#not sure why anyone would but just in case

[quodo-brainrot]

I did an interesting thought exercise with this. Several people in the notes have already pointed out that Odo would have been super OP if he could flawlessly shapeshift into other people like the other Changelings can. (And in the course of the series, we see exactly why it's so OP.)

But! There is one interesting and hilariously simple weakness they could have introduced if they decided that Odo was that good.

Quark is on to something when he starts licking objects to try to figure out if one of them is Odo. You know why? Because Odo doesn't have a sense of smell or taste. I doubt he could replicate something that he can't even sense, so an Odo shot glass would almost certainly taste weird compared to a normal one.

The fact that Quark uses this strategy repeatedly suggests that it has worked at some point, even if we never see it on camera.

I believe that lacking a sense of smell would be surprisingly devastating to any attempts to masquerade as someone else.

Science and speculation under the cut.

As kids, most of us were taught that animals (especially canines) can smell a kajillion billion times better than humans can, but that's a pretty broad statement that has a bit of an 'apples vs. oranges' bent to it.

Humans are actually quite good at smelling the things that are important for us to smell... like each other.

I'm sure you've heard of how blind people are sometimes known to develop a much more keen sense of smell to compensate. Some become capable of identifying people based on scent alone.

Well, it turns out that we don't actually need to go blind to be really good at smelling each other, it's just that a lot of our scent processing is done subconsciously.

With all that in mind, I'm now envisioning a hilarious episode where Odo tries to mimic Rom and Quark just fucking instantly shuts him down because not only has Odo failed to mimic Rom's specific scent, but Quark can also hear that his heartbeat and breathing patterns aren't anywhere near accurate.

Figuring that maybe Ferengi are just an edge case due to their natural hypervigilance, Odo tries to mimic a human and finds that even the humans are suddenly suspicious of him - even if most of them can't put their finger on why.

To the humans, it's very much a classic example of being in the presence of an 'Alternate' - there's something uncanny about this person, but the explanation for why is juuust out of conscious reach.

I think it would be especially funny if humans and maybe Bajorans are the only races who can't really articulate why they feel suspicious. Almost every other race just immediately nails it with 'he doesn't smell right.' I feel like Cardassians would be especially good at it.

Even with this weakness, the storylines with the other Changelings mimicking people wouldn't necessarily need to be altered or removed. You could just write that they isolated themselves enough to avoid too much suspicion, or they simply used their authority to quickly shut down anyone who doubted them.

But poor Odo is absolutely no match for DS9's found family - they all know each other too well, to such a degree that the Station-Wide Polycule is a widely accepted headcanon. They're all so accustomed to the thick fog of pheromones hanging over Ops that they're going to immediately be suspicious when Bashir shows up smelling mostly of nothing (but also faintly of Quark for some weird reason).

Absolutely transcendent move from Star Trek to write a shapeshifter character who's kind of bad at it. You're like, "oh so he can impersonate other characters?" and they're like no he's not very good at faces :(

[dira333]

All tricks, one treat - Suna Rintarou x Reader

cupid - for @moochiwoochi for the Milestone Event Week 1

“So, uh, what’s your type?”

You lift your head to stare at the waiter. “What?”

“Your type,” he sends you a cheeky grin. “What is it?”

“Not you.”

His grin widens. “Kinda figured that out already but thank you. So, your type?”

“What’s this?” You eye him before leaning to the side to eye his twin at the counter, shaping Onigiri. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“No, lean back, will you?”

You smirk, turning your head but not leaning back. “And what will that get me?”

“I’ll pay for your drinks, now lean back.”

You smile as you settle back in your chair. “In that case, I’ll take another one. You know what I’m drinking anyway.”

He sighs. “Listen,” he checks if his brother’s paying attention before turning around. “I have this friend that would be amazing for you, but he’s a little-”

“No.” 

“You haven’t even let me finish.”

“I’m not letting you set me up with anyone.”

“Fine,” he huffs, “Your loss.”

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

“No, Atsumu,” you cut him off this week before he can offer you the usual. “I don’t want to be set up.”

“But you’re single, right?”

You grumble under your breath but his grin is persistent and so is he.

“Fine,” you huff quietly. “I am single. But so are you, right?”

“Temporarily,” he tells you with confidence. “How about I invite him here, no pressure, and you can check if you even like him. He won’t even know we’ve talked about this before.”

“You’re as subtle as a Tiger trying to play Giraffe.”

“That’s an awful comparison.”

You shrug and take your usual seat, waving at Osamu to let him know you’re here.

You’re pretty sure Atsumu’s not going to give up just like that.

-

“He’s here,” Atsumu announces one week later. 

“Who? Your replacement? Why are you dressed as a waiter when you don’t even work here anymore?”

“I’m helping out,” Atsumu hisses, but he’s quick to get back on track. “My friend, the one I mentioned. He’s here.”

“Pease don’t tell me-”

“Oh, hi Bokkun.” Atsumu’s face is one big smile. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Bokkun, or Bokuto, as he introduces himself, smiles just as big. “Good to see you too!”

You have to admit, he’s good-looking, though he almost upturns your table as he tries to pull Atsumu into a bone-crushing hug right in front of you.

You look around for a different table, locking eyes with a guy in the next booth over.

His eyes glow like yellow diamonds and he gives you a lazy smile that could mean absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

Embarrassed, you turn back to the commotion in front of you.

“Bokkun, this is a friend of mine. Do you wanna sit with her while I get us something to eat?”

You watch helplessly as Bokuto takes that offer, grinning back at you from the other side of the table.

Sure he’s cute, but he reminds you of a Golden Retriever whereas you’ve always been more of a black cat type of girl.

He immediately begins to talk, telling you all about today’s training and the shenanigans he and Atsumu get into on the daily when all you’ve wanted was a quiet dinner after work.

Looking for help your eyes wander around the restaurant, soon finding yourself eye-to-eye with your booth neighbor again.

“Need help?” He mouths wordlessly. You nod.

He gets up and walks over. 

“I’m sorry,” he leans in, cutting Bokuto off and your thoughts as well. He’s even prettier this close. “I might be wrong, but don’t we know each other?”

“Yes,” you grasp that excuse with both hands. “Middle School, right? What was your name again? You sat in front of me, I think.”

“Suna. Suna Rintarō.” His handshake is firm and reassuring. “I’d love to catch up, but if you’re occupied-” He gestures at Bokuto who doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Oh, Bokuto here is a friend of the waiter, I think. He was just sitting with me to keep me company, but I’m sure he won’t mind. Right, Bokuto-san?”

“Right?” He answers, a little confused.

“Well in that case,” Suna points at his booth and you take your escape as quick as your legs allow.

-

Suna, as it turns out, is just as fun as he’s helpful, making you giggle with comments about his own teammates - apparently you don’t have anything against volleyball players, you just have something against Atsumu Miya.

“I’m gonna be right back,” you tell him an hour into what feels like a date before heading to the bathroom.

When you return, Atsumu’s bright blond hair is shining like a beacon from the booth you just left.

Sighing inwardly you try your best to sneak up to him undetected.

“For the last time, Tsumu, I’m not interested in meeting the girl you want to set me up with. I came here tonight because I wanted to eat Onigiri and also I just met someone I like-”

“You’re not listening to me-”

“Atsumu Miya,” you interrupt him, satisfied when he jumps at the sound of his own name. “I do think you need to learn some boundaries. We don’t want your useless help!”

Atsumu gapes at the two of you for a whole second before he gathers himself, cackling. “You guys don’t understand. I was setting up the two of you and it looks like it worked.”

You blink. Suna groans.

“But what about Bokuto?”

“Distraction,” Atsumu grins. “You would have hated Suna if I had introduced him to you. But you like him now, am I right? Heh?”

You glare at him, unable to look over at Suna now who sighs.

“Tsumu, you have one chance to leave this booth right now or I’ll start sharing that one video from High School that you begged me to delete.”

Panic flashes over Atsumu’s face as he gets up. “I’m gone, I’m gone!”

But even as he seemingly vanishes into thin air, you can’t relax after this.

“I’m really sorry about this,” you tell Suna without really looking at him. You can see that he’s nodding.

“Me too. He’s going to hold this over our heads forever.”

“Mhm.”

“So… dessert?”

When you blink up at him now, he’s grinning, sly and lazy and very appealing.

“I do like you, you know. Atsumu be damned,” he mutters, sliding one hand over the table to take yours.

“Fine,” you say, more to yourself than to him, before you slide into the booth once more. “But I’ll pick the dessert.”

And from the way his knee knocks into yours under the table you know he knows you feel the same way about this.

A little conflicted, a little relieved, and a whole lotta interested.

[ganondoodle]

actively fighting a full blown panic attack born out of sadness and anger after having to drive by yet another victim on the side of the road

it makes me livid how accepted it is to just let cats suffer and die disgustingly horrid deaths and live awful short lives just so what, for what?? so you dont have to play with them for an hour a day??? when i was little it was just kinda normal that they disappeared at some point, i didnt understand what it actually meant until our outdoor cat i loved dearly was found in the bushes near our house in a condition so horrible my dad has never told me and i have never dared to ask, she only made it to 6 and had horrible scars and infections before that i allowed my family to convince me to let my first own cat outside, we only had her for a year, she died at only 2 years old, i am still suffering from the guilt, it has never let me go, she went missing for a week and i walked the entire vilage up and down every day, yelling her name, wandering into the forest alone, talking to every stranger i met until one morning my mom told me that our neighbour who works for the city asked if we had a white cat with a very specific collar she had- he found her on a busy road crossing in the next bigger city, i never even got to bury her, its haunting me, the thought of her wandering lost and scared in the city for a week until meeting an awful end gives me headaches, the fact that i was the last one to see her alive, that i put her outside bc we were late for school and had to leave quickly, that she had come home with oil in her fur from crawling through maschines and cars before, that i was worried but still didnt act, that it is my fault, any time i am up to late its coming back, it will never let me go, if i had stood my ground and not allow her outside unless on a leash or similar shed still be alive today, any time i read a description at our local shelter it comes back, they still advocate for outside cats, all of them, even if they have only been an indoor one before, its madness my older sister had a cat, i dont even know how old he got but it wasnt long either, he got hit by a car in front of their house, she has two now again and the only reason she hasnt let them outside is because they havent shown much interest in it, i tried to warn her before and she didnt listen and shes still resistent, even after losing one too

i have seen so many on the side of the road, anywhere i drive i see them, i cannot forget a single one, we are surrounded by farm land and all its giant maschinery, its still common to poison rodents, why do people value them so little, you wouldnt let your dog just live outside in the woods and streets for half the day or more, you wouldnt just throw your guniea pigs on the road and tell them have fun, you wouldnt just let your bird roam outside, there probably assholes that do that too but you cannot tell me its as common as outside cats

i dont understand it, i dont, i wont, i never will, i will never forgive myself this poor little animal that was my responsibility having to pay the price of my ignorance, or my own weakness letting my family convince me despite the awful way we lost one before, it makes me want to explode it hurts my brain in grief and anger i can barely contain

cats deserve to live a safe and long life, i get only having them inside may feel like you are locking them up, but do you think that not doing so is worth having them die a painful death? being poisonend? on purpose even by disgusting people that hate them? abused and chased by other animals and dogs? hurt and lost? cutting their lifespan in half? if they even make it that far? the amount of wildlife that they kill unnecessarily so when all of that is already in a steep decline everywhere? and if they eat what they hunt get infected with diseases or again, poison? die somewhere in agony? if cared for they dont care about going outside, plenty can be leash trained or given a secure way to roam like those cat proof aviary like things, if you dont want to put effort into caring for a cat DONT GET ONE, ALL pets require adequate care, and if you think cats are the easiest bc you only have to feed them every now and then IF they come home? you suck, you are an asshole, i hate you and you do not care about them, if you just want to occasionalyl feed and pet an animal go to the petting zoo

(this is about pet cats of people who can absolutely afford to keep them healthily inside, i know feral cats and those in poor neighbourhoods are a thing, even if not here where i live, and thats a whole other but still similar problem and not the point of this post)

[yasmindifference]

#4

wow why is it so big... ._. ... and jaytim pls :3

It's been snowing for three days straight, and Gotham has subsided into eerie silence.

That doesn't mean Jason's not patrolling, of course; it just means his patrols are a lot quieter than usual. It also means he's fucking freezing by the end of it, extra layers be damned.

On the bright side, the weather does make an excellent excuse for an extended stay at Tim's place. Someone's gotta make sure the spleenless wonder doesn't get taken out by a stray breeze, and who better than Jason?

That's his reasoning and he's sticking to it...not that anyone's asking. The Bats are too cold to even notice where Jason's spending the night, much less bother him about the whys.

And Tim, to his ever-pleasant surprise, never questions Jason's reason for showing up. He'll just pass him an extra plate of his dinner, or scoot over to make room for him on the couch, or enlist his help for whatever case he's working on, all without hesitation.

Or, like tonight--when Jason finds him already in bed--he lifts his (many) blankets in silent invitation.

A silent invitation that, after a quick change, Jason's more than happy to accept.

Snow is still falling outside the (one-way) glass that makes up two walls of Tim's penthouse suite, but inside it's toasty warm. Warm enough that Jason eschews the shirt he left here a while ago (freshly laundered since) in favor of just the sweatpants he's fairly certain he didn't. They don't look familiar, even though they're very much his size and stacked right next to his shirt on top of Tim's dresser.

Did Tim buy sweatpants specifically for him?

Jason's not gonna question it--too afraid the answer's no--but it's a nice thought.

He slides into bed next to Tim and is immediately pinned down when Tim eels on top of him and latches on tight.

"You're cold," he says with an unhappy little noise...but he very noticeably doesn't loosen his grip at all.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Yeah, it's like ten below, if you hadn't noticed."

"Mm." Tim somehow manages to hug him tighter. "You're the last one in tonight. Even Bruce called it early."

Jason slips his hands under Tim's shirt to warm them against his back. It'd take a better man than him not to enjoy how Tim squirms against him in response.

"Did Bruce call it, or did he get dragged?" he asks idly.

"There may have been force involved," Tim acknowledges.

That said, he yawns and tucks his face in the curve of Jason's neck.

"You made me wait forever," he adds grumpily.

Not that Jason would admit it (and good thing no one's here to call him on it), but that warms him more than the blankets and Tim's body heat combined.

Tim was waiting for him. Jason didn't find him buried in a pile of blankets reading on his tablet after a long patrol because he couldn't sleep, he found him like this because Tim was staying awake until he got here.

He keeps thinking this thing of theirs is uncertain, but...it's not, really. Every time he turns around, Tim's showing him, again and again, how welcome he is.

Maybe he really doesn't need an excuse.

So he doesn't bother coming up with one before he kisses Tim's hair--and, as usual, Tim doesn't ask. He just smiles into Jason's neck and kisses it in return.

"Night," he murmurs.

"Goodnight," Jason says, and with Tim on top of him--Tim trusting him--Tim wanting him--it really is.

Prompt #4 was snuggling beneath the covers! Well chosen! ♡♡

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Part 4: An Unexp-ectoed Party

“So if I sink through this floor are you going to just summon me back here?” the man who had transformed into a child and then a small cat snake creature asked, resigned.

“Safe bet, yeah.” Tim answered before Constantine could point out that the summoning circle hadn’t done a very good job of containing him. Tim had so many questions. What was up with the first transformation? The guy had undergone some hellish amalgamation of a magical girl transformation sequence and spaghettification into a gordian knot, with all the grace and majesty of a dog horking up a half digested hot dog and then eating the barf. Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch it again on repeat to analyze the bizarre, physics breaking sequence, or if instead he wanted a swift concussion that would  make him forget everything about it. Also, why turn into a child? And how? Is the guy a meta? Why did he do a color switch and reappear/reform wearing a jumpsuit that looked like a cross between a Level C HazMat suit and a superhero (or -villain) costume? Why was he in the lab in the first place? Who was he? Where’d he come from? Why was he disassembling a vehicle? Was this an attack against Fenton Works, WE, or something preemptive in case Luthor got his hands on the place? Is he working for Luthor? Fuck that would be bad. Tims thoughts kept scrolling through a list of all the information he needed to extract from the man.

“Ugh, fine. Let’s get this over with.” He swiped his hands down his face and sat up, uncaring or unaware that he left a big smear of grease on his cheek. “Before we start, what do you plan on doing with this information?”

“I’m doing an assessment of assets for Wayne Enterprises.” Tim prevaricated.

“And I was hired to consult when it looked like some magic shite got tangled in the tech.” Constantine added when the man turned his pointed gaze in his direction.

“Okay, so if it isn’t related to WE’s business, will you keep everything I say off the record, just between us?” the stranger asked. 

“Yeah, of course.” Tim lied.

Constantine shot him a strange, warning glare. “If it doesn’t endanger anyone to keep quiet, I agree to your terms.”

“Great!” His grin stretched inhumanly wide, full of teeth that were just a little too sharp. “The pact is sealed. So mote it be.” He clapped his hands together and a wave of green light washed over them.

Fuck! Was that some kind of fae bargain!?

[sordidmusings]

WIP TUESDAY - Sugar Daddy Headcanons with Shanks and Garp

Saw Schoute's wonderful art WIP and writing and wanted to join the fun! Have some ridiculous Blorbos as Sugar Daddies headcanons that have been on my backburner LOL I've got Shanks and Garp ready for y'all 🫡 They're pretty much done, I moreso have to fill out everyone else on the list 🤡 No warnings really! Just some allusions to spice but nothing explicit. Lots of silliness. I believe they're gender neutral but I'm going to tag as afab just in case because I fear it may be in the subtext since that's the perspective I wrote it from and the one people generally expect for sugar babies. Might be fun to subvert sometime by writing them with explicitly amab sugar babies. I will Ponder lol I'd also love to see what everyone is working on so please take this as a sign to post something of your own!!

The song I blame for everything (I love u Thot Squad):

“This fine old man, he played three

He can knickknack this coochie

With an Amex black card, get a girl a Benz

Reset and do it again”

Word Count: Shanks ~750, Garp ~400 (sorry about the favoritism Vice Admiral 😬)

Shanks

shanks absolutely pursued this type of relationship with you

Your pretty face and open smile snagged his attention but the way you easily met and fed his energy had him at you like a dog with a bone

He’s no stranger to helping people laugh their way into his bed, but the journey with you felt different. He took extra time simply because each moment with you was too good to keep from savoring

You didn’t hide your attraction at any point but he did appreciate that you would try and prod back at him in good humor to test his will and want

You found he had both in excessive abundance

It felt nice to have someone so attractive, established, feared, and adored seek your company and watch him become more interested with each minute he got of you. It also felt nice to see that while he certainly had an abundance of confidence he held no arrogance with you - he played no games in making you question his interest or to assert his importance to you. He treated you as a person (one he mainly wanted to turn to his bedroom tenant but still-) and it made him feel more like a man than a myth for you both too

And holy hell did you like that man - he made you laugh even if at his own expense, he impressed you when he’d let some of his cunning slip through the jovial pirate shtick, he kept your interest with how he could entertain any topic you brought forward, he made you feel beautiful with the way his eyes and hands soaked you in, and he made you feel wanted with the way he treated everything about you with genuine interest. 

The only thing that made it better is how he made sure you wanted for nothing. The first night it was making sure you didn’t pay a cent for anything, you always had food and drink right before you realized you wanted it, his coat found your shoulders the moment you felt a chill, you found yourself in fresh air right when the heat and the noise of the bar became too much. 

After that it was an endless stream of trinkets, from priceless to silly but sentimental, all coming with letters that had you laughing, blushing, and swooning.

Every time he’d visit you (and it was at first as often as he thought he could manage but that managed to get even sooner and sooner because of his need for you) you’d indulge in each other like it was the first and last time

He stopped wanting anyone else - there were enough people across the seas he had to apologize to after explaining why he’d gasped the wrong name and they were never right to scratch the new insatiable itch he had anyway

When it dawned on him how much you had him wrapped around your finger, not just physically and financially but also mentally, emotionally, and he’s pretty sure even spiritually, he may have had a crisis (the crew was very torn between amusement and true wory watching it unfold, especially when the usual rum and patented Beckman Shoulder Pat with Nod didn't ease his turmoil)

It wasn't because he didn’t want to love you, but he truly never thought he’d ever find someone he wanted and needed the way he does you. It was such a foreign concept to him that he felt like the world had tilted and left everything slightly unfamiliar. Especially coming from a relationship he stapled together with riches. Sure, there was also joy, camaraderie, and intimacy holding it together, but he found it harder to trust that someone such as you wouldn't find someone younger and more present to belong to than to trust that you could need him to sustain a lifestyle of ease and abundance.

If he couldn't be sure you'd want him, he'd try and find solace in you needing him, even if it was only for what he could afford you

When he finally told Beckman of his plight, he was slightly offended by the “it took you this long to figure it out?”

He’s currently trying to figure out how to convince you to live on his ship with him. He needed to let you know you’d be safe regardless of your experience level with the seas or battle. 

He’d bring the world to its knees if anything touched a hair on your head

Luckily for him, you knew. Anyone with eyes would from the way he smiles at you.

Garp

Garp was decidedly not in your plans. Yes, you wanted someone older, someone with wealth, someone with influence, someone who would take care of you, but you thought Gilfs were an urban legend told to see what face it would get out of freshies

You’re not complaining tho

He has certainly convinced you that the rarity of his kind just pointed to what a prized role it was to shack up with one

He was rough around the edges to be sure - brash and loud and stubborn - but he used all those traits to get you both exactly what you wanted

All your needs were met without you having to even think of them anymore (you were surprised that needs in the bedroom were included in that, but you supposed you shouldn’t have underestimated a man who could still punch apart battle ships, nor one with such a lust for eating)

Neither of you had any illusions of sweeping romance

You were more than happy with the care and respect that built between the two of you in your roles, growing with each act of service to each other, each piece of comfort, each unintended moment of vulnerability

Don’t get me wrong, the vulnerability ain’t common; most of your time is this man having fun watching you light up when he took you out and tossed his money around for you before taking you home to have multiple courses of dessert

You’ll never get over his gruff voice and curling accent - they helped your brain turn to mush while he coaxed and praised you through happily giving him everything he wants as a thank you for all his care

That voice along with all that burliness and age, which you thought would’ve been a turn off not on, ended up making you feel small yet so protected

Garp didn’t think he’d enter a relationship like this that went on so long and so easily but any reservation or second guessing was lost the moment he saw you and everything just felt natural

Tho he’d still make jokes that always make you groan about how you keep him young better than his troublesome recruits (that he is stuck between wanting to parade you around to see their jaws drop and wanting to keep you hidden away from any young bucks who may try to get your attention before he’s ready to let you go)

Thank you for reading 😘🤍🤍

Masterlist

[smilesatdawnmain]

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 5) (Interactive Story)

Despite him being our protagonists murderer, there may be no one eyes who can help Macaque in this moment.

Lets continue this tragic story, shall we~?

Previous

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal

Ships: Shadowpeach

Angst: You betcha

Fluff: With enough choices, maybe we'll get there.

“'Wukong!” The name tumbled from Macaque’s lips, a desperate plea that sliced through the haze of mist and shadows. It rippled in the air, echoing through the void that separated them.

The moment lingered, the air thick with tension as silence engulfed the realm. And then, Wukong stirred.

His eyes fluttered open, golden irises shimmering with an unmistakable awareness. His ears straightened to attention, startled and alert. His eyes looked wildly left and right, swearing for a moment he heard his name being called.

Heard… his mate call for him.

That couldn’t be….

As he searched, the two Diyu collectors froze. As they stumbled back and into each other, clear fear in their actions, they squabbled, “I thought you said he would never be able to see us?!” one shrieked. There wasn’t a soul alive who didn’t fear Sun Wukong, the Monkey King.

Especially after his recent visit to the Diyu a year prior…. (Though that, was a story for another time.)

“He can’t! He shouldn’t!” the second quickly corrected.

“Then how—”

Wukong’s gaze landed on the figures with an intensity that seemed to burn through the suffocating shadows. For a moment it seemed like he could see them.

“…Is someone there?” Wukong mumbled. His heart raced as he sensed something was wrong. There was something in the air- it tickled the back of his neck. The air crackled with tension, a fight brewing just beyond his immediate perception. He was not in the mood for some demons games.

The two Diyu collectors shrieked and huddled together at his words, daring not to move in case Wukong did truly peer beyond the veil and see them. It was for his exact senses that most opted not to collect the dying souls of Flower Fruit Mountain. Even with the best intentions, the good natured collectors still cowered in the presence of this man.

Macaque panted quietly, angling his head to peer up at Wukong. Despite his hands tied, they itched to reach out. For a moment he wondered if Wukong could see him- yet the King’s ever scanning gaze made it clear he could not.

But he had heard him.

For the briefest second he had heard the cry of his mate. Of his Moon.

Wukong touched his temple, wondering if it had just been the wind. The echoing mountains still holding the essence of the Moon. “…Fool,” he mumbled to himself, “He isn’t here.”

But even as he muttered, the air continued to vibrate with that same uncanny sense. Wukong’s instincts were honed, sharp and unyielding—he could not ignore this. A cold knot formed in his stomach. Something was amiss, he was sure. Of course, it could just be the lingering effects of the alcohol stupor he had tossed himself into the night before. He was home.

It was time for celebration! Of course it was. Which is why he gladly took every glass of alcohol the monkeys tossed his way. In the ruse of celebration, and the turmoil of his agony.

As the King turned, searching behind him as well, the two Diyu collectors inched closer, quietly hissing to Macaque. “He can’t help you..!” They insist. Yet despite this insistence, they kept their voices hushed. “This is the way of it. A soul isn’t intended to linger after death. You can’t use that Monkey to shield you from the cycle of life-”

Macaque felt their whispers like fiery embers against his skin. “Shut up!” he snarled, the bravery fluttering within him. He wanted to insist he wasn’t using Wukong for anything of the sort. He didn’t need a protector, nor did he want it to be Wukong. He didn’t need him either! Now that he was out of that blasted Staff, he wasn’t going to let anyone boss him around.

He just- couldn’t deny the usefulness of Wukong at this time. Like a scarecrow scaring off crows.

Now that he was dead, he was free. No more needing to manage Wukong’s actions. No more needing to protect the tribe or lead in Wukong’s absence. He could… do what he wanted.

He didn’t need Wukong-

He shrieked when Wukong started to walk away.

The nerve of the man! A scarecrow wasn’t supposed to move!

The Diyu collectors were grinning as he did so, already inching closer the more Wukong got further away.

Unable to get a full grasp of the land, it seemed Wukong intended to take to the sky. It was best to look up there-, the King figured. To make sure no one was slinking around his home.

With a call to his cloud he was shooting upward, Macaque’s voice dying out behind him. “Wukong you idiot-!” of course.

OF COURSE!

The one thing he needed Wukong to do and he couldn’t even do that right!

As Wukong ascended, leaving the earthy scents of the mountain behind, the rush of wind whipped against his golden fur, filling him with a momentary sense of freedom. But that knot in his stomach tightened further.

With the King drifting away, the cowering Diyu collectors straightened their attires.

They cleared their throats, finding their confidence, “Ah, see?” they jeered. “Can’t get away that easily! Now-” as they got closer, Macaque kicked his legs feebly to try and put some distance, crawling against the ground.

He wrestled against the restraints around his torso and limbs, biting his lower lip harshly. If he was alive, he was sure it would be bleeding.

“Stop making this difficult-” as one of the collectors grasped his arm, looking intent to just toss the Moon Monkey over his shoulder to get this over with, all present were stunned when something odd occurred.

The Six Eared Macaque was bodily dragged, rather sharply and suddenly, to the right.

Macaque himself had gagged at the sensation, feeling something tight against his chest.

When he looked back at the Diyu collectors they were just as stunned, going pale. “…Huh?” They rushed to grab him again, but Macaque was only forcifully tugged rightward again- in the direction of Wukong’s retreating form.

At Macaque’s waist, below the black tendrils that binded him, a golden light began to shine. It wrapped around his waist and up his spin, coiling to his chest. Like a string it pulled outward, dragging itself back to Wukong; like a string of fate.

Macaque eyes the thing, having never seen something like this before.

"W-What the-??" he followed the trail of it, finding it was coming from Wukong. It was like this etheral string was coming from Wukong's soul it self. The farther Wukong got away the more it dragged Macaque, keeping them at a 50 foot distance to eachother at any given time.

“What?” Macaque murmured, feeling the Doty’s collectors magic loosen from their shock. A chance to escape.

"Oooh," The Diyu collectors winced, smacking their own foreheads. They seemed to recognize this phenominon, and were not pleased, "Well that ain't good." One grumbled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the other hissed

[razorblade180]

Inspiration

Ruby:Yo-yo?

Carmine:Hmm?

Ruby:Ren told me you paid a visit to him for some training. Said you did pretty good.

Carmine:Not really. Stances were okay but aura manipulation is weird. Probably won’t rely on it too much.

Ruby:Seems like you’re drawing inspiration from everyone you can. If that the case, I have something for you.

The reapers reveals a long weapon’s case. She puts in the ground in front of her daughter and taps it with her foot, causing it to open up. Two curved blades lay brightly inside. Their detail is so intricate in the engravings and design. It’s obvious they’re meant to combine. Carmine picks them up to find they have little heft to them but are drastically lighter than her own sword. She might as well be holding nothing.

Carmine:Wow, these are crazy looking. Not necessarily my style but I can see how they could be useful.

Ruby:They’re what Cinder uses.

Carmine:…….What? How did y-

Ruby:These are replicas I made and trust me when I say they’re identical. If you put them together then it can fire arrows.

Carmine:Why would you ever make these?

Ruby:Because, my little huntress, I can be as petty and spiteful as anyone else when pushed far enough. Use these on patrol and missions for the next month; study them well. Utility, movement, reach, all that you can.

Carmine:“Know thy enemy” right? I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this from you considering our differing views on how to handle the situation.

Ruby:I made a vow to you the day you were born that I will be a mom before a huntress when it came to making sure my family was safe. I still plan on finding and taking out Cinder myself, but if for some reason you find her first or she finds you, then by all means, give her every layer of hell you can.

Carmine:I don’t suppose you’ve made me a parasol blade too?

Ruby:If only that’s all it took to learn Neo’s moves. I mean this, just avoid her. She’s at least a three person job and two of them need to hate her.

Carmine:Heh, okay then. Mind if we go a few rounds then?

Ruby:…It’s better if you ask Ren?

Carmine:C’mon. I know you don’t like training me but-

Ruby:No, it not that. I just…I might go too hard if you’re using those.

Carmine:So? Honestly you’d be doing me a favor. Everyone always talks about how intense you can get, all the stories of your passion and hardcore moments. I don’t get to see that. I actually feel weird for never seeing you angry. I get angry all the time!

Ruby:Sweetie, what kind of a parent would I be if I took out repressed rage on my child in a sparring match?

Carmine:…Better than Raven. Better than your mom too.

Ruby:!? Wha-

Carmine:I think you’re pretty cool, despite everything that’s happened. We always try to our feelings out but honestly it never really works well. I get you’re trying to be an example, but it’s okay if normal being a mom doesn’t come as naturally as a huntress. Mix both. I don’t care. I kinda need both. I mean if I can survive you then Cinder would be easier by comparison. Plus…it’s not like I could stop myself from swinging at you seriously either.

Ruby:Did you..are you saying I piss you off?

Carmine:You’re my mom. Every daughter gets pissed at their mom.

Ruby:That’s not…inaccurate. Sigh Are we really doing this?

Carmine:Are my eyes silver? *points blade out* Well, Mrs. Hero? Show me why Cinder is too chicken face you head on!

Ruby:Fine, but name a restaurant first. You may think I prefer being huntsman 24/7 but I’d like to have some regular quality time with my daughter after this.

Carmine:Hmmm, how about your home cooking?

Ruby:…*smiles* Deal.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

❗❗ HEY ❗❗ I SAUR YEW ADD BUCKY BARNES TO YOUR MLIST 🫵🫵🫵 YOU AINT SLICK ❗❗

anywayssss would you be willing to rank your comic book men on least to most willing to kill for their darling? i know we got your opinion on dick but i wanna see how it compares to everyone else

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋…

!!! GN reader, mentions of death/murder, violence, breaking bones, intimidation, threats, manipulation, general mental issues, biochemical attack (how the fuck did we get here), mutilation, self-harm, can be translated as either romantic or platonic.

Help, why did the beginning of this ask trigger my fight or flight for 0.2 seconds, LMAO. I dropped my phone like I was caught red-handed or some shit.

So, I initially made an oath to not answer any more asks until I either finish Life With Older Brother IV or my secret side project, but then I got this ask and figured I could use a little creative break. I’m hitting some brick walls right now with all of my writing projects, sobs.

So!! Here we go. Remember, this is in the order of least to most likely in a general sense. Featuring some new faces because I’m finally confident in depicting their comic book counterparts, yippee!!

Jaime Reyes: Obviously, if the scarab had its way, anyone who poses as a threat to Jaime’s beloved would be neutralized. But we’re talking about Jaime. As long as he’s in full control, he’d probably do everything in his power to not kill anyone, even if it’s for you. He knows he’s fucked in the head. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself it’s still just the scarab preying on his anxieties, it’s getting harder and harder to distinguish Khaji Da’s thoughts from his own. This spiral into insanity around his own morality and guilt would have him cling oh-so desperately to the idea that he’s still a hero. To him, the no-kill role is the only way to know for sure he’s still (kind of) himself.

Bruce Wayne: He’s The Batman. Of course he doesn’t kill. Sure, he may be a bit more violent towards potential threats when it comes to you, but he still doesn’t kill. It’s a core belief that he’ll stick to for as long as evil lurks in the shadows of Gotham. Besides, why would he need to kill when cracking a few ribs gets the message across just fine? Most people don’t even want to fuck with him in the first place; both as Bruce Wayne and especially The Batman. In many cases, simple intimidation will do the trick. It’s much neater than violence. Though violence is definitely still on the table when he’s in a mood (Alfred, for the last time, he does not need a therapist. He’s perfectly functional).

Clark Kent: Whereas Batman doesn’t kill, Superman can’t kill. Meaning, Clark is well aware of the image he has to uphold as the ever-so hopeful Man of Tomorrow. Which is actually fine by him. Due to his strong sense of morals, the thought of blood on his hands makes him sick to his stomach. But there are some cases where that dark voice in the back of his mind whispers he could easily snap the neck of that weirdo talking to you. Of course, this is clearly just a strange intrusive thought, and he guiltily shakes it out of his head the moment it appears. He’s Superman, for heaven’s sake! He’s better than that! Stooping to that level is simply not an option. But you know what is an option? Gripping people hard enough that their bones shatter. Accidents do happen, after all…

Wally West: The chances of him killing are very slim. Believe it or not, he’s not against the idea or anything (only when it comes to you), it’s just he doesn’t see the need to get his hands dirty. There are enough tactics in his arsenal that the thought won’t even cross his mind. A silver tongue can work miracles on its own, and standing at 6 feet tall, Wally can be surprisingly intimidating in his own right. Should there be any threat agains you, he’s more focused on getting you out of harm’s way than beating the shit out of anyone (that comes later, away from your prying eyes). At worst, anyone who pushes their luck will get fractures and road rashes as a result. Killing just isn’t an impulse Wally has. But if it absolutely has to happen… well, wouldn’t that be a shame?

Dick Grayson: As mentioned before in a previous ask, killing is off the table. Dick’s still a hero, and heroes don’t kill. It’s just that he miiiight accidentally lose control if he sees you in a critical state. The ask goes into much deeper detail than this, but to sum it up, he would feel devastated afterwards but eventually justify it to himself. It was to protect you… if he didn’t do it, god only knows what would’ve happened. Otherwise, he’s not one to get his hands dirty like that. The most he’ll do is deliver a very ominous threat that doesn’t outright mean he’s going to kill anyone, but the implications aren’t very pretty. And, if he can help it, he’d rather if you’re not in earshot. Unless if he somehow sees it as a good manipulation tactic. Then sure, you can hear all about how he’s going to drown someone in their own bathroom.

Peter Parker: He has a strong aversion to killing. Now, is that an outright no? As much as he’d like to think so, there are situations where no-kill is optional. Most of them involve you being in active danger. While he doesn’t go out of his way to kill anyone, he sure as hell isn’t thinking about the survivability of his rampage to make sure you’re safe. Causalities would be collateral damage; unfortunate, but possibly necessary. He also has a habit of threatening people’s lives when he’s particularly pissed off. As long as you’re not in some sort of critical state, he usually doesn’t follow through with them (and may even feel guilty afterwards). That being said, hearing your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man deliver a cold one-liner about wanting someone dead is still hella scary.

Steve Rogers: Listen, it’s not at all what he wants. He wouldn’t advocate for murdering your problems away both with or without the shield. But sometimes — just sometimes — it’s necessary. Of course he’d kill someone that posed as a threat to your personal safety. That doesn’t make him a terrible person or anything; most people would do that for their loved ones. Where the line starts to blur, however, is when there isn’t any immediate danger. Does that weirdo who was looking at you for too long count? God— no, Rogers. What is wrong with you?! But… then again, there was this look in their eyes… something’s just so off about them. Ultimately, Steve wouldn’t go through with it, but the thought does cross his mind. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

Hal Jordan: The answer is yes, but mostly because he’s a Lantern. Sometimes, neutralizing the threat is necessary. He would absolutely kill if it meant saving your life. Is it ideal? Absolutely not. Is it cathartic?… Lowkey. Hal’s not afraid to abuse his right as a Lantern to “neutralize the threat.” But keep in mind that this is a rare occurrence that depends on his mood. Really, he only considers it for situations you’re extremely distressed by, like some piece of shit giving you the creeps. He wouldn’t kill for his own personal gain, as much as he sometimes wants to; this is all about you, not him. I also don’t really see him having regrets. If he wants someone dead, he absolutely means it.

Remy LeBeau: It’s simple; if he’s gotta do it, he’s gotta do it. He’s got not moral hang-ups when it comes to killing. He doesn’t do it often, but he’s willing to clean up a mess or two if needed. The need to kill ranges from your personal safety to just not liking someone’s vibe. If that were the case, he’d give the poor sucker more than enough hints to leave you alone. Murder would be a last resort should they not listen; which is totally on them, by the way. Gambit can’t help it if they’re not the sharpest tool in the shed. Is kinetically charging someone’s car to explode not enough of a warning or something? Man, what is wrong with people these days…

Tim Drake: Okay. Tim is just so versatile. Yes, he’s absolutely morally opposed to killing. Yes, it’s a necessary evil. Yes, the thought of it makes him want to throw up. Yes, he’d do it in a heartbeat for you. Somehow, all of these thoughts coexist in his sick little head. What makes Tim a threat is the fact he’s extremely unstable. One day, he’s got himself in check; god, he would never kill anyone, why would he do that?! Then the next day, he seems to have a change of heart; if anyone even looks your way, he’s dumping anthrax in their cereal. His preferred method is something clean, but if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he may revert to some mutilation with his nails. On those particularly violent days, he’d much rather harm himself than others, but there is something cathartic about scratching at someone else while sobbing about minute problems. Though that’s one hell of a “did I do that” moment when it’s over.

Scott Summers: Yes. And he’ll fucking do it again, too. When it comes to you, this man has killed people by accident before. Did he give a shit? Absolutely not. Why would he care if someone doesn’t know how to protect their spinal column when taking a blow; especially if it’s someone who dared to lay a hand on you? And, yeah, he’s supposed to be a good role model for mutants all over the globe, but a good leader knows how to take calculated risks when needed. Your safety is his top priority, meaning he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to keep danger away. Man, is it just absolutely brutal watching someone’s skin melt away from the friction of one continuous optic blast. Who knew he could cave in skulls with that shit?

Bucky Barnes: Let’s be honest, is anyone surprised? Yeah, that’s what I thought. You could simply point to someone you hate and they’d be gone within the next 24 hours. Bucky isn’t here to fuck around. While he may regret any kills he was forced to carry out, he sure as hell doesn’t regret the ones he’s actively choosing to do. If anything, his conditioning has left him no other way to show his total devotion to you. Yes, this means you he leaves fresh human hearts at your doorstep. Yes, this means he strings up the remains of your annoying colleagues where you can see them outside. Yes, this means he watches you sleep while caked in blood and guts after every nightly kill. Some small part of him knows it’s wrong, but he really could not give less of a shit. So much for trying to reform him…

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 15 - Spanking

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : Here is the Kinktober episode for the « spanking » prompt. And as you guys probably expect it, it is a continuation of the « Pet play » and « Kneeling » episodes. 👀

CW : D/S dynamic - BDSM - Spanking - Aftercare

That first weekend of Marshall « vetting » you as a sub turned out to be rather successful. By the end of it, you were absolutely drained and, though you would have expected it to be because of bedroom activities, it was not the case. The whole time had been about you getting familiar with his rules, learning more about what it meant to be a sub and his rules and expectations. And, as it turns out, there were a lot of things to remember and imprint in your brain.

Thankfully, he had been pretty patient with you, giving to time to adjust. You enjoyed the way submission turned off the noisy part of your brain, but it didn’t exactly come naturally to you. Neither did staying silent until being asked to speak. And your bad habit of running your mouth made it quite clear that you required a lot of explanations before following some rules. At the end of the first day, Marshall had ordered you to put your bag in the guest room, earning the biggest side eye from you. « I’m not sleeping in your room ? » you asked in a tone that failed to hide your disappointment. « You heard me » he simply hummed. However, the exhaustion of the day made it hard to follow the initial command of letting him be in charge. « But… why ? » you asked again with a frown. « Because I sleep better on my own » he sighed. « Not that I owe you an explanation. I’m in charge remember ? ». You nodded sheepishly but couldn’t resist asking yet another question. « Then why did you let me sleep with you last time ? » you asked with a raised eyebrow. He sighed again and rolled his eyes before getting up from the couch and facing you. « Y/N. I set the rules. That’s what I do. And last time was an exception. But the rule is still in place. » he said sternly. You nodded again. « Is sleeping in the same room that important to you ? » he finally asked. « I don’t know. I guess not » you shrugged. « It’s just… I figured that… you know. If we were to sleep together we’d actually sleep together too ? » you added. He looked at you and smiled before cupping your face. « You do realize it’s not only about sex, right ? I could very well be your dom in a totally platonic way. » he said calmly. You opened your eyes a little wider, thinking that maybe you had completely misread the situation and that the forms he’d asked you to fill regarding your bedroom preferences were a formality that didn’t mean anything. As soon as he saw the change of expression on your face, he chuckled. « Yeah, some of my plans include sex. But that’s not the core of what we’re doing. And after some sessions, you might actually want some space, too. A lot of subs do enjoy being able to unwind without their dom being around. » he added. You nodded one last time and went to settle in the guest bedroom.

The rest of the weekend proved him right : you actually enjoyed having a space you could claim as your own. You didn’t really have anyone you could compare him too, but you doubted Marshall could be described as a difficult dom. In fact, he was patient and, apparently, pretty lenient too. However, getting familiar with all those rules proved to be exhausting and you weren’t sure you’d be able to rest as much if you had to pay attention to your posture or anything else you were required to mind in his presence. That being said, he made sure to let you know he was there if you needed him. Especially after he fucked your brains out. He cuddled with you until you came to yourself and waited until you had regained some composure to ask if you needed him to stay longer. It was only after you sleepily shook your head and murmured a small « no, you can go, Sir » that he pressed a kiss to your forehead, praising you one last time and put his clothes back on before leaving you to rest.

Marshall was apparently quite satisfied with you and, before you went home, he suggested you come back the following weekend. Soon enough, a small routine was put in place : you spent most weekends at his place, in a D/S dynamic. The rest of the time, however, you were just friends. Especially when you were handing out in group settings. You quite liked it and it didn’t take long for you so develop some Pavlovian habits. On Friday evenings, when you showed up at his place, your brain was already in « sub mode », your inner noise quieting before you even reached the front door. And as weeks went by, you did a better job at following orders. You thought you were thriving. Until, a few weeks in, you arrived at his place in a bad mood. The last few days at work had been exhausting, your boss had been an ass and you were a ball of nerves and frustration.

It didn’t take long for Marshall to take note. You seemed unable to focus, failed to call him « Sir », asked him to repeat orders twice. He stared at you with concern but, whenever he asked what was up with you, you simply apologized and assured him that everything was alright. He was patient with you, though. At first, at least.

It wasn’t unusual for you to have rough days, and normally she found peace and comfort in your new dynamic. But tonight, something felt off. Every little thing seemed to grate on your nerves, and instead of the usual calm that Marshall’s presence brought, you felt like snapping. The first time you rolled your eyes at him, he let it slide with a warning. « Y/N, » he said in that low, controlled tone that always managed to get her attention. « Watch it. »

You had heard the warning, had even felt a flicker of guilt. But instead of responding with your usual obedience, the irritation bubbling just below the surface pushed you to defy him again. You rolled your eyes a second time, this time more deliberately, almost daring him to react. His gaze hardened, his voice dipping lower. « I’m not going to warn you again. » You should have stopped. You knew it. But something inside you rebelled against the authority in his voice, against the command in his eyes. Maybe it was the way the week had weighed on you, or maybe you were testing limits you hadn’t yet reached, but when he asked you to do something simple—hand him his phone from the coffee table—you rolled your eyes one more time as you did it.

The silence that followed was heavy, and in an instant, you knew you had gone too far. Marshall didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to. The intensity in his gaze said everything. Your stomach tightened as you watched him stand from the couch, his full attention now fixed on you. Your heart started to race, the frustration that had driven your rebellion quickly giving way to something else—anticipation. You had never been punished before.

« Come here, »he said, his voice calm, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone. You hesitated for a split second before obeying, stepping forward until you were standing directly in front of him. You didn’t meet his eyes this time, the weight of what was coming settling heavily in your chest. Your heart pounded as she realized the seriousness of your actions. Marshall stood tall, his posture firm, hands at his sides as he looked down at you. « What did I tell you about rolling your eyes at me? »You swallowed hard, your voice small. « Not to. »

« And how many times did I warn you? » he asked sternly. « Twice, » you answered, your voice barely a whisper now. Marshall nodded slowly, his expression unyielding. « Twice, » he repeated. « And you still chose to ignore me. » Your chest tightened. The defiance that had driven you earlier seemed to vanish, leaving behind a feeling of nervousness. You hadn’t expected to be pushed this far, hadn’t expected the punishment to feel so imminent. « I know you had a rough day, » he continued, his voice softer now but still firm. « But that doesn’t give you the right to disrespect me. » You felt your cheeks flush with guilt, your eyes dropping to the floor as the full weight of your actions sank in. You had crossed a line, and now you would face the consequences. « Go to the bedroom, » he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. « Undress and wait for me. »

Your stomach twisted at the command. The reality of what was about to happen settled over you, but you knew there was no point in resisting. This was part of the dynamic and you knew it. You had broken the rules, and now you would be held accountable. « Yes, Sir, » you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned to leave the room. Your hands trembled slightly as you undressed in the bedroom, folding your clothes neatly and placing them on the chair. The room felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just the nerves setting in. You knelt by the bed, your knees sinking into the soft carpet, your body tense as you waited for Marshall to come in.Your mind raced as you tried to steady your breathing. You trusted him completely, but this was uncharted territory for you. You had never been punished before. There had been reprimands, yes, but never something so formal—so intentional.

When the door finally opened, your heart skipped a beat. Marshall stepped into the room, his expression unreadable as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t speak right away, letting the weight of the moment settle between you. He circled you slowly, his presence commanding the room in a way that made you feel both vulnerable and safe all at once. « Look at me, » he ordered. You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were steady, focused, and there was no doubt that he was in control. « What happens when you disobey me, Y/N? » he asked, his voice even but firm. « I get punished, » you answered quietly, your voice shaking just a little. « That’s right, » he said, stepping closer. « And why are you being punished tonight? »

« Because I disrespected you, » you whispered, cheeks burning with shame as you spoke the words aloud. Marshall nodded, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek before he moved around you again. « I don’t punish you to hurt you, » he said, his voice calm and steady. « I do it to remind you of the structure, to keep you grounded. You need to know that when you push, there will be consequences. That’s how this works. » You nodded, your throat tight. « Yes, Sir. »

« Stand up, » he commanded, and you obeyed immediately, rising to your feet though your legs felt shaky beneath you. « Hands on the bed, » he instructed, his voice low but firm. « Knees apart. » Your heart pounded as you bent over, placing your hands on the mattress, your knees spreading as you positioned yourself the way he had asked. You felt vulnerable in the position, exposed, but you knew this was part of it—part of the process of learning, of submitting.

Marshall stood behind you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. « This is going to hurt, » he warned. « But I need you to remember why it’s happening. » You braced yourself, nodding slightly as you whispered, « Yes, Sir. » The first smack landed on your bare skin, sharp and firm, sending a jolt of pain through you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to cry out, but the second strike followed soon after, and then the third. Each one was deliberate, measured, not too hard but enough to make you wince, enough to remind you of the line you had crossed. By the fifth strike, tears were welling in your eyes. It wasn’t just the physical sting—it was the emotional release, the overwhelming sense of guilt and submission flooding your senses.

Marshall paused, his hand resting gently on your back again. « You’re doing well, » he said softly, his voice soothing. « Just a little more. » You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to respond, but you trusted him. You trusted him to know your limits, to guide you through this. When the final strike landed, a tear slipped down your cheek, but you didn’t feel broken. You felt relieved, grounded again in a way that only he could provide.

Marshall’s hands were gentle as he pulled you up into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. He held you tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head as he murmured softly, « It’s over now. » You buried your face in his chest, letting the tears flow freely as the last remnants of tension drained from your body. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you as he reassured you with his presence, his touch. « You’re mine, » he whispered, his voice soft but filled with conviction. « I take care of you. Always. » You nodded against him, your heart finally at peace, knowing that you were safe in his hands, no matter how far you had pushed. Your breath was still shaky as you nestled into Marshall’s chest, the sting of the punishment still lingering on your skin. The tears that had slipped out were slowing, and though your body felt drained, your mind was beginning to clear. The chaos that had swirled inside you all week was gone, replaced with a sense of calm that only Marshall seemed able to bring you back to.

But even as your breathing steadied, you knew there was still more to come—more than just the punishment. There was the moment after, the moment when he would make sure you were okay, because that was just as much a part of this as anything else. Marshall held you close, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back as your tears began to subside. He hadn’t spoken yet, letting you come down from the emotional high in your own time. His warmth, his solid presence, was grounding you, and you felt yourself sinking deeper into the safety of his embrace.

After a few moments, he shifted slightly, tilting your face up gently to meet his gaze. His eyes softened when they met yours, all the sternness from earlier replaced with concern and care. « You alright, Y/N? » he asked, his thumb brushing away the last tear that clung to your cheek. You nodded, though your throat still felt tight. « Yes, Sir, » you whispered, your voice hoarse from the emotions that had poured out of you. Marshall studied your face carefully, as though he was looking for any signs of lingering distress. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. « You did well, » he said softly. « You took that punishment exactly how you should have. But now, I need to know how you’re feeling. »

You closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch. You weren’t sure how to put everything you were feeling into words. The punishment had been hard—physically, yes—but more than that, it had been emotional. It had been your first real experience with punishment, and while it had stung, it also left you feeling lighter, like some of the tension that had been building inside you had finally been released. « I feel… better, » you admitted, your voice soft. « It hurt, but… I needed it. I didn’t realize how much I needed to let go until it happened. And… I guess it’s not as scary. » Marshall nodded, his fingers brushing gently through your hair. « Sometimes that’s how it is, » he said quietly. « Punishment isn’t just about consequences. It’s about helping you let go of what you’re holding onto. But I need you to know, —you don’t have to carry things on your own. When something’s bothering you, you come to me. That’s what I’m here for. Understood? »

You nodded again, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest. It wasn’t just about the punishment. It was about the structure, the trust, and knowing that he was there to take care of you, even when you didn’t realize you needed it. « Yes, Sir, » you whispered.

Marshall’s hand moved down to your back, pulling you closer into his lap. He held you like that for a while, his touch soft and soothing, letting you come back to yourself in her own time, as he always did. The tension in your muscles slowly unwound as you breathed him in, his scent familiar and comforting.

« You’re not in trouble anymore, » he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. « It’s done. You’ve been forgiven. This is just about making sure you’re okay now. »

You let out a long breath, the last of the weight lifting from your chest. His words, simple as they were, meant a lot. Your connection was still there. You were not lost in your own head anymore—you were here, with him, and that was all that mattered. Marshall shifted again, this time tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. His thumb traced your lower lip as he spoke, his voice low and calm. « I want to make sure you’re not feeling any doubt about what happened. You know why I punished you, right? »

You nodded, your voice more steady now. « Yes, Sir. I disrespected you. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.  Marshall gave a small nod, his expression firm but kind. « Good. But listen—if you’re ever feeling frustrated, if you’re having a rough day, you don’t have to test me to get my attention. You can come to me, tell me how you’re feeling, and we’ll deal with it. » His words hit you deeply, more than you could have expected, and you felt a lump form in your throat again—not from fear, but from relief. You had pushed him earlier, and instead of meeting you with anger, he had been understanding.

« I’m sorry, » you whispered, the words heavy with sincerity. « I didn’t mean to push you like that. »Marshall’s thumb brushed over your cheek again, his eyes softening even more. « I know, doll, » he said gently. « And I’ve already forgiven you. This isn’t about punishment anymore. This is about making sure you’re okay. Are you? »

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Yes, Sir. I’m okay.” He smiled softly at you, his hand moving to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead. « Good girl, » he murmured against your skin. The praise made your heart swell, and you felt herself relax fully for the first time that night. You melted into his embrace, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you again. There was no tension left—only the quiet, comforting hum of knowing you were safe there.

Marshall held you like that for a while, his hands moving in slow, soothing patterns across your back. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push you to move or speak. He simply held you, his presence a steady anchor in the aftermath of everything you had just been through. After some time, he shifted slightly, pulling the blanket from the edge of the bed and draping it over your shoulders. « I want you to rest now, » he said softly. « You’ve been through enough for one night. »

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up to you. You let him guide you to lie down on the bed, your body feeling heavy but content. Marshall tucked the blanket around you, his touch tender as he made sure you were comfortable. « Stay with me? » you asked quietly, your voice small but hopeful.

Marshall’s expression softened, and he gave you a reassuring smile. « Of course, » he said, slipping in beside you. He pulled you close, letting you rest your head on his chest as his arms wrapped protectively around you. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body sinking into the warmth and safety of his embrace. The day’s struggles, the punishment, the emotions—it all felt distant now, fading into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid presence of him beside you.

« Thank you, » you whispered, your voice barely audible. Marshall’s hand stroked your hair gently, his voice soft as he replied, « I’ve got you, Y/N.»

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! Could I have a head canon or drabble (which ever you feel more inspired to do/makes sense) for Sandor x Stark!fem!reader for what things might have been like if she’d gone with him when he was leaving during the Battle of the Blackwater? Thank you friend, I appreciate it! 💛🙏

(yes of course! I feel like both work so this is headcanons plus a bonus drabble x I love Sandor so always got to do the most for him! enjoy!)

(also it's been forever since I watched this show so this is definitely not accurate events for the Battle of Blackwater episode lol)

(Sandor Clegane x fem Stark reader - warnings for typical Game of Thrones stuff, slight angst but mostly fluff)

King's Landing had always been dangerous, especially for people like you and Sandor. You knew it better than anyone after the things your family had gone through at the hands of the king.

Sandor had also tasted the cruelty that Joffrey was capable of, and neither of you were keen to exacerbate it.

Which is why you'd spent months dancing around feelings for each other.

You were lucky that Joffrey had set his sights on Sansa rather than yourself, but as a Stark it was too much of a risk to openly court Sandor. No matter how badly you wanted to.

You also wouldn't dare risk causing him harm in that way. You knew any associates of yours would sooner or later be targeted by the Lannisters.

Sandor was usually your escort in the Red Keep. No doubt the king found it amusing to have his dog guarding the wolf. He was quiet and brooding, but seemed to enjoy your presence at least a little, though you couldn't be sure whether you had imagined the tension between you. Aside from that, you weren't certain of his feelings until the Battle of the Blackwater.

You were far too stubborn to allow yourself to be corralled into a safehold with the women and children.

Fortunately, Cersei didn't much care about your fate should you be caught in the consequences of the battle, so you remained in your room in the keep.

Truthfully, you were waiting for Sandor. You didn't know whether he would return or not, but you couldn't sit around and do nothing while he fought.

You busied yourself with gathering your essential belongings, in case of needing to flee in an emergency, until a blaze lit up the horizon through your window.

You just prayed that he was alright...

Your nervous pacing was enough to occupy yourself until you heard thundering footsteps from the hall. Fuck. You had no way to defend yourself if someone should come to take you, and it was far too late to hide now, and-

The door burst open.

And it was him.

He looked a little worse for wear, but mostly unharmed, and you practically threw yourself at him knowing he was alive.

Not quite registering how he froze up in surprise for a moment, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, just needing to feel him there despite the armour that stood between you. His hand moved to your shoulder as you pulled away, much gentler than you'd expected him to be.

"I'm leaving."

Your heart dropped.

"...Oh."

You blinked back the tears that were threatening to form and swallowed your pain as best you could. "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere's better than this fuckin' city."

You nodded and looked down, not knowing what else to say without betraying your feelings.

"Little wolf." His fingers hooked under your chin to make you look up at him, with eyes clouded by tears. "You'd miss an old dog that much?"

Your voice seemed to shrink as a tear rolled down your cheek. "I just... I don't want you to go..."

Sandor brushed it away with his thumb and smiled, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. "Do you really think I'd leave you to the lions? You're coming with me."

In that moment, Sandor felt he could live in the way your eyes brightened.

"You really mean that?"

"Get your things. I'm not staying here long enough for them to find us."

You grabbed your bag of essentials that was already lying on your bed, breathing out a laugh and shrugging when Sandor raised an eyebrow at your preparedness.

"Maybe I was hoping you'd come back for me."

"Always will, little wolf."

The gentle feeling of your lips against his cheek sent warmth through his body, and Sandor was determined to not let you out of his sight again if this was the reward.

[studentbyday]

{ 05.11.24 } · { 50 days of routine } · { day 7 }

I was never “popular” at school. Not that I ever cared to be. I don't have the personality for it. And I don't really care to have the personality for it either. I'm not and never will be That Girl™ material, a “high-value woman”, or whatever feminine persona is trendy on TikTok these days (and i'm not even ON TikTok, but ofc the trends spread everywhere like wildfire) because I don't look the part (nor do I want to...i quite like my personal style) or think or speak or act the way she would if it goes against my values and/or it won't actually improve my wellbeing. I say I don't care. And I really truly don't because a lot of it and what it leads to is straight-up problematic for my personal case, running counter to the life I want to live and all my reasons why. But as with anything, being yourself has its pros and cons.

Sometimes I still feel like it's hard to truly belong anywhere...even the places I make for myself like this blog... Sometimes when I feel like this, I feel like the only place I most belong is in my head. It's not good. That's not where I need to be, nor do I need to be much concerned about trends on social media and what drives people to follow them. And I certainly don't need to compare myself to anyone else. I need to be in the real world and focused on my work only because I think it's worth it and because I think I'm worth it as I am.

I'm not sure why I felt like saying this.

~~~Friendly PSA: STOP 🖐🏻 scrolling social media of any kind when feeling low in self-esteem.~~~

got up at 7, continued filling in the CBT workbook then decided to move my answers elsewhere because the annotating feature in the ebook app is getting annoying, started my day at 8 with the usual minimalist morning routine

10/30 mins of the same beginner pilates workout i did a few days ago except i forgot to breathe and ended up so light-headed i couldn't go anymore...

filling in CBT workbook because i can't get the reflection questions out of my head until i answer them... 😣 so far, nothing new has been revealed to me, but in the busy-ness of the day-to-day, i tend to neglect ALL the other dimensions of my life and then forget that that's why i feel so shitty and the problem is the self-prompted reflection i tend to do at this time carries a lot of negativity and pessimism and comparison and judgment and it's not very organized, it's actually not organized at all, it's always just a word vomit. but when i do it now, with the tone of the categorized prompts not being judgy at all, i'm able to look at my problems more objectively and holistically and like "oh okay, i'm not doing as bad in this dimension as i thought and the REAL problem is this other dimension of life and all the specific things you mention are lacking here" and idk, sometimes i think it's weird that my brain works this way, it's like i was looking at the same picture the entire time and all i had to do was turn it a bit to the left for it to make sense. is this how brains normally work? 😅

finished last week's microbio module

researching for global health assignment...will begin writing tmr 😅👍

finished section 1/2 of last week's immunology module and started the loooong second section 🥴👍

🎧 some nights – fun.

@zzzzzestforlife tagged me to do this picrew! it was fun. and it's so coincidental that i've been thinking about ghosts lately! the past versions of us that we follow without question when they tell us what to do, what not to do, and what we should aspire for... ☁️ sometimes those ghosts are right...and sometimes they're just plain toxic.

tagging @whenmemoriesfrost @chemblrish @ecologie-txt @winryrockbellwannabe @obakanosandoitchi if you want to :)

[sirfrogsworth]

So last night I got a message from eBay that Scam Guy had opened a case on me.

I feel like he shot himself in the foot here.

Why would I need to fix it?

You only fix damaged things, friend.

He sent me this too.

All I did was blow the dust out and I told him that. And I'm pretty sure he was trying to use that against me. And saying it "smells burnt" is ridiculous. He seems pretty comfy lying and being deceptive. Blowing out dust could not cause anything he is claiming. I sent it back just as it arrived.

Thankfully eBay immediately ruled in my favor and issued a refund.

Shortly after I got this message on my Instagram account.

And then the two phone calls happened a little bit after this. Both calls mentioned Trump's reelection. I'm assuming he was stalking me on social media and found my Facebook in which I complained about Trump.

His eBay is titled...

The "and collectibles" is a pretty interesting coincidence.

And then there is the strong southern accent on the phone calls. His eBay description says this...

Can anyone from Texas tell if that accent is familiar?

I think the matter is closed. I got my refund and I'm going to move on. If he escalates any further then I will consider taking some sort of action.

I just got these two scary calls from a private number. I don't recognize the voice and I'm hoping it is just a prank, but they refer to me by name, so they have some info about me.

I guess there wasn't a direct threat or anything. But I'm just a little spooked.

[yasmindifference]

12!

Tim is only halfway through his explanation of the case he's been working when Bruce sighs and says, "I'll bring Hood in."

He's so astonished by this idiocy that it genuinely takes him a few seconds to recover; he has to run to catch up. Then, since he's running anyway, he uses his momentum to slide into place a few steps ahead, blocking Batman's path.

In the Cave, that's more symbolic than anything--there's plenty of room to go around him--and B respects that much, at least. He stops in his tracks.

"No, you won't," Tim says very clearly.

Batman frowns. "Red Robin."

"Batman," he returns, and Batman's frown deepens.

He's wearing the cowl now, having pulled it on as he walked--steeling himself for what he's decided he has to do. Shutting Bruce away so his paternal affection doesn't slow him down.

As usual, he's being a complete moron. World's Greatest Detective, Tim's ass.

"Red Robin," Batman says again, "your attachment to Red Hood--"

"--has nothing to do with this," Tim interrupts. "Jason didn't do it."

His pointed use of Jason's actual name goes unacknowledged; Batman sets his shoulders to loom and doubles down.

"The victim profile is clearly in line with Hood's usual targets," he says. "The victim's own victims were children, specifically children from Crime Alley, and his crimes against them were exactly the kind that Hood punishes the most severely. You can't deny that."

He's using the Batman growl and still looming over Tim...why, Tim's not exactly sure. It's not like he ever backed down from this kind of display even when he was a literal child facing down a Batman half-mad with grief. As an adult and a vigilante in his own right, who's been facing down the city's, world's, and occasionally galaxy's worst for nearly a decade...Batman is barely going to make him blink.

So he meets the eerie white lenses of the cowl straight on when he says, "No, I can't deny any of that. But Jason still didn't do it."

"You're being unrealistic," Batman says sharply. "Basing your conclusion on emotion instead of fact."

"No, that would be you," Tim corrects, just as sharp. "You're blinded by your issues with Jason's way of doing things. If you were actually thinking straight--"

"Hood makes a habit of targeting rapists, pedophiles, and anyone who breaks his so-called 'rules' in the territory he claims as his." Batman looms harder. "All three apply to the victim. What evidence do you have to support his innocence?"

"The fact that this isn't how Jason works."

Batman's face blanks out, scowl wiped away as he forcefully suppresses his reaction to Tim's words.

"Hood has never agreed with the no-kill rule," he says, "and despite our truce, he never committed to not using lethal force. It was only a matter of time before he crossed the line again, and this is precisely how he likes to 'punish' those he deems guilty."

Tim has to take a second to deliberately calm himself before he can trust his voice. His hands ache for how tightly he's fisted them.

"No," he says, once he's sure his voice won't shake with the anger trembling in his fists. "No, it isn't."

"Tim--"

"It's true that Jason isn't opposed to lethal force," he says over Batman. "It's also true that he particularly targets people who break his rules and/or prey on children. But not like this!"

If he were anyone but Batman, Tim would say Bruce falters.

"Explain."

Tim doesn't hesitate.

"Yes, Jason is willing to kill," he says. "Yes, he'll even make it hurt if the crime is bad enough. But his goal isn't to punish anyone--it's to protect people."

Batman's flat expression--what little Tim can see of it beyond the cowl, at least--says he doesn't appreciate the difference.

Tim tries again. "Jason doesn't kill because he enjoys it, he kills because he thinks it's the only way to stop the worst of the worst. That's why he goes after the people the system can't or won't contain."

Still, Batman is unmoved. Tim gets to the point.

"Our victim was tortured over the course of several hours," he says again. It was one of the first lines in his little presentation on the case, and should have immediately disqualified Jason as a potential perpetrator. "I estimate at least twelve hours passed between the infliction of the first wound and his death, which was the result of a combination of shock and blood loss."

"You said that already," Batman says, unamused.

"Yes, and you should've known that it ruled out Jason!" Tim snaps. "If Jason had done this, he might have, have kneecapped the guy first, or shot him in the gut, or something, because yes, he'd have wanted to make him hurt. But the death still would have been measured in minutes, because at the end of the day, Jason's main priority is to end suffering, not cause it."

For a long, tense moment, Batman stares at him. Tim's trembling with emotion--not just anger that Batman is doubting him, but fear at what Batman might do to Jason if Tim can't stop him.

For all of Bruce's talk about Jason crossing lines...when it comes to Jason, Bruce tends to cross plenty himself.

Finally, Batman (and he is still so very Batman) says, "I wish I could believe that, but I can't."

"Then believe in me," Tim says, seizing the opening at once. "Just give me a day or two, okay? I'll find the real killer and prove that Jason didn't do this."

After either a few seconds or a lifetime, Batman finally--finally--backs down.

"You have a week," he says, and turns away. "And if you're wrong..."

Tim isn't about to humor that ominous trailing off. "I'm not. You'll see."

"I hope so," Bruce says quietly.

Prompt #12 was one character standing up for the other! Good choice! ♡♡

[melooonaaa]

[smoshingatut]

I'm kinda tired of dungeon meshi fans blatantly misinterpreting Kabru's goals, motivations, and character so they can ship him with Laios...like obviously it's awesome if you enjoy Laikabu but can you nooot twist Kabru's intentions for involving himself with the guy who constantly triggers his monster trauma and pisses him off so bad he gets brain damage so that he turns into "the guy who wants to suck Laios's dick" as his entire character? I've even seen people cut off Kabru's words to make it seem like he is admiring Laios because it would disrupt that narrative