, he's a little softer towards you.

You and that stupid human heart of yours had him observing you from the trees.

He was unused to the heaviness he felt seeing you visit Yukina and making her laugh.

He couldn't understand the warmth consuming his face when you would fight a stray demon and win.

He didn't know why he used his Jagan to see you while he was in demon world.

But he did know he didn't like seeing you and the idiot duo hanging off of each other, cackling at something one of them said.

Don't count on him acting on his feelings.

He would never tell you.

But his actions towards you are more than enough to let the others know you're his.

He calls you fool(derogatory) and if he's feeling sweet, just by your name.

Jealousy is a big one.

Hiei's never had something special he's been allowed to keep.

So if you're spending a little too much time with Kuwabara, don't be surprised to see him at your window the next day.

He'll deny to his dying breath that he came all the way from demon world just to see you.

He'll also deny leaving some of his own clothing or even his sword at your house just so it smells more like him than it does your (just as stupid) best friend.

Hiei leaves for months at a time and without fail, will always come back the day after you went crying to Kurama that you think he's died.

(Thanks to his Jagan that is. There isn't a day he doesn't check up on you so he's bound to know when you miss him.)

Kurama is his best friend, but that doesn't stop Hiei from getting upset when he comes to get you and sees you sound asleep on the fox's bed.

You just smell so much like the other demon now, it pisses him off.

"Keep your scent off my human."

And Kurama finds immense joy in his childish anger.

"Maybe if you would physically see them more, they wouldn't come by so often."

And Hiei's grumbling as he picks you up, still dead asleep, to bring you back to the home that would restore his own scent back on you.

The time spent when you wake up is for sparring.

He can't find it in him anymore to fight you for real

But that doesn't mean he won't enjoy the false matches you have with each other.

He refuses to take you with him to demon world.

You have a life here

And though it's tempting to take you where you wouldn't be very far away from him, he knows you wouldn't be happy away from everyone else.

So, the one and only thing he does that hints at his feelings for you is give you the makeshift necklace made from hiruiseki stone. His to be exact.

"Take it."

"Why?" Your small little brain was struggling to figure out why he would want you to have it.

"It represents a promise. A promise that I'll be back for you no matter what. So take care of it for me, human."

NEXT UP: Kurapika Kurta

MASTERLIST

An: Yall sorry it took so long, i deadass got sick last week.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again. And you know my intentions ‘cause it’s 2am - Ancient History by Set It Off

Hello, could you make one of Spencer x reader, please?

Hello love, hope you like it!

Ancient History

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - After you and Spencer break up, you just can’t seem to stay away from each other. But casual sex with the person you love will only do more harm than good, so you have to decide if you have a future together or if your relationship is fated to be ancient history.

CW - mentions of 15x6 Date Night, breakups, mentions of casual sex but no my graphic, drinking, angst, make ups.

WC - 2.6k

Spencer Reid had never been good at separating the intimate from his emotions. 

Maybe it was due to him being well into his twenties the first time he slept with a woman. Or perhaps it was just the fact that his heart was too big for his own good. 

Whatever the reason, he’d never been one for casual sex. He didn’t do hook ups or one night stands. He needed to have some kind of emotional connection with a woman before he could fall into bed with them. 

And it wasn’t exactly as though that had changed, things were just…complicated. 

It had taken months of dating before you and Spencer took your relationship to that level, but once you did it was difficult to keep your hands off of each other. 

Spencer had felt connected to you in ways he’d never felt with anyone else before you’d even slept together for the first time. And after, the link had grown so intrinsic it was likely to never break. 

He felt as though he was just as in tune with you as he was himself, like your souls were entwined on some kind of cosmic level even his impressive brain couldn’t fathom. 

But after you’d had to witness him standing in his doorway kissing a hit woman who had kidnapped his mother and had him locked up, your three year relationship came to an abrupt end. 

He’d tried to reason with you, to explain he’d been doing it to save a family and no other reason. But you’d seen the way he’d kissed her, the way he gripped her so tightly as though he was afraid she may crumble to dust. The way he looked completely dumbfounded afterwards, like Cat’s kiss had erased every single one of his brain cells. 

There was no denying that kind of chemistry, try as he might. You’d tried to let it go but every time you closed your eyes you saw him and Cat together. And so for your own sanity you had to walk away. 

But you never could shake the memories that rain inside. And neither could Spencer.

He missed everything about you but it quickly became clear to him that he desperately yearned for you and your body. 

Spencer had never had a sexual relationship last so long, or in fact any relationship, but he felt as though he was dying without your touch. 

Once the storm had settled the two of you met up for coffee and somehow you’d ended your meeting with a mutual understanding. 

You didn’t trust Spencer the way you used to but you both agreed you missed the intimacy. And so the two of you made an arrangement that meant you still got to keep the physical aspect of your relationship without the strings and commitment. 

And maybe if Spencer wasn’t so in love with you he wouldn’t have agreed to it. But if he could only have one part of you then so be it. It would have to be enough. 

He pretended it was right but deep down he knew how wrong it was. But every time you called he answered. And when he called, you did the same in return. 

Spencer tried to stem his loneliness with alcohol, hoping maybe it would take away some of the desperation he felt just to be near you. But more often than not it didn’t work and he would find himself pacing the street with his phone to his ear. 

Pick up the phone, I know I’m drunk again, but please pick up the phone. 

And of course you always did, and you always knew his tensions at two am. 

Maybe you were under thinking part-time thrills, not focusing on the bigger picture because you would both get swept up in the pleasure. 

It was hard to think logically when Spencer had you pinned to the bed under the weight of his body, yet making you feel lighter than air with his touch. 

He knew how to drive you wild and you knew how to make him smile. Your bodies moved together in such an impossibly perfect rhythm, like a choreographed dance, the moves for which were embedded deep inside your souls. 

It was too hard to quit something that just felt this right. Even if Spencer did inadvertently leave a small fragment of his heart behind in your bed each time. 

A storm was surely advancing, but Spencer ignored it. Instead he would get drunk and call you at two am and end up between your sheets. 

Every time it became more difficult to drag himself away from you. When the haze of pleasure wore off and he had to prize himself out of your bed it often felt like those sheets were holding him captive. 

But he would get dressed and take his leave as you whispered from the bed, see you next time. 

It was all fun and games until inevitably you would both get hurt. You played with fire because you loved the way it burned. But there was no use patching up a sinking ship, sometimes you just had to know when to admit defeat. 

And so Spencer stopped drinking, stopped allowing his lowered inhibitions from picking at the phone again. But then you showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night and his resolve melted. 

It chipped pieces of him away each time one of you had to leave after spending the night together. He started to feel used, like all he was good for was sex and it caused indentations on his heart from where it continuously took beatings. 

Deep down he’d hoped if he kept this up then things would go back to how they used to be, that you’d forgive him, learn to trust him again. 

Perhaps that made him naive, idealistic to believe just because he couldn’t separate the intimate from the emotional that you couldn’t either. 

After a while it all just felt like a vicious, self-destructive cycle and he had to break it. As much as he loved you, as much as he’d thought getting to be with you in any capacity was worth it, it hurt too much. It would end up taking too much from him and he’d never recover.

He would never be able to begin to heal while the two of you were still playing this game. Spencer needed you to be his ancient history. 

But once again you showered up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and he let you in. He didn’t argue when you started to kiss him or when you began removing his clothes. 

He put up no fight when you led him to his bedroom and you both climbed on the bed. He was completely complicit in the activities that followed. 

But once it was over and you almost immediately freed yourself from between his sheets and started dressing, Spencer’s heart took the final blow it could handle. 

He sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over himself to shield his naked body and watched as you got back in your clothes. And the words seemed to come tumbling out of his mouth before he’d realised he was going to vocalise them. 

“This is the last time we do this. This has to be the last time.” He hated the pain in his voice, the way he sounded like a small, frightened child. 

You pulled your t-shirt over your head and slowly turned to face him. 

“What? Why?” You frowned at him. “Why would you say that?” 

Did you really not know? Surely you knew him well enough to see the hurt in his eyes every time you walked away from him. It didn’t take a profiler to see how much agony this caused him. 

“This is breaking me, Y/N.” He shook his head. “Every time we do this it hurts me more than the last. I can’t keep watching you leave when all I want is for you to stay.” 

“Spencer,” you sighed almost as though you were frustrated. “It’s just sex.”

“It can never be just sex with the woman I love, the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.” He swung his legs out of the bed and hurriedly pulled his boxers on before standing up. 

“Spence, come on. It doesn’t need to be complicated.” You rolled your eyes. 

“You know who I really am and it’s not this.” He folded his arms over his bare chest. “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. And maybe there is some sick part of me that enjoyed that kiss with Cat. Maybe there always has been some twisted part of my brain that’s never been able to let her go. She's come so close to outsmarting me time and time again and perhaps I like that in a weird way. But you also know that I love you with every beat of my heart. And you seem to know how to break it so well.” 

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to look at you the same.” You confessed. “The second the endorphins wear off and I’m just laying here next to you, it all comes flooding back to me. All I can see when I look at you is that damn kiss.” 

“I think what we’re doing…it’s more damaging than anything. It fools me into believing that we can have more again. And if all we’re ever going to have is sex then I have to end it. It’s not enough for me Y/N. It would hurt less to have nothing from you than only have one small part of you.” His arms fell back to his sides and he turned away from you, feeling the tears burning his eyes. 

For a moment or two the room descended into an all consuming silence. Spencer fought against his tears, not wanting you to see how much pain this was causing him. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be hurt, not after what he’d done to you. 

You knew as well as he did that this was a foolish idea. Truthfully it hurt you just as much every time you had to leave him. Getting to be close to him filled your heart with joy but as soon it was over the pain set in again. 

You wished you could find a way to forgive him for making out with Cat, wished you could foresee a day when you wouldn’t still feel so betrayed by it. 

Logically you knew he’d only done what he did to save a family but you also knew on some level he’d enjoyed the excuse to kiss her. 

And maybe if it had been anyone other than the woman responsible for putting him in prison and kidnapping his mother it could have been easier to reconcile. But the hardest part of it all for you to wrap your head around was how he could do such a thing with a woman who had effectively ruined his life over and over again. 

It said more about his morals than anything. He said he’d done it because he thought it was the only way to get what he needed out of her but you both knew there were other ways. And you were sure you’d never be able to forgive him for it. 

After a while you exhaled heavily, knowing he was right as much as you didn’t want to admit it. In the long run this was only going to hurt more than just letting each other go. 

“I guess I should go then.” Your voice wobbled a little as you spoke. 

“I think it’s for the best.” He agreed without turning to look at you. 

You collected the rest of your things in silence and he didn’t once glance at you as you did so. Even when you left the room and headed to the front door, Spencer forced himself not to look, not to speak. He was this close to begging you to stay. 

But he said nothing. 

And maybe you were destined to be his ancient history. 

Except the thing about history was that it had a habit of repeating itself. 

Several months of radio silence on both your parts followed that night until you’d bumped into each other at a local bookstore. 

The hurt was still there but it had lessened and actually you found seeing one another again was a breath of fresh air. 

You agreed to meet again for coffee the following week. 

Over subsequent meetings a beautiful friendship blossomed between you. You were able to hang out without falling into bed with one another and although there was still some residual pain, being friends worked out nicely for you both. 

But then one day you woke up and all the trust you’d lost in Spencer seemed to have returned; all the feelings you’d had about that kiss with Cat seemingly vanished. 

Maybe all you’d needed was time to process it and move past it. And the more you thought about it the more trivial it all seemed. 

You loved Spencer, even now you loved him just as much if not more than you had. Letting one stupid mistake get in the way of what could be the best thing that ever happened to you now felt so idiotic. 

It had really been second nature when after having lunch together and you walked outside to say your goodbyes, you���d leaned in and kissed him. 

When you pulled back Spencer averted his gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step backwards. 

“Y/N…” he whispered your name under his breath. “Don’t…please don’t.” 

“I don’t even know what came over me.” You suddenly felt awash with discomfort. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I love being your friend.” He looked back at you, chewing on his lip. “But it’s still hard sometimes. We can’t fall back into that old pattern, it’s too painful.” 

“I…I…” you stumbled over your words. “Spence?” 

“Yeah?” He swallowed.

“I don’t wanna be your friend.” You shrugged. “And I don’t wanna just sleep with you. I want it all, Spence. I want what we had.” 

His eyes conveyed his sadness and he inhaled sharply through his nose. 

“So do I.” He nodded. “But I hurt you and you can’t forgive me for that, I get it.”

“See that’s the thing,” you stepped closer to him. “I think I have forgiven you.”

His face contorted into confusion as he scrutinised you curiously. He ruminated on your words, you could all but see the cogs turning in his head. 

He didn’t seem to believe you and you didn’t blame him for that. You stepped even closer and removed his hands from his pockets, holding them in your own. 

“Y/N,” his voice and his hands both trembled. “Please don’t say that unless you mean it. I can’t go through the pain of losing you again.” 

“I do mean it, Spencer. I’m not mad anymore, and I know I can trust you with my life.” You gave his hands a soft squeeze. 

“I…I’m so sorry for the thing with Cat. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” You offered him a smile. “I love you, Spence. Some dumb kiss is not a good enough reason for us not to be together.” 

“I love you too. S-so much.” He stuttered, tears misting his vision. 

“Good.” You laughed lightly, leaning in and capturing his lips once again. 

He removed his hands from yours so he could wrap his arms around you, holding you close to him where you belonged. 

He knew he’d never do anything to risk losing you again. You were his present and you were his future; not his ancient history. 

[yanderes-galore]

Can you do fluffy au ennard concept?

I had this idea written for a few days before my hiatus, so here it is finally!

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Ennard Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Gore, Graphic descriptions, Unethical experimentation, Parasocial companionship, Disturbing dark themes, Forced companionship, Dubious ending, Primarily just horror if I'm being honest.

Ennard is the pinnacle of ambition in this AU.

He (They?) are the result of Afton being drunk on power.

Why should he stop at anthropomorphic mascots?

What's stopping him from making a human/animal hybrid!?

Ennard is the result of an unknown human's DNA mixed with the DNA of Funtime Foxy and Freddy.

In a twisted way that would make him related to the two (as brothers… hopefully… *shutter*).

Ennard may not have any personality issues… but there's a whole lot of physical issues.

The skin visible on him (just his face) is unnaturally pale.

It also has seams like Foxy and Freddy.

Everything else?

A mess of fleshy tendrils and the occasional extra eye.

Ennard, in this AU, is an abomination.

Something that should have never existed.

A reason to not play God.

In all honesty, Ennard should have been put down.

He can barely replicate human speech.

He has little to no protection from the elements.

Yet what happens instead?

He evolves.

Like some creature from Resident Evil, instead of dying Ennard adapts.

The stench of blood announces his presence and he grows.

Soon he grows a protective layer over the exposed muscle he was born with.

Then he grows a set of vocal cords to mimic voices and tones.

The mess of human and animal flesh becomes something new.

A monster that Afton decides to keep alive due to the progress.

Ennard appears to get along with Freddy and Foxy and looks at them fondly.

But there's one person he gets along with the most.

You, an unfortunate scientist, meant to watch the underground layer of the facility.

Your line of work deals with the failures.

Things like Mangle or Funtime Freddy are under your care.

This also includes Ennard, who is kept locked away from all the rest.

He is different, he's highly adaptable and a potential danger.

He probably has a similar ability to Mangle that allows him to form with flesh.

(Which opens up the possibility of Molten Freddy and The Blob later on.)

He is dangerous and unstable.

So the job is to watch and appease him.

There's cameras in the cell, he's fed food, then there's time to socialize with him through a glass window and speaker.

Ennard acts similarly to a child as he develops.

The brain and mind adapt and grow like the rest of his body.

He repeats sign language you teach and when he has vocal cords he repeats words.

It's all very unnerving to you.

Ennard acts very human despite the appearance he takes.

Even then you catch him growling like an animal in frustration at times.

You have to remind yourself he isn't a human, he's a mess of DNA born into flesh.

Ennard listens to your words when you speak to him.

It's as though he has imprinted on you… seeing you as some sort of role model.

He often presses his pale and twitching face to the glass to get a good look at you.

You try to hold back your nausea when it happens.

You wonder how he lives like this.

You are quite thankful you're not allowed in his cell.

This is due to the growth and unknown abilities of Ennard.

Luckily you just have to sit and interact.

Much to Ennard's dismay… the creature really wishes he could be closer to you.

The glass is dumb to him… sadly, you have no idea how much of a bad idea teaching him is.

Your little lessons and interactions make him smarter.

Smart enough to the point he plots escape….

He can't get very far until Golden Freddy breaks out, but when that does happen?

Ennard is free… free to adapt, survive, and find freedom.

Their appearance by this point is vaguely human.

More skin has grown on… yet thick tendrils of muscle still twitch like tentacles around his body.

It's as though if he continues to grow… you may not be able to tell the difference between him and a human.

Except for the height and patches of what looks like white fur, at least.

Ennard's new goal is obviously to look for you.

He knows about the nice scientist in the glass box.

He wants to find you! He wants to finally be close to you!

While you try to evacuate the facility you hear warnings of all sorts of beasts in the underground level breaking out.

You do your best to gather research and prepare to escape.

Only to hear oddly heavy footsteps near you.

You turn… only to be met with the abomination you had tended to.

He's different, he's certainly grown more.

The many eyes he has stares into you with a look of adoration.

In a garbled tone he tries to express his feelings towards you.

You simply shake your head and cry… you scream… you want to leave.

Unfortunately, such a thing is not your fate…

You begin to realize that as the abomination closes in on you.

He can finally be closer to you… as close as he can be.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hey Mimi!

700 ??? I’m so happy to hear that you’ve been getting all the praise for your wonderful mind and writing. I always enjoyed your writing and think you’ve such talent! Thank you for taking the time to set up these little roulettes - I always look forward to sending in a request and reading the others you’ve done! With that, I know you can cook up something fantastic as always. I love how you write Crosshair — especially an imperial!crosshair or do I dare say, purgetrooper!crosshair— and you know, you’re so great at writing Medic!Kave —you can always try an ISB Agent!Kave but whatever you choose you have free range on this one — here are my top favorite quotes….

16. "There is always something left to love." Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

19. ”For you, a thousand times over." - Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

21. "Anything worth dying for is certainly worth living for." — Joseph Heller, Catch-22

@kavecika Hello love,

Thank you so much for sending in such an awesome request. Sorry for the delay, but I hope I did Kave and the story justice. So I went with Medic!Kave, and Imperial!Crosshair. But it takes place during Season 3 of Bad Batch.

More specifically the latter half.

I hope you enjoy it.

Love oo

Never Give Up

Warnings: Torture, wounds, depression, anger, danger, angst, fluff-ish (if you squint), forehead kiss, I think that's it. If I miss anything, please let me know.

Main Master List   |   AO3 Link | Quote Roulette

Kave hated having to walk through the prison cells on Tantiss. 

One there were too many clones, too many that looked like friends that were long gone. Too many that were injured. Too many that looked lost and defeated. Every step she took broke her heart a little more. Yet, if she could offer even a little bit of care, a bit of comfort, then that’s exactly what she’d do. 

Zhellday was the worst day of every week, the new prisoners would’ve arrived at the beginning of the week, which meant they would be sent to Dr. Hemlock, they’d be tortured, experimented on, and driven to the point of madness. 

Now, it was her turn to check on them, which basically meant to see who survived or who was too brain damaged to continue.

It was hard to see clones so broken. 

At least most had survived this time, she opened the last cell to see a very sickly clone, he was quite thin, his head had been shaved, and there was even a burn mark on the right side of his temple, from what she could see. 

She went to her cart pulling out her scanner, good news was that he was still alive, bad news was that his wounds were extensive. She focused back on her cart getting the bacta patches and cleaning solutions she’d need to tend to his wounds. She hadn’t been paying attention to him, when the clone beside her rolled. 

Kave’s heart registered him before her eyes and mind did. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, as her eyes focused on the crosshair tattoo on his right eye. 

Her eyes welled up with tears as her lips trembled. She reached out her shaky hand to cup his very thin cheek, when she looked at the lines on his face, his sunken appearance, it hit her how difficult things had been for him. Especially when her eyes landed on the burn on the side of his head, her fingers gently trailed along the scar… what had he suffered? What had he endured? 

It didn’t take her long to tend to his wounds, and she knew she needed to leave, but she couldn’t pull herself from his sides. She gently pressed a kiss to Crosshair’s forehead. 

“I’m here, sweetheart. You’re not alone.” She whispered hoping he’d be able to hear her. She stood and took her supplies, looking back one last time before leaving him. 

It killed Kave not being able to be by his side when he needed comfort the most, but she needed to get her other work finished. A million questions ran through her mind, how did he end up here? What did he do that landed him in this godforsaken place? The last time she saw him, the both of them had exchanged heated words, she’d been frustrated he didn’t see how dangerous the Empire had become, frustrated how he refused to continue the discussion, how he didn’t even see that trying to hunt down his own brothers and civilians was a despicable act. It had been in the heat of anger, but before she could even stop herself the words were out of her mouth. 

“I can’t even look at you. You disgust me.”

She never meant it. Gods, how she wished she could’ve told him she regretted ever uttering those words, but no matter how hard she searched for him or tried to find information on him, he became a ghost, as all Imperial Commandos were in the system.

Once her duties were done, she found a way to sneak back down to the prisons, heading towards Crosshair’s cell, she opened it quietly. Her first concern was his wounds. 

“I’m back like I promised.” She whispered as she changed his bandages, “Look at you,” her voice trembled wondering how much pain he was in, “I’m sorry…” her eyes shifted to his face, shocked to find his eyes looking at her. 

“Kave?” His usually strong, confident, and snarky voice now sounded pained, confused, and completely exhausted. 

“Hey …” she gently shifted her hand to caress his face, “I’m here. I’m gonna get you out of here. Okay. I’ll come up with something …”

His shaky hand reached up and touched hers, “You’re real.”

“Yeah.” She smiled despite the tears in her eyes, “I’m real. I’m sorry, Crosshair. I’m so sorry for saying those things to you. I’ve regretted it…”

He shook his head weakly, “You were right …” he whispered, “I … I deserve this.”

“No. No you don’t.” She shifted closer, “No one deserves any of this. You don’t deserve this.” She emphasized. 

“You …” his voice shook, “you shouldn’t be here. You … you should leave.”

“Not without you. I can’t leave you.” She leaned closer, “I still love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m not leaving you.”

“There’s nothing left to love.” He strained to tell her he couldn’t bear to see her here. To be in this place that consumed everything.

“There is always something left to love.” She smiled back.

He looked at Kave with affection and longing, “I’ve missed you. We should’ve left when you told me.”

“Still plenty of time for us to escape.”

“We could die… you could die.” Crosshair whispered, wishing he had the strength to actually pull her into his arms. 

“Anything worth dying for is certainly worth living for, my love.” Kave pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, she could see in his eyes how much he wanted her closer. 

Crosshair gently touched her cheek, his fingers lifting ever so slightly, “Do you ever give up on me?”

“Never.”

“Never stop loving me.”

“I never will. I will fight every day for the both of us. For you, a thousand times over.”

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Tag List:

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@badbatch-simp24

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@lady-ren

@firstofficerwiggles

@darkangel4121

@discofern

@kavecika

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@leotawrites

@helenaslost

[maestroofcringe]

< ру версия | eng version >

〔E. Nygma, Private Detective〕

Case Nᵒ0: Gotham's Sherlock Holmes.

Finally got courage to post it... Sorry if English is bad, not native language. Have a nice time reading!

synopsis: The brilliant mind of Edward Nygma requires action, but he does not intend to return to crime. Then a plan comes to his mind - to become a private detective. Edward is well aware that he may need help. Harvey Dent and Jonathan Crane agree to participate in the case, also unwilling to continue their criminal activities. However, the plan is not going according to plan at all...

Several months have passed since the Riddler's criminal genius was finally recognized as sane. The doctors, who had previously locked him in a cell, inevitably and independently realized their big mistake and admitted that the Riddler is a wonderful person all by themselves. They have never ever been bribed, and he have not been making fake documents, of course.

Despite the fact that Ed didn't need a job due to his fortune he was dying from boredom. He may have left most of his obsessive "dragging Batman into a game" thoughts behind, but his brain still required a challenge. If he doesn't find a way to entertain his mind, he might snap and start throwing riddles around the city again.

However, his genius had not faded. Not at all. And one day, during regular going through his extensive library, he came across a book of Sherlock Holmes. Eureka! This was what he needed! A private detective was perfect for new job! After all, Edward was an ex-cop, ex-cop undoubtedly superior to the Dark Knight in field of deduction and many others.

Therefore Nygma decided to become Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes. Edward figured out what he would need to do to achieve this goal. He came up with three simple steps to begin career of the city's most brilliant detective. The first step was to "prepare the necessary documents", the second was to find a case, and the third was to solve it successfully, getting interviewed as nice promotion and gaining more cases. And then, everything would fall into right place. Starting is always the hardest part, isn't it?

Paperwork...  No, Nygma never liked to do this, which meant he needs some good lawyer, notary, or at least someone who knows enough about it... Precisely! What better lawyer could be than former District Attorney Harvey Dent?  He heard Harvey is "retired". Ed thought he'd probably bored out of his mind, too.  Moreover, Dent is physically much more prepared. And extra guns never hurt.

Edward immediately picked up his phone and found Two-Face's number in contacts. He called him and invited for a drink at their favorite bar. Fortunately, Dent accepted the invitation.

▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢

Half an hour later, Nygma entered the bar where Harvey was waiting for him. He was holding some papers with schemes and explanations. It seemed like he had drawn the whole diagram by hand, with every single detail painted.

Harvey rolled his eyes and chuckled as he asked: "I thought you invited me here to chat, not to lecture me about your new "genius" plan. To be honest, Ed, I've had enough of it and so have you."

"You don't understand, Harv! It's a win-win option. This time I'm sure on one hundred percent, I did the research and, believe me, I thought it all out. The usual. Yet, you didn't even try to hear me! When some stupid coin offers - you agree and go forward it, but as old friend ask you for help, you immediately "quit". And! AND, it's not about crime! The plan is legal, for note. Believe me, you'll regret your refusal if you won't listen to me. Therefore, let me give you a little tip - listen, or rather write it down. Maybe not only half of your brain will start working! Harv, please, don't be an idiot for the next ten minutes and let me explain. I quitted crime, agree, BUT I'm not going to get rid of my mind in order to meet the standards of society!" Edward quickly interrupted Harvey, not letting him get a word in until he finished his tirade by asking," Which one of us is the brain, after all, me or you?"

Harv frowned, not appreciating the "hints" about his past decisions. He took a deep breath, counted to ten and exhaled. Edward had a point, it was worth listening politely, Dent can refuse any time later.

" Well, let's imagine I believe you," he finally said, adding, "Go on, smart-ass."

"Harvey, what do you think about private detectives?" - Edward's smile returned as if he didn't throw a tantrum five seconds ago.

"Seriously, detective? What's the riddle here, Holmes?"

"Right, like Holmes."

"You're kidding, Ed..."

"Please, remember, I'm not the one to joke about important things. What I said doesn't sound a joke, does it? Sooooo," - Nygma wanted to push his friend to the right conclusion.

"It means you being honest. Let's assume that's not some kind of trick. Besides, your "honesty mania", or whatever it's called..." Harvey paused for a moment, trying to recall the exact word, but alas, no other idea came to mind. "Forget it. How does this relate to me?"

"That's a great question, Harv! Good job! I told you the brain would start working. Fpr why I'm here - I need your expertise. You know the law inside and out, being an expert in document management and stuff. You're the real professional, aren't you? You know how to do good work and I need someone I can trust without fear of back-stabbing," Edward seemed almost sincere for a moment, however he quickly hid behind his sarcastic mask and strange sense of humor. " Harv, I'm going to die of boredom or kill someone! Think about it. You wake up in a trap, failing to answer my riddle and getting HEAD OFF! Not that you use it anyway..."

"Come on, Ed. I was just asking." Former DA sighs, thinking about how it could be beneficial for him, after all he wants to help people again. "Ah, screw it! Will do! I agree 50%. Is that a deal, partner?"

"DEAL! It's a deal!" Edward replied, feeling happy about the success awaiting him at the next step. Of course, success always awaited him, because the unrivaled genius of E. Nygma had never let him down. It was rare to see the Riddler in such good spirits, especially after his career ended. Well, there he was, walking down the street with a happy smile on his face. A suspiciously happy smile...

"You have no idea what a great decision you made, Harvey!" He exclaimed as they walked towards the bus stop, where they would split up.

Harvey smiled, but said nothing. He was still unsure of why Nygma was doing this. It's unlikely that he was doing it out of kindness. Moreover, it was also unlikely that Ed had called him only for the sake of working with papers. Harvey knew it was too soon to hide his colt. "I should keep an eye on him," Harvey thought, waving goodbye as he disappeared into the bus. "I promise you, Gilda, I will not let him hurt anyone else. Not after what happened... not ever".

▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢

First step was made. Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes now planning brilliantly solve the case, case waiting for him to be found. No one knew that the case would find them on its own.

[lerry-hazel]

The long-ass Thomas post that needs to stop living in my brain

Part 1: The Bad Ones

The funny thing is, Thomas Barrow doesn't actually make a good villain: not because the things he subjects people around him to are “not that bad” – they most certainly are; but because those bad things never benefit anyone, least of all Thomas himself.

Thomas enters the narrative attempting blackmail with letters that would implicate himself in the same criminal activity – and which he must have kept in a shoe box under the bed, since it took the Duke all of 10 seconds to find them.

His other grand project for series 1 is bullying Bates, long past the point where it became clear Lord Grantham had no wish to fire his dear friend, even at Carson’s urging, and therefore probably won't be happy with anyone forcing his hand to do so. Not to mention, in Thomas’ circumstances, valet is really not the job he should strive for.

Afterwards we see Thomas working very hard on alienating the entire staff, even though his alternative career options are, apparently, limited to giving all his money to a criminal without even checking what exactly he was paying for. Then he goes on to alienate O’Brien in particular: who is, at that point, his only ally, and – as he well knows – not above murderous revenge.

And of course, let's not forget trash-talking about William’s dying mother and Lady Grantham’s dead baby. Which, no matter how cold, unfeeling and disdainful you are, if you have two brain rub cells to rub together, you learn to shut up about, – so that, you know, people don't hate you.

I've read all those fics and posts claiming that Thomas keeps people at arm’s length because “they would hate him is they knew”; but there is a difference between insisting on being called “Mr. Barrow” at all times, – and tempting people who genuinely don't give a damn about his bedroom preferences into grabbing that chance to get rid of him for good.

Anyway, that excuse expired when people did find out, and, for the most part, couldn't care less, – which would be a good time for Thomas to reconsider his behavior. Instead, for some reason, he goes right back to bullying Anna (who, for all intents and purposes, never did him any wrong, and clearly has Lady Mary’s favour); and attempting to blackmail Baxter, who – let's just say, he was very lucky Lady Grantham did not pursue her very sensible “why the hell did *you* bring a convicted criminal to my house?” line of questioning.

*******************************************************

What I'm saying is, if the lion’s share of Thomas motivation were fear of being discovered, the logical course of action for him would have been to be extremely helpful – to the point where his employers would consider him irreplaceable, and his colleagues would be too grateful to rat him out.

There could still be some conflict, since people would sense he's not naturally a nice person, and feel suspicious of his benevolence; or he would be overdoing it, and make things worse while attempting to make them better. He could still occasionally try his hand in relatively harmless scheming, like stealing Isis: that would be understandable, relatable, and even cute, – provided we pretend at least some of his panic was about the dog actually being lost.

However, if Thomas is supposed to have some other – personal or narrative – reason to be so pointlessly nasty, I, for one, can’t see it.

[inquisitor-apologist]

Force, I am SO frustrated with the Filonification of popular Star Wars. People keep on trying to make arguments about Star Wars, yet they refuse to actually watch Star Wars and make sensible criticisms about it because they’re literally just parroting whatever weird non-canonical shit Felony spit out in an article last week.

I was looking at this article:

And I was legitimately trying to look at the criticisms and see if I can agree with any of them, but they don’t make any sense and I can just feel Filoni oozing off them.

So imma rant, got it?

Mistake Number 1 that led to the fall of the order: They were too much into politics.

More specifically, the article claims that “they very much had a hand in the flipping the Senate” with reference to the Vote of No Confidence for Valorum in tpm, but it’s been a minute and a half since I saw the prequels, so I read the Wookie summary, and I might’ve missed something but I don’t think there’s any mention of them, like, voting or doing anything significant in the Senate in ep1? I feel like it would’ve been mentioned if it was even vaguely implied that the Jedi mind tricked the senate or lobbied for the vote to go one way or another, but it isn’t mentioned anywhere and it don’t square with what I remember, so I’m guessing they just made this up and convinced themselves it was canon? Tell me if you can figure out what they’re talking about or if there is a canon basis I missed.

Other than that, I do not remember a single scene where we saw the Jedi do anything more political than take orders from politicians or exist in the senate building in the prequels.

Mistake Number 2 that led to the fall of the order: Suppressing Baby Murderer’s emotions.

…A Take, certainly. So this one’s talking about Anakin’s grief over his mother’s death, which I agree would be a fucked-up thing to suppress. That’d suck. If it actually happened because… the Jedi do not know that Anakin’s mom is dead. They do not know that Anakin and Padmé went to Tatooine, since they were ordered to stay on Naboo. They are utterly unaware of everything that happens on Tatooine aside from Yoda feeling the Tusken Massacre in the Force. Yeah, Anakin told Obi-Wan that he’d had dreams about his mom dying, and he didn’t do anything about it, but that wasn’t Obi Wan suppressing Anakin’s emotions—that was just him saying that it sucked that he had a bad dream, since I don’t think Anakin said it could’ve been a vision or anything, so this one doesn’t land at all. Where did they get this idea???

Mistake Number 3 that led to the fall of the order: ‘Allowing’ Maul to take over Mandalore (somehow?)

I can feel my brain cells dying. Maul joined up with a terrorist group and some crime gangs to forcefully take over a neutral system. None of that was ‘allowed’ by the Jedi. They also say that the Jedi ‘sent’ Obi Wan to get rid of Maul when I remember Yoda telling Obi Wan some shit like “Send anyone to Mandalore the Jedi cannot” and then Obi Wan went to Mandalore anyway and it didn’t do shit. Anyway I feel like the author of this article might own a ridiculously annoying cowboy hat. Just a hunch.

Mistake Number 4 that led to the fall of the order: Baselessly Exiling Ahsoka (Baselessly?? There very much was base)

So. Wrong Jedi Arc my beloathed. Here we are again. The article claims that the Jedi “exiled Ahsoka Tano on mere suspicion alone and didn't even confirm whether she was involved in the bombing of the Jedi Temple or not”. Which. Hmm. So, there was a big investigation into the bombing that pretty definitely said that Ahsoka was almost certainly the bomber. It wasn’t ‘mere suspicion’, it was all the fucking evidence very clearly pointing to her. She ran away, she worked with a damn separatist assassin, she was found in a warehouse filled with the bombs. The audience know she was framed, but the characters don’t because the whole point of framing someone is to convince the other people they did it. If the Jedi had exiled her for this, they would’ve been being very reasonable and justified. Will also point out that the Jedi were forced by the Senate to exile her and did not want to. They apologized and let her back in as soon as they possibly could.

Also there’s this weird (actually!) baseless claim that Ahsoka was one of the most powerful Jedi in the Clone Wars. Which has no proof because it’s untrue—she’s a padawan with max 2 years of training. There’s no way she’s more powerful than a fully trained knight, of which there were still quite a few. But of course she is, because she’s Felony’s beloved OC who can do no wrong.

Mistake Number 5 that led to the fall of the order: Not giving Baby Murderer power

I am convinced that no one involved in writing or editing this article has actually watched RotS, and has only ever listened to Felony talk about RotS. They claim that ‘they invited Anakin over to the Council as a pseudo-member and his only task was to spy on the Chancellor. Not only was this political meddling once again, but it was also an insult to Anakin’ oh no, they insulted Anakin, clearly this means he’s justified in murdering them! Also, the Jedi Council apparently wanted to appoint Anakin, they weren’t literally forced into it by Palpatine. You know, that scene where Palpatine is like “yeah, I’ve forced the council to put you on the council even though they don’t want you there. You’re my spy on the council now” that didn’t happen actually. The Jedi were completely evil in not allowing the unstable baby murderer a full seat on their governing body when they were forced to put him there through nepotism. Them asking the only guy who’s close enough with the chancellor to investigate him because he’s overstayed his term and is overreaching with his powers is also completely evil and awful and unjustified. Uh huh.

Mistake Number 6 that led to the fall of the order: Mace Windu Wants To Kill Palpatine Right Away (direct quote from the article)

Yeah, you read that right. I can’t make this shit up, but filoni sure as fuck can. So, Mace Windu learns that the shady Chancellor that’s been overreaching with his authority and has overstated his term is also an evil Sith that has manipulated both sides of the war to gain power, causing the deaths of millions, including a shit ton of Mace’s people and friends, because said chancellor drafted them to fight in the war that he created. This would make Mace pretty damn justified in killing Palpy imo, but Mace specifically goes to arrest him for his crimes. Palpatine then kills three other Jedi Masters in cold blood and attempts to kill Mace, and when Mace beats him he still tries to arrest him—y’know that whole “You are under arrest, my lord” bit?—until the guy tries to fucking electrocute him with his fucking hands and it becomes clear that there is no way to take him in peacefully. Only after palpatine murders 3 people in front of him, attempts to murder Mace in combat, and makes it clear that he cannot be taken in alive does Mace attempt to kill him. No matter how you slice it, that’s not him wanting to kill the bitch right away.

Also the article tries to say that Anakin wanted to bring Palpatine in because he recognized that he should stand trial, which is technically what he says, but he also screams “I need him!” in that same scene so I think we know why he really doesn’t want Palpy to die.

Mistake Number 7 that led to the fall of the order: They didn’t train Luke and Leia

Now this might seem baffling because the article is supposedly talking about things that caused the fall of the order and Luke and Leia weren’t even born until after the fall of the order, but I can assure you that the article does not explain this in any way.

Still, let’s pretend this makes sense with the subject of the article and press on. The article asks what was stopping Obi Wan from training Luke as a Jedi on Tatooine. I feel like the answer might have something to do with the fact that the twins were so powerful that the Jedi were afraid that the emperor could sense them if they were next to each other. Formal training would make them stronger and more likely to be sensed, so they didn’t do it until they had to. This probably would be the most reasonable thing in here if the article wasn’t about what caused the fall of the order.

Mistake Number 8 that led to the fall of the order: Not telling Luke about Vader

Yet another Thing That Lead to the Fall of the Jedi Order that somehow happened after the fall of the order, but if I focus on that I might start screaming, so we move on.

This article leads you to believe that all the problems in ESB could’ve been solved if only Obi Wan had told Luke about Vader. Hmm. Yoda says in RoJ that Luke wasn’t ready for the information when he was told at the end of ESB, which seems very true based on the fact that Luke was unable to accept the information when told, was described by George Lucas as suicidal afterwards, and is suddenly unable to consider killing Mr. Evil Baby Murderer Space Fascist afterwards because of their family connection, and you want Obi-Wan to tell him earlier?

You know that OT Luke would, upon hearing that information before Cloud City, have immediately jumped in his X-Wing and raced to confront Vader. If he found Vader in that state, Luke would’ve been even more unbalanced and unfocused, which would’ve lead to him losing the duel worse and being either killed or captured by Vader, since Leia wouldn’t have been close enough to save him.

Mistake Number 9 that led to the fall of the order: Not believing people who had been dead for 1,000 years were back without proof

I want you to imagine a hypothetical with me: a guy that is somehow vaguely influential in politics walks up to the UN and tells them that Leif Eriksson and the Vikings are back and coming to kill everybody. This man has no proof beyond what he and a couple of people with him say , and there has been no indication of this at all before he shows up. I know in that scenario I’d want the UN to throw him out until he had proof.

That’s the modern day equivalent of Qui Gon telling the Jedi the Sith are back. He’s making a huge claim with no evidence. You can’t expect the Jedi to immediately believe him no questions asked. The instant there’s actual proof of this, we see the two most influential and powerful Jedi, Mace and Yoda, talking about how they need to look out for other Sith. They are taking the threat seriously, they just aren’t omniscient like the audience.

Mistake Number 10 that led to the fall of the order: When they were enemies of the state who would be killed if they didn’t hide, they hid

Truly, a horrible mistake. Now they’re mad at Obi Wan and Yoda for going into hiding, unlike other survivors of Order 66. Other survivors such as Kanan, Ahsoka, Cal, and Quinlan, perhaps. All of these characters went into hiding. Cal and Kanan were forced out of hiding, and Ahsoka helped with the early rebellion while remaining in hiding, but pretty much every order 66 survivor tried to go into hiding.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cry.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 7]

An In Stars and Time AU. In part seven, Isabeau talks to Loop. (SPOILER WARNING for the entire epilogue / "secret ending" / "two hats" / just really all conceivable spoilers! Read at your own risk!!!!!!)

You’re not going to talk to him, obviously. You’re under no obligation to chat up every idiot who comes your way. You’ll just stay in your tree and wish you were dead, like you always do when your stardust is off having manic episodes and/or interviewing genocidal maniacs. But when he shuffles up to your tree, the Fighter has the gall to say, “Um… Loop? Are you home?” (NO.) Against your better judgment, you allow him to see you. "You don’t really believe that this little tree is my home, do you?” “Nnnot... anymore?” “Aw, Fighter,” you giggle. “Did you think that stars grew on trees? I’m devastated to deprive you of such a charming misconception.”

Again, and I cannot emphasize this enough: a6se spoilers below!!!!

(And a followup PSA: with all the unsettling updates viz a viz "whoops maybe AI-training / content-scraping is coming to Tumblr too," for now I think I'm gonna stop posting entire chapters on here! I'll still post a sizeable preview, but the work in full will continue to hide out on ao3.)

In hindsight, your first mistake was letting yourself believe that things couldn’t get any worse. You should have known the Universe would take it as a challenge.

* * *

In a field a quarter-mile further south and a few hundred feet to the east, a Traveler jolts awake. They sit up on their elbows just in time to see their Fighter hurtling into view.

The Fighter beams at him. “It worked!!!!!”

“—Buh?”

(Ve~ry articulate, stardust. Why, I can’t think of a single reason why the big guy might take that the worst way he can think of!!!)

Sure enough, the Fighter sags a little. “U-Um. I meant… looping back without dying?”

“...Oh.” They’re not looking at him, just down at their own hand. Running their fingers over their palm with a vague, faraway look in their eye. For a second, you can feel phantom fingers ghost over your wrist. “Um. Sorry.”

The Fighter looks baffled. “What? No. I mean, I’m sorry. Why are you sorry?”

The Traveler just keeps staring at their palm. When the Fighter’s eyes follow theirs, he flushes all the way down his neck.

You roll your eyes. He was always sooo~ easy. Not that your silly little stardust could ever rub two brain cells together for long enough to notice.

You can’t feel them all the way on the rooftop. Maybe it’s because you never made it that far. Or maybe it’s the King’s wish, dampening yours. But you can feel them now. The pins-and-needles prickle of your palm. Warm static fizzing up your arm. You can feel the way you— the way they’re looking at their Fighter, and trying not to look, and looking anyway. You have many faults, but you’re not stupid. You can put one and one together.

“UHHH,” the Fighter blurts out, overloud. “I’m… really sorry? I just… You said I had to do something you w-wouldn’t expect and I—I guess I really really didn’t want you to stab yourself, so…”

Your eyebrows twitch. (No they don’t. You don’t have eyebrows, probably. Unless you do? How would you ever know?)

“No,” your stardust mumbles. “It’s. Um. It’s… sorry, it’s… Sorry. Um. Don’t… worry about it?”

(…Are they stupid? He’s definitely going to worry about it.)

“Okay!!!!” the Fighter shouts. “Cool!!! Then I definitely won’t!!!”

(Uh huh.)

The Traveler shakes his head muzzily. “I—uh. I should go… do something? Else?”

“Huh?”

They gather just enough of their shattered composure to muster a glare. “If you’re going to make us fight the King every time, then I need everyone’s special skills. Or else it’s going to take forever.”

“Everyone’s what-now?”

“Their— When I help them with their problems, they—” He huffs impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I just mean, I have things to do. Now. With the others.”

Their Fighter blinks at them. “Wait. You get friendship quests?”

“...Yes?”

“Secret quests!!!” the Fighter gasps, brightening. “What do you do with everyone??”

“That’s private.”

“Okay, fair. Well, then, what did you do with me?”

The Traveler looks away. “…Not telling.”

Well, of course they won’t. Wouldn’t want their precious Fighter just… saying his lines. Parroting the same stupid sentiments over and over till the words all lose their meaning, like a certain blinding moron who you are, of course, far too decorous to name.

“U-Um,” the Fighter mumbles. “Okay, well. If you’re gonna be busy with the others, then… I think I wanna talk to Loop.”

You nearly fall out of your tree. Fortunately, the only witness is a nearby nest of swallows, which you’ve already sworn to silence.

In the field, your stardust looks almost as surprised. “You’re—what? Just you?”

The Fighter nods.

“You and Loop?”

“...Is that okay?”

“...Yes?” You can feel their bafflement all the way from here. Or is that yours? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

* * *

You’re not going to talk to him, obviously. He’s not the one trapping you here. That would be his precious little Traveler. You’re under no obligation to chat up every idiot who comes your way. You’ll just stay in your tree and wish you were dead, like you always do when your stardust is off having manic episodes and/or interviewing genocidal maniacs.

But when he shuffles up to your tree, the Fighter has the gall to say, “Um… Loop? Are you home?”

(NO.)

Against your better judgment, you allow him to see you. "You don’t really believe that this little tree is my home, do you?”

“Nnnot anymore?”

“Aw, Fighter~,” you giggle. “Did you think that stars grew on trees? I’m devastated to deprive you of such a charming misconception.”

“That’s not what I—!! Aw, it doesn’t matter. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Teehee! I wouldn’t worry about that!” Only people are capable of offense, and you haven’t been a person in a long time. “What is it that you want, Fighter? Or are you just here to enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“Um… Well, I’m also here to say hi?”

Your patience thins. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Isa— The Fighter flinches. “Haha… I guess I just wanted to ask about, um…” He pulls a notebook out of his pocket. “You and Sif have been trying to figure this out for, like, ages, right? Ages and ages of loops.”

“Mhmmm~~”

“And you’ve been talking with them this whole time.”

“That’s right! I’ve come to know my sweet little stardust quite intimately, teehee.”

The Fighter chokes. “I. Uh. Right. So, then, do you… Have you guys figured anything out about why this is happening?”

“‘Why,’ hm? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? I would’ve thought you’d start with ‘how.’”

“Well, it’s all one big ouroboros, isn’t it?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “That’s an awfully big word for a guy who can’t even confess a crush.”

His face flushes violently. Bullseye.

“Oooh, did I guess right?” you giggle, like it wasn’t abundantly obvious. “How embarrassing! You have such bad taste!”

“Hey.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You wink. “You’ve seen how they’ve been acting. Now that the show is over, they’re finally ready to show their true shades.”

The Fighter’s fists clench. Good. Time to finish him off. If you play your cards right, he’ll never want to come back.

“Say, here’s a fun game!” you say brightly. “Do you want to guess how many times he let you all die just to save a little time?”

Want to finish out this chapter? You can read the rest on AO3!

[hxlda-hxlda]

Harper!! Hi love!!

Please tell me everything about Poolverine!! I know absolute jack shit about it but the fanart you reblog and stuff looks so delicious xx

fig i could not love you more if i tried. 

poolverine is one of the MANY xmen ships that has eaten at my brain of late, and now u indulge me with asking abt them???? YOU my friend are the delicious one. i will do my best to make this a reasonable length and also understandable.

ok here are our players: you have deadpool aka wade winston wilson and you have wolverine aka logan. 

wade is a vigilante who started as a hitman. he has basically no morals except for his soft spot for abused children as he was one himself. he talks to much and copes with immense amounts of trauma via humour. he harbours a need to be needed + also a slight hero's complex but has been rejected from every cool and reputable superhero team there is (on account of the no morals). but, occasionally saves his dramatically and heroically saves his loved ones and more recently, the entire universe. wade has stage four terminal cancer but also the ability to rapidly regenerate his cells, thus, he not only is constantly surviving his cancer, but literally anything else. severed arm? no problem. body full of bullets? sure, give him like 30 seconds.

logan is 200 years old and has fought in literally every war ever. he is deeply traumatised (see: every war ever) and considers himself no hero, preferring his whole 'im a lone wolf i need no team' ideal. unlike wade, he IS a foundational member of one of the coolest superhero groups; the x-men, though he is adamant that he doesn't care for the team or actually want to be part of it (see: lone wolf, deeply troubled). like wade, logan can regenerate from almost anything. he has a near-indestructible metal welded to his skeleton as a result of a crazy scientist, metal claws that protract like a kitty cat's, and generally wolf-like instincts. these abilities are on account of him being a 'mutant'.

mutants are born with/have developed special genetic mutations (like claws or regeneration or laser eyes, etc). they are, generally, hated in this world. if the x-men series does one thing right, it makes for a wonderful analogy on fear-based discrimination on account of human differences (being a queer person and an x-man fan is not for the faint of heart, man). mutants and humans are constantly pitted against each other. groups like the x-men try to bridge the difference by proving they are not dangerous but only trying to live regular lives without having to hide. you can guess how well this goes (not at all well).

i hope you're with me so far.

now, logan eventually ends up (spoiler alert!) dying despite his healing factor by sacrificing himself very heroically and tragically - proved to be the x-man he always claimed he wasn't. he is remembered as a hero, THE x-man, etc. wade, not accepted into the x-men, has this one sided beef with dead-200yrs old-superhero logan.

cut to years later. wade has given up his vigilante/hero ways on account of all the rejection and everyone's disbelief that he could ever actually save the world/do anything remotely serious and genuinely heroic. however, all of wade's loved ones will die if he can't save the world this time. no one trusts he can actually do it, but it's all down to him. uh oh! dilemma! even worse? wade needs logan to save the world. logan who is still super dead, which isn't very helpful.

fear not! multiverse! long story short wade searches a bunch of parallel universes until he finds A logan that might work with him. unfortunately for the both of them, he ends up teaming up with who is known as the 'worst wolverine'. if logan from wade's timeline was traumatised, this guy's on a whole other level. worst!logan is responsible for the death of all the x-men in his universe, those who he definitely loved but refused to show he did - preferring to be an angry alcoholic over any kind of hero. if original!logan had few morals, this guy has none. he's not a nice guy. but that's okay, wade isn't really one either.

the fun dynamic we now have at play is: wade, not a hero, wants to be a hero, needs to be a hero but can't be. logan, a hero in literally every other universe, refuses outright to be one. both: sad. both: also capable of regenerating no matter what. both: with anger issues and violent tendencies and can be stabbed by the other a million times and never sustain lasting physical damage. aka: your match made in heaven. wade needs logan to become a hero to save all his loved ones. logan's loved ones are all fuckin' dead, why should he care? the parallels are beautiful and unending.

in the film that has just come out, the whole thing is basically a gay sex metaphor where they stab each other a bunch and definitely fall in love a bit (a lot), ending with worst!logan leaving his own timeline to permanently join wade's (which they did successfully save after they BOTH make the hero play and sacrifice themselves for each other yet both managing to survive). in the fics that have since further developed this dynamic, you see a lot of two men who have never known kindness or gentleness in their lives learn that they have to be slightly gentle bc they're both traumatised and unloved af (but also, not too gentle, they're both literally indestructible). and of course, you get some really delicious and artfully grotesque smut because they both have massive pain kinks and are, again, indestructible.

and that's the gist! logan generally can be shipped with quite literally anybody on account of the fact that he is a canonical whore and also the whole x-men team is a disaster of homoerotic relationships. however worst!logan x wade has a very special place in my heart.

i had so much fun with this. even if you read none of this, i thank you anyway for asking. everyone in my real life is sick of me talking about my silly little superheroes.

and fig, if you ever wanted to delve into the realm of tragic gay superhero ships, i recommend something called 'stucky'. it has nothing to do with the x-men but good god does it have the same brilliant awful-ness of wolfstar. i can make a whole seperate post about that some other time.

[ladykailitha]

My brain went into Steddie overdrive today. Sheesh! I came up with two AUs.

1- Secret Garden AU- Robin as Mary Lennox, the orphan from India sent to live with her uncle (Hopper in this situation) who is rarely home. She meets Eddie (as Dickon the townie boy) through her maid Max. Uncle Wayne is the old gardener that comes and tends the garden anyway. Joyce is the fearful housekeeper, trying to keep Robin from learning the house’s secret. She keeps claiming the boy Robin hears at night is Will (Jonathan is a former undergardener turned stable boy.) And of course Steve is Colin, the master’s secret son. And then make it gay!

2- Modern AU. Eddie is looking to get the Evenstar from LotR tattooed on his chest but his usual artist packed up and moved to New York. So he’s on the hunt for a new artist when a friend (no idea who yet) tells him that they recently got work done by this guy who’s freaking amazing. He’s told to go the Royal Pain tattoo shop and ask for Stevie. No last name. So he goes and Robin is minding the front desk and he remembers her from school. And suddenly his mind fills in Stevie’s last name. Harrington. And sure enough that’s who walks out. Only this is not King Steve, oh no. This Steve’s hair is shaved on the sides and floppy up top. A single lock is dyed bright pink. He’s got a piercing in his eyebrow and left ear and tattoos peaking from his tight polo shirt. Eddie’s panicking now. He can’t have King Steve tattoo him! How would he hide the erection he knows he’s gonna pop?

But Steve is smiling brightly at him and asking him about if he wants to do a large back tattoo of the pendant but Eddie tells him he’s saving his back for some wicked bat wings. But he hasn’t found an artist he trusts enough to do it. Steve immediately offers his portfolio to look at while he sets up for the Evenstar tat. Robin leans across the counter and tells Eddie that he better at least get Steve’s number if he doesn’t intend to return for the back tattoo. Because Steve hates doing back tattoos or any tattoos that require more than one or two sessions because he gets bored easy. But the fact that he offered to do Eddie’s means Steve is interested and wants him to come back. And she really doesn’t want to deal with the pining.

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that and he is thankfully saved by Steve calling him to come back. Steve asks him to trust him on the chest piece and give him carte blanche. Eddie thinks about it for a moment and then agrees. When it’s done he is grateful he trusted his instincts because the tattoo? It’s gorgeous. It looks as though it’s coming out of his chest, skin peeling back to see bone and his heart and the Evenstar in the middle of it, shining like a beacon. Eddie almost cries at how beautiful it is.

Steve hands him is business card with his cell phone number on the back. And Eddie walks away with the shops own lotion and the knowledge that he would be back to have Steve do those wings.

Full Story here.