#or if it wasn't similar enough to the real question

[florestalio]

HUMAN, OR NOT? — P.SH

GENRE: that's not my neighbour au, dystopian au, doppelganger au

SYNOPSIS: finding a job in the current state of the world was a hassle, but given your skills, it wasn't hard to find a decently paying job as a doorman. your job is to distinguish the doppelgangers from the real humans. simple enough, right? right?

WARNINGS: (6.9k words) MDNI, noncon/dubcon, mentions of killing, blood, guns, unprotected sex (please don't), big huge dick!sungho, monster fucking, meandom!sungho, implied munch!sungho, nicknames (slut, doll, princess, etc.), dacryphilia, fingering, manhandling, bondage, lot of slick (an almost concerning amount), marking (hickeys), cum eating (not oral), missionary, mating press, bulge kink, degradation, praise, possessive!sungho, let me know if I missed any!

NOTE, i'm well aware that a similar fic has already been published by a different author, but mine was almost completely inspired by this video, so it's extremely different from the fic that had already been posted. this is a revamp of this enha fic.

IN A WORLD WHICH WAS SLOWLY, but steadily getting overtaken by doppelgangers, finding a job is one of the hardest tasks — even if a lot of new jobs have been created for this purpose.

‘Doorman’, a post that was one of the more frowned upon jobs with a very low salary, had now become one of the most high paying jobs — since it was their skills and abilities that would determine whether the people in an apartment or complex lived or not. The job sounded fairly simple — figure out if the person wanting to enter is a human or a convincing doppelganger. Let only the humans in, get rid of the doppelgangers with the help of the D.D.D — another job created for the purpose of eradication of the doppelgangers from the world.

While the job of doormen did sound simple, it obviously wasn't that easy. Doppelgangers could be very convincing, their morphing abilities weren't a matter of joke. But, no matter how human they seemed, at the end of the day, they weren't human.

While detecting them could be very hard, doppelgangers… aren't the smartest tool in the shed. They always have some kind of imperfections, no matter how minor, in their appearances, in the way they behave — and many more. This is where doormen step in. They are skilled people with extremely sharp observation skills, which they use to figure out these imposters, and thus save the lives of a lot more people than they think they do.

You were one of these people with sharp observation skills that got chosen as a doorman of an apartment complex, situated near the suburbs. While you weren't getting a salary as high as the skies, it was still pretty high, considering that people from remote locations were impersonated a lot more than people from the cities, as these people are easier targets than them.

According to your job description, the old doorman was taking a long, well-deserved vacation. You were supposed to replace him for as long as he was on vacation, after which, you had no idea what would happen. Would your job be gone? Were you going to keep your job? Would you work alongside the old doorman? So many questions, yet they all remained unanswered.

You shook off those thoughts, focusing on the present. You looked around your new office, trying to make yourself familiar with your surroundings. Everything you needed as a doorman seemed to be exactly where you needed it; a telephone, checklists to grant entries, an entry list, records of all the people that lived in the building, their phone numbers, the D.D.D phone number, and whatnot. There was even an emergency button on the wall, which was attached with a metal partition that covered the window in front of the desk when activated.

The presence of all these faculties just made your work a lot easier. You took a seat, right in front of the desk. As soon as you sat down, the phone rang. You picked it up, only to hear a recorded message from the previous doorman. Turns out, his name was Taesan, and he had recorded it for you to listen to, since he didn’t wish for any mishaps to happen to you. As thoughtful as he was, he was also extremely repetitive. After several ‘do not let them in’-s, did the recording finally end, making you breathe out a sigh of relief.

Now comes the tough part. Doing your job.

IT WAS A QUARTER TO MIDNIGHT. After a hard day’s work of letting in the actual residents and calling the D.D.D upon the impersonators, the entry list had only two more people left. Namely, a businessman by the name of ‘Myung Jaehyun’ who lived alone in the third room on the first floor, and ‘Park Sungho’, the milkman who lived alone in the second room of the third floor.

Over the course of the day, you had seen doppelgangers of all kinds, some a lot better at impersonating than the other. There were several times when you had almost missed a sudden flash of an extra pair of arms, or different eye colors — as impressed as you were, you had immediately called the D.D.D on them.

Sometimes the doppelgangers looked completely, utterly, perfect copies of the person they were impersonating. Had it not been for a slight difference in their ID’s or entry requests, you would have probably let them in.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps alerted you. As you looked up, you were met with the face of Jaehyun. He gave you a half smile. “Sorry for bothering you this late, a client of mine was giving me a lot of trouble. Honestly, how is it my fault that the delivery was being delayed? Do they not realize that in the present situation, it is hard to navigate through the innumerous doppelgangers that are just waiting to pounce at any given moment of the day? It's truly very inconsiderate of–”

You interrupted his rambling. “Sir I require your ID in order to let you in. As you mentioned, it is already extremely late, so please, let’s not delay this any further.” You felt a little guilty for how you were acting towards him, but his rambling was taking up too much of your precious time.

His eyes immediately widened, before he started rummaging in his pockets. “Right — I'm really sorry, I'm not sure why I started to rant to you — here's my ID–”

You took a close look at the ID, trying to find any kind of faults in it. You heard him start to rant again. “—and honestly it was such a lovely day too, but this stupidly inconsiderate client had to ruin it.” You looked up at him, watching him continue to rant about the most random topics, which… didn’t really make any sense. “—so many ice cream trucks, but all of them had crashed into each other. The amount of people going up to those and stealing ice creams from them was actually insane–”

Suddenly you noticed something amiss on his face, protruding from his hat. Without missing a beat, you asked him. “Sir, what's that on your face?”

Jaehyun immediately stopped his rambling. “My face? Wh– What’s wrong with it? It– It's just a normal face!–”

Your hand started to creep towards the emergency button. “There are tiny hands on your face.”

Jaehyun panicked, watching you reach towards the emergency button. “Wait!– I have an explanation for this — see I was talking to this little girl called Rei right? So I called out to her ‘Hey Rei! Can you give me a hand with this?’ and she came and put her hands on my face! No wait don't–”

It was too late. You had already pushed the emergency button, watching the metal partition fall into place, blocking your view of him. You could hear the doppelganger wailing about how it was ‘a perfect disguise’. You quickly contacted the D.D.D, letting them know of the situation. Within five minutes you heard them arrive, screams of ‘get away from the door you filthy animal!’ and ‘but I don't wanna’ filled up the air, along with the sounds of guns going off, before it all went silent.

The partition suddenly went up again, a bloodied yellow hazmat suit with the D.D.D logo coming into your view. The person in the suit spoke. “Cleaning protocol has been completed. Please feel free to carry on with your job.”

You whispered a small thanks, watching them leave. It was almost midnight now, and you still had to let in two more of the apartment’s residents. It almost annoyed you, but this was in your job description when you had applied for it, so you had to suck it up.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, along with a voice. “God, I'm so sorry for coming this late, Taesan, I swear I'll come earlier next time–” The voice stopped short, and so did your breath.

Good fucking gracious. You did look at the profiles of all the residents in the building, but none of them looked as good as Sungho did up close.

Sungho, a milkman by profession, was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Even with his tired eyes and exhausted appearance in general, he looked so fucking… ravishing.

He cleared his throat. “I'm so sorry, it's usually Taesan who sits here — are you new?”

You nodded, licking your lips nervously. “Yeah I am… Taesan went for a vacation, a long one apparently, so I'm here to replace him for the time being.”

He nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Good thing he went for a vacation, god knows he needed one. We all need one, given the state of the world at present — how are you liking it at the new job? Is it giving you too much trouble?”

You shook your head. “Oh no, not at all — there were a lot of posers, but I handled them just fine. I think I'll be alright.”

“That's good. Oh, I remember my first experience with a doppelganger — it was almost terrifying. See, there was this — this woman, who lived here and… it was a very convincing disguise. The only thing wrong with her was that… there was a mole on her right cheek, except that it was supposed to be on the left side. When the D.D.D was called on her, she… kept screaming and screaming — all that just… it takes a toll on you. Not being able to recognise them, that is.”

You gulped, barely hearing what he was saying, too focused on the movement of his lips. “Yea… that's — yea, it's scary.”

He offered you a half smile. “It is. But what you're doing is important. You're saving a lot of lives this way, and that is all that matters. That's what is important.”

“Thank you — I appreciate that, I truly do.”

“You're welcome. I may not know you personally yet, but I can tell that you're an honest person. People like you… they tend to overthink these things. So always remember that… what you're doing is great. These doppelgangers are evil, and they deserve what they are getting.”

You gave him a grateful smile, once again thanking him for his kind words. He gave you one back. “Not a big deal… princess. Here's my ID… and my entry request.”

As you took his ID and his entry request, you froze, suddenly aware of the nickname that he used to refer to you. “P-Princess?–”

Sungho had a tiny smirk on his face this time. “Yea? Do you not like the nickname? I can stop–”

You were quick to deny it. “No I didn't mean — uhm — I do like it…”

An amused glint was present in his eye. “I see. So… are my documents in order, princess?”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up on your cheeks. “Yep, all good.” A sudden idea struck you. “Actually wait… there is something wrong.”

His smile vanished. “What?– Something's wrong?”

You nodded. “Yea… with your face.”

He raised a shaky hand to touch his face, something you missed. “M– My face? What's wrong with it?”

You smiled at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. With as much cheesiness as you could muster in your voice, you replied. “Yea, it's called ‘handsomeness’.” You immediately cringed at yourself. What kind of a pathetic attempt at flirting was that?

However, it seemed to sway Sungho. He immediately blinked, before letting out a relieved grin, a faint blush coating his cheeks. “Oh?– You got me there. Thank you — you're extremely gorgeous too.”

Now it was your turn to feel shy. Your cheeks were aflame, heat creeping up your neck. Were you seriously flirting instead of doing your job? This late at night?

You shyly smiled at him, thanking him. He gave you another smile back, this one seeming a lot more cocky than the last. “Can I go now, pretty girl? Or do you have more tricks up your sleeve?”

You giggled a little, pressing the green button to let him in. “Nope! Go right in.”

He gave you a small smirk, tipping his hat towards you in the same manner a cowboy would, before disappearing through the door.

Around three minutes after Sungho went in, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, only this time, it wasn’t exactly the sound of a person walking. It sounded like someone was running. Fast.

You heard the sound of panting, before… Sungho came into view. Only this time, he had blood all over him.

This was obviously a doppelganger, but before you could reach for the emergency button, the fake Sungho spoke. “Oh my fucking god — hey I’m guessing you’re new? Listen, this is really important. Did you see… me earlier?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. This was a new strategy. No doppelganger had used a strategy quite like this one earlier today. “Uh-huh.”

He banged on the glass partition with his fist, making you flinch. His eyes looked crazier than before. “I’m not playing around here. Did you or did you not see me earlier?”

Your hand quickly went to the emergency button. Noticing that, he started panicking. “No no no — don’t press that, just listen to me. I was knocked out — he stole my keys! — everything, he stole everything… even my face! Please tell me you didn’t let him in.”

Your hand hovered over the button, his words making you hesitate from pushing it. “I did let him in…”

His eyes widened. “Oh fuck — this is bad, this is bad, this is bad — listen, you have to call the D.D.D — right now. Do it! Call them right now!”

You gazed at him, conflicted. He sounded so… convincing. But so did the first Sungho. Which one of them was telling the truth?

You almost wanted to scoff at yourself. You were supposed to have some top tier observation skills to be able to figure out who is a doppelganger and who is not. So why was it so hard for you to tell in this case?

You didn’t even realize when your hand fell on the button, pressing it by accident. As the alarm bells sounded and the metal barrier began to fall, several shouts of ‘No!’ could be heard from the outside. You sat there rigidly, not even aware of when the door to your office opened, the person on the other side of the door slipping inside. It wasn’t until he put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to flinch, when you realized that Sungho, the first one, was inside.

You relaxed for a moment, before he bent down, whispering in your ear, causing you to freeze. “You did a good job princess. Such a good job. Now continue to be a good girl and sit here quietly like a good fucking girl would, yea?”

As he spoke, the realization dawned upon you, the cold dread that came with it washing over you like a bucket of ice. The second Sungho was the real one.

As you sat there frozen, Sungho — or rather, the doppelganger — called up the D.D.D, informing them of a ‘doppelganger’ situation. Within five minutes, they had arrived, screams and sounds of gunshots once again filling up the air. Once they stopped, the metal partition opened, once again revealing a yellow hazmat suit stained with blood.

The D.D.D agent recited the same words that it did everytime, before walking away. As soon as the D.D.D had evacuated the building, ‘Sungho’ clicked the emergency button again, quickly pressing another button to deactivate the alarm bells, so that only the metal partition fell down. He gripped the handles of your chair, spinning it to make you face him. You gulped as you faced him, the sinister smirk on his face filled you up with a fear so intense, that it gripped you in an almost vice-like grip. It was terrifying — he was terrifying.

His eyes raked over you, drinking in your fearful expression. The shaking of your body, the pleading in your eyes, the nervous gulping — all of it filled him up with a foreign emotion — an emotion that made him want to devour you whole.

He lifted up a hand to your face, holding your chin between his fingers, leaning your face upwards. He himself leaned down, stopping just a breath away from your lips, causing your own breath to hitch. Whether it was from fear, or anticipation, he didn't know — not that it would change anything.

He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact with you. “Are you surprised? That I'm not who you thought I was?”

You gulped, too afraid to speak. Although the shaking of your eyes told him what he wanted to know.

He smirked lightly. “Does it make you feel angry? To know that you have been finally bested by a — what do you humans call us again? Ah, a ‘doppelganger’.”

‘Anger’ was the last thing you felt. Fear was all you felt — fear for both yourself, and everyone else whose life you had endangered. You were absolutely terrified, dreading your fate.

You had seen pictures of the real form of the doppelgangers — albeit just drawings; derivations from people who somehow lived to tell the tale. They were described to be completely monstrous, with yellow eyes and sharp teeth, greenish skin and huge claws that could easily rip anyone to shreds. It was only natural for you to feel terrified of your fate. Were you going to be torn to shreds by him? Or was he going to eat you? Do doppelgangers actually eat humans?

Turns out, he did plan on eating you. Devouring you actually. Just… not in the way you thought.

He traced his lip with his tongue, practically undressing you with his eyes. He was going to fucking ruin you.

He traced your lip with his thumb, forcing your mouth open. He pressed his thumb down on your tongue, watching the tears gather at your waterline and the saliva on your tongue. You were already so much fun to play with.

You wanted to cry, scream — anything to get out of this situation. You weren't trained for something like this — all the instructors just said “Catch them, or they catch you. If you're caught, consider yourself dead.” None of them ever prepared you for a situation like this.

You needed to use your own tactics, and you needed to use them fast. You stared at his eyes, trying to make sure your facial expressions didn't give away your thoughts, when suddenly, a brilliant — okay, not brilliant, but still better than nothing — idea struck you.

Your eyes suddenly fell on the door, your eyes widening slightly with a glimmer of hope. He frowned at your expression, looking backwards at the door as well, taking the bait.

You immediately pushed him off you, catching him off-guard, before quickly running to the door. But just as you were about to reach for the handle, you felt him grab your shoulder from behind, pulling you backwards in a not-so-gentle manner. He shoved you to the floor unceremoniously, causing you to scream from the impact — not that anyone would hear you, since the walls were soundproof as long as the metal partition was pulled down, and you had no way to reach the button to deactivate it.

You tried to get up, but were immediately shoved back down to the ground, with him climbing up on top of you, pinning your arms above your head. If looks could kill, you would have already been six feet under by now.

For a moment he just glared down at you, your lips quivering, your eyes shaking with unshed tears. Your chest was rising up and down erratically, downright terrified with what he was planning on doing to you. Was he going to strangle you to death? Tear you apart by hand? Break your neck? Or was he going to–

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by him. His voice was cold with a sinister undertone. “You know princess, I was going to be nice to you — go nice and slow, appreciate everything about you, take my time with you, make it memorable for you. But after this little stunt that you just pulled? I don't think you deserve kindness. If you want to be a fucking brat, acting like you weren't ready to spread your legs open for me just ten minutes ago, then I'm going to fucking treat you like one.”

Your blood ran cold. He was going to what?

You couldn't even understand where he was coming from. You were ‘acting like a brat’? Was trying to run in order to save your life a crime now? You were getting ready to ‘spread your legs for him just ten minutes ago’? First of all, it was some harmless flirting with a nice guy who you thought was human, not a fucking monster. So what the fuck was he even trying to say?

None of it mattered now — not now, when he was sliding the belt that was just there for design purposes through the hoops in your skirt. It didn't matter now, when he started to tie the belt around your wrists, ignorant to your struggles to break free. Not now, when he was grabbing the ends of your shirt, roughly shoving it up.

He couldn't shove it off you, since your hands were tied, so he proceeded to tear it off with his hands. It was an expensive shirt, but there wasn't any time to mourn the loss of your shirt — not when his hands had already moved to your skirt. He didn't even bother trying to get it off this time, simply ripping it apart like paper.

The tears finally broke free. This was it. This was your fate. You were going to get used like some pathetic doll by some monster and then tossed away once you were useless. Even death would have been a kinder fate than this.

You screwed your eyes shut when you felt him touch you over your panties, disgusted by yourself when you realized that you were, in fact, wet. You heard him let out a menacing chuckle, causing more tears to fall from your shut eyes. You felt his finger just barely trace over your covered cunt, making you squirm. He was quick to hold your legs down, before shoving a finger through your panties, causing it to stick inside your wet folds, drenching it further. You felt him leaning down towards your core, a whimper of utter despair leaving you.

He ignored you, taking a whiff of your scent. As soon as it hit him, he let out a loud groan, a quiet ‘fuck’ accompanying it. He definitely needed to eat you out, but first, he needed to stretch you out.

He gripped the waistband of your panties tightly, before ripping it off. The sound of the cotton material tearing brought a fresh batch of tears to your eyes. “P-Please — don’t do this, please–”

He quickly interrupted you by grabbing your throat, applying just enough pressure to cut off your oxygen. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to decide what I’ll do or not do. I gave you a chance, didn’t I? I was nice to you initially, wasn’t I? You clearly took advantage of that and tried to run, so why the fuck would I listen to you? If you don’t want to make matters worse for yourself, take what I give you like a good little slut would.”

That ruined whatever tiny hope you had of avoiding this fate. More tears fell from your eyes, causing you to bite down on your lip to conceal your sobs. For some reason, the sight of you biting your lip, paired with your tears, turned him on a lot more than it should have, causing him to grab your chin tightly.

Your eyes flew open in shock, releasing your lip from the abuse from your teeth. His eyes landed on your swollen lips, his pants growing tighter and tighter by the second. Before you could register what was happening, he smashed his lips on yours, swallowing your surprised gasp. He kissed you harshly, his movements sloppy. Saliva dripped past your mouths, smearing onto your chins, but he could care less.

He bit down on your lip, pulling it slightly with his teeth, causing a whimper to leave you involuntarily. He let out a quiet groan at the sound, before diving back inside your mouth, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He hungrily explored your wet cavern, his hands moving to take his shirt off, the heat radiating off the two of you becoming unbearable. He grabbed your jaw tightly, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, his legs planted on either side of you.

Even if you didn’t want to enjoy it, any of it, your body couldn’t hide its true reaction. You kept letting out whimpers and moans, squirming under him. He gladly swallowed each and every sound of yours, little grunts and groans of his own leaving him. He badly wanted to grind down on you, but he had enough self control to not do that. Instead, he slid a hand down, collected the slick that kept gushing out on his fingers, before shoving his middle finger inside.

Your reaction was immediate. You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking up into his. He bit down your lip at your reaction, breaking the skin and drawing out blood. He plunged his finger in deeper, feeling even more slick gushing out of you. He sucked the blood off your lip, licking the cut, moaning at the taste. Your blood ignited a fire inside him, the heat spreading to every part of him, the need to completely, utterly, ruin you for everyone else spreading to his finger tips, taking over his brain. He thrust his finger impossibly deeper, before pulling it out, causing you to let out a desperate whine into his mouth, one that was quickly replaced by a shocked moan when he plunged in two fingers at once.

You could feel your cunt stretching to accommodate his fingers, which were long and slender, allowing him to reach parts of you that no one ever did. His fingers dragged across your walls, allowing you to feel every inch of them. His fingers hit every ridge and bump perfectly, making you clench around them tightly.

He felt your pussy walls hugging his fingers, causing him to fasten up the pace of both his fingers and his mouth, swallowing up your whimpers, listening to the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt.

He curled up his fingers, feeling your entire body shake under him. He let out a victorious smirk against your lips, having finally found your spot. He increased the pace of his fingers, making sure to curl up his fingers every time, hitting that spongy part in your walls every time with ease.

Your breathing sped up, your whimpers increasing, your wrists becoming red from how much you were struggling to get out of the tight grip of your belt wrapped around them. You could feel yourself becoming wetter and wetter, yet being so far from the edge. Something was missing, something that you desperately needed to finally teeter off the edge.

Even if you couldn’t understand what exactly you needed, ‘Sungho’ sure did. He broke the kiss, taking in the sight of your bruised and swollen lips, before shifting his attention to your neck, immediately latching his lips on your pulse point, sucking on it harshly. He pumped his fingers into your pussy faster, his thumb moving to rub at your clit harshly. You almost screamed at the added pleasure, your walls clamping down on his fingers in a vice-like grip.

Within seconds your pussy started to convulse around his fingers. Your release gushed out of you in huge amounts, coating his fingers in a creamy white. He helped you ride out your high, shallowly pumping his fingers in you. He stopped sucking on your neck, looking at the newly formed purplish hickey on it proudly. Once you came down from your high, he slipped his fingers out with a wet ‘pop’, watching your walls flutter around nothing.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, slipping them inside, tasting your release. You watched him with hooded eyes, your chest rising up and down slowly as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes screwed shut when the taste hit him, a deep groan leaving him, one that traveled straight to your core, despite having just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

He opened his eyes, his gaze darker than before, making you gulp. He leaned down again, maintaining eye contact with you. He ran a hand through your hair, before gripping it tightly, ripping a whimper out of you. He bit his lips, whispering “God, you drive me fucking crazy” before smashing his lips onto yours. He shoved his tongue inside your mouth almost immediately, making you taste yourself.

Fuck, he would be lying if he said he wasn't dying to eat you out, but the problem in his pants would probably kill him before he had his fill of you — which was why he was furiously trying to get his stupid belt off, something which proved to be quite a challenge for no apparent reason.

When he finally managed to get it off, he threw it away somewhere in the room, out of reach. His shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably from how much he was sweating, so obviously that had to go too. Once it was off, he quickly shimmied out of his pants, his boxers quickly following them.

As soon as his boxers were off, his bare cock slapped on his stomach, standing tall and proud. His mushroom tip was an angry shade of red, leaking a generous amount of precum. He was both long and girthy, almost ridiculously so, making you a little concerned about the stretch — or if it would at all fit.

Of course you were anticipating it — how could you not? Yes, he was taking you without consent, but did that really matter anymore? Your morals were thrown out of the window the moment he shoved his pretty fingers into your hole. You couldn't help how much you were leaking for him then, and you certainly can't help it now. You were practically gushing down there, a puddle of your sweet slick starting to form in between your thighs. God, it was a miracle that he hadn't started eating you out like a starved man eating his first meal in days. But then again, he also couldn't wait to finally sink into your wet heat, and fuck you till all you could think about was his dick.

So that's what he did. He spread your legs further apart with his knees, settling down between them. He aligned himself with your entrance, but instead of directly pushing in, he decided to toy with you a little. After all, you were just a toy for him, weren't you? The perfect little toy — a doll if you will — for him to use, break, destroy and dispose of as he wishes.

A little whine from you caught his ears. He looked at your face, almost taken aback by your expression. Your eyes were hooded, lips swollen and glistening from your sweat — possibly a result of you biting down on them. Were you… enjoying this? Did you want this?

It was hot, so undeniably hot of you to like this — not just your body, but you. There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of you now — no, you were too perfect to lose.

He swallowed thickly, trying his best to subdue his desire of immediately plunging inside you and railing you into your next life. No, he had to be patient, in order to make it fun for him.

He tapped the head of his cock on your clit, watching even more slick pour out of you, joining the puddle on the floor. It was truly magnificent how much your body craved this — how much you craved it — almost as much as he did.

He rubbed his tip over your slit, gathering the slick from it, ripping out pitiful whimpers from you. He almost caved in to your sinful sounds — almost — before continuing to gather your slick on his mushroom tip.

He watched as your slick and his precum mixed together, forming a beautiful white mixture, something that looked almost delicious — of course he had to taste it, and make you taste it as well. You would like it anyways.

He gathered some of the mixture on his fingers, before popping them in his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the sinful taste. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see how much the taste affected his body, even more precum having dribbled out of his tip, falling into the puddle of your slick.

He swirled his finger in the mixture, before bringing it to your own mouth. He watched as you eagerly wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking the mixture of your wants greedily. He let out a groan, wondering if you would suck his cock the same way. But he had plenty of time to find that out later.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’, ignoring your whine. He pushed his hand into the puddle of your slick, before wrapping the same hand around his ridiculously large dick, slowly pumping it. His eyes were dark as he maintained eye contact with you, taking in the way you gulped slowly. It was so cute, the way you wanted it as much as he did, and yet were afraid of it actually happening.

If he stared at your cute little lips or your pretty little eyes that were filled with both hesitation and desperation, he would definitely cum even before he had the chance to be inside your — by the looks of it, extremely tight walls.

He grabbed your legs again, spreading them even further apart, before slowly starting to push into you. He was immediately met with a lot of resistance from you, loud gasps and whimpers falling from your lips in a beautiful melody, your pussy walls clamping down tightly on his tip alone. He hissed at the pressure, gripping your hips tightly as he slowly started to push in.

The sounds of your whimpers and choked gasps increased two-fold, your walls stretching to an alarming extent as they tried to fit him. You were well aware that the ‘Sungho’ that was fucking you wasn't the real one, that he was a monster — but you didn't realise that doppelgangers were this hung. He was big, huge even — way bigger than the average dick size. It felt like he was splitting apart your insides, but you couldn't deny the enormous amount of pleasure that accompanied the pain.

He had to suck in a breath when he had finally buried himself to the hilt inside you, your walls clamping down on him painfully. It almost felt like he willingly buried himself into a dick guillotine, that’s how tight you felt around him. It wasn’t like he could blame you either — he wasn’t human, even if he was impersonating one, all of his physical features were obviously not perfect. As for him, his imperfection happened to be his dick, which was way larger than the average human dick, almost monstrously so — not that he was complaining… and he knew you wouldn’t be either in a while, once you got used to his size.

His grip on your hips was tight enough to bruise, as he slowly pulled out almost completely, leaving only his tip inside, making you let out a sigh of relief. But that relief was short lived, because he almost immediately slammed himself back in, knocking the air out of you. It felt as if he somehow managed to fit another non-existent inch inside of you.

The squelching sound from the slide however, encouraged him to continue. You were liking it, he knew you were. That’s why you were getting even wetter than before, weren’t you? Yep, that was it. That was why your walls were clamping down on him so tightly. Your body didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop.

He pulled out almost completely again, before ruthlessly slamming right back in, ripping a scream out of you. But the slick that kept pouring out of you, past his cock, told him all that he needed to know. He thrusted into you mercilessly, without caring about how you felt — he knew you liked it, he was sure of it–

Your loud whimpers of pain broke him out of his daze. “P– Please, it h– hurts so much–”

His hand grabbed your neck, squeezing down on it as a warning. “Don’t fucking lie to me — you’re leaking past my cock, and you expect me to believe that you aren’t enjoying this? Stupid, fucking slut, lying to me to my face? Absolutely pathetic.”

He grabbed both of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest, before starting to thrust into you again, the ruthless pace of his hips almost bruising your thighs. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, your cries of pain only increasing in volume. He ignored them, focusing on how his hips snapped into yours with every thrust. “Fucking take it — you know you like this, you fucking painslut. It hurts, does it? How adorable, you fucking love it, you know you do.”

He continued to ram his hips into yours, uncaring of your discomfort — unbeknownst to you, your cries only caused him to grow harder, his cock bulging through your stomach. The bulge on your stomach appearing and disappearing inside you caught his attention, causing him to groan. He fisted your hair tightly in his hand, pulling you up. “Look at that, princess, look at it — look at how I keep disappearing inside you. Fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing to slam his hips into yours. He let go of your hair, pressing down on the bulge in your stomach instead. The added pressure caused him to groan, his pace increasing. Your slick made it easy for him to pound into you, your cries having started to turn into loud moans. He found it almost cute, your switch up.

He pushed your thighs up higher against your chest, his hips snapping painfully into yours, balls slapping on your ass with every thrust. It felt so fucking wrong, but even you couldn’t deny how good it felt. “I’m gonna fill you up, till my cum is dripping past your legs — gonna make you walk around like that. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Walking around with my cum dripping down your legs like a fucking slut?”

If the way you clenched around him at his words wasn’t a dead giveaway to whether you liked what he was doing or not, then he didn’t know what else could possibly be it. He increased his pace. “Yea? You like that? You want that? You’re my precious little cumslut, aren’t you? My sweet little doll, so eager to be filled up to the brim.”

He brought a hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly. The added pleasure sent shockwaves to your brain, your back arching, eyes rolling back. You could feel the coil in your stomach continue to tighten, the harsh pace of his assault on your clit only making the coil tighter and tighter.

He suddenly pinched your clit harshly, the sudden sensation causing you to let out a choked gasp. The coil in your stomach finally snapped, causing you to gush around him. He groaned at the feeling, your walls clamping around him, triggering his own release. He buried himself deep inside you, spurts of cum sprouting from him, slowly filling her up to the brim. He gripped your hips tightly. “Take it, take all of it, fucking take it — you’re mine to fuck, mine to breed, no matter when I see fit. So fucking take it–”

He kept on and on cumming, your walls clamping around him, milking him dry. He hissed, pulling out his softening length. It was so hot, the way his cum dripped out of your hole. It was the perfect time to eat you out, but that had to wait.

He grabbed your hands, finally undoing the belt on them. As soon as you were free from the restraints, you tried to flex your wrists, to fix the blood flow. He smirked at your antics. He grabbed your chin tightly, making you face him. “Listen up sweetheart — from now onwards, you do what I say. If I tell you to stay, you will stay. If I tell you to sit and look pretty, you will sit and look pretty. Got it?”

You gulped thickly. You were absolutely terrified of him. Why shouldn’t you be? Given what he had done to you, you would have no other choice but to obey him.

So you nodded. Albeit hesitantly.

He wrapped his arms around her “Good girl — my good girl”

[itwoodbeprefect]

i don't have a point here except ???, but i realized today that starsky & hutch episode the psychic a) was written by micheal mann of (among many other things) classic crime thriller heat fame, and b) contains a baffling amount of (references to) crossdressing. it's one of the two episodes that opens with starsky and hutch chasing a guy in a dress (which gives us the "well i don't know, you('d) look rather nice in basic black and pearls" starsky-to-hutch line), later on they interrupt a robbery being committed by ANOTHER guy in a dress (and grey wig, posing as an old lady - presumably with the intent to disguise his identity rather than express some part of it, but who knows), and THEN they meet a hot lady mechanic who among many fast lines says to starsky "i'm really a basketball player in drag. whatever turns you on, honey" (interestingly timely, considering starsky's earlier comment about hutch). and finally, not entirely related but also not unrelated, there's these people at a laundromat hutch hits up on his mad phone chase at the end of the episode:

so yeah. ???.

[cosmicsnufkin]

.

[lisbonsteresa]

climbing the walls over this

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 2

Previous AU Summary

This post is dedicated @fanfics-or-dragons who wrote part of the post. I will put their part in bold. I would suggest checking them out, they write some really interesting stuff.

Previously:

The con man opened his mouth, looking like he was losing his mind, before just shutting his mouth and contemplated how his life got to this point. He was just fine conning demons, detective work for the occult, and doing the occasional good deed, but no,  he just had to get involved with the League of Goody-Two-Shoes who have no idea how to handle the supernatural. He was getting flashbacks to the time he realized that the Bats had no idea that they had a city spirit watching over them (he refuses to be the one to explain that to them). Or having to deal with the Flashes saying that magic wasn’t real. He wasn’t paid enough for the shit the League puts him through.

Constantine was always happy that there wasn't a teen version of the JLD cause he didn't want to have to chase kids around a bunch of demons, monsters, and other badies he deals with daily.

He is only now realizing that because there wasn't a teen version of the JLD that the young Justice team also dealt with the supernatural world just without any adult supervision cause none of the JLD or JL knew that they were. It was like they were trying to send him to an early grave. He blames Bats, he was the one to drag him into this crazy fest. You help a guy with something supernatural once and then suddenly you are a consultant to his Do-Gooder Club for anything involving the supernatural.

“And how and why do you know that Pariah isn’t the King anymore?” Constantine asked through grit teeth.

Supernova stills, finally realizing the danger of the line of questioning. He couldn’t lie, his crummy template would tattle on him immediately. But at the same time he couldn’t just avoid the question without people getting suspicious. So that left the last option. Being as vague as possible.

“Someone from the Infinite Realms mentioned it,” Supernova said with false casualness.

“What?”

While most of the League just looked confused, almost every member of the JLD looked like he just told them he invited Trigon to a tea party. Constantine especially looked pale, similar to how Danny looked in human form. Half-dead wasn't a good look on him.

“You’re saying that a citizen of the Infinite Realms, which is literally the glue of the multiverse, just told you that Pariah wasn’t their King anymore?!” the sad trench coat man asked desperately.

“Well, it was more like an example of how some of their rules work,” Supernova stated with no filter.

“That makes even less sense!” Constantine screeched, “Most of the citizens of that realm are beings of emotion that literally come into being knowing how things work. They don’t work by our rules and certainly don’t explain theirs. And you're telling me that they sat down and explained the rules without you losing your soul?! And that you understood what they were explaining too?! The rules that have been driving those in the occult crazy trying to figure out so they can avoid them without offending them??”

Supernova laughs nervously. “Well when you put it like that it sounds insane.”

“Because it is!” Constantine screams, “They literally say ‘hi’ by fighting each other. Not to mention even if they don’t try to purposely hurt you they often do due to how fragile we are compared to them. Even their weakest would be a challenge to our heavy hitters!”

To be continued . . .

Next

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (29/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow. 

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his. 

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms. 

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".  

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you. 

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke. 

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment. 

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway. 

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that. 

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again. 

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy. 

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality. 

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all. 

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before. 

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that. 

"Yes," he breathes without sound. 

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point. 

But that spark had gone out. 

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?" 

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid. 

He didn't look at Joris. 

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything. 

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm. 

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed. 

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about. 

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend. 

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him. 

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him. 

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running. 

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head. 

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours. 

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock. 

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice. 

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his. 

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction. 

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers. 

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

[twilightkitkat]

Part 2 of thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 1 , Part 3, Part 4

---

It'd been a few days since Wade had revealed the truth to Wolverine.

He'd expected things to be awkward, for them to fight over it, for Other-Logan to pull away so that his previous annoyance-indifference would look warm in comparison.

But, shockingly, things had gotten... easier?

Wolverine seemed more comfortable with him, becoming more talkative than before (which wasn't exactly hard to top, but progress is progress). Instead of yanking away the second Wade got too close for comfort, he'd let him brush by him, close enough that Wade could feel his body heat through the seat. Instead of sitting a respectable five feet away at all times, Other-Logan now sat at a friendly distance, close enough to sling an arm around his shoulder if Wade was in a particularly masochistic mood.

It was nice to feel like he had companionship in a world where he knew no one. It was comfortable. It reminded him of his own Logan sometimes, when he could close his eyes and drown out his thoughts and pretend that he was on a mission with Logan in his world instead of in the middle of fucking nowhere with a shitty knockoff.

Well, "shitty knockoff" is a harsh way to put it. This Logan wasn't that bad (he was certainly less anger-prone than his counterpart). It just... wasn't the same. It's like wanting a bowl of Lucky Charms at 2am so you go to a Dollar General and buy a copycat brand to satisfy your craving. Yes, it's similar, but no, it isn't the same.

And fuck, did Wade feel his Logan's absence.

It'd especially hit at night, when Wade was used to curling up on the pull-out couch with Logan beside him and pretending that he was shuffling closer so he wouldn't fall off the edge.

(They both were able to sleep in far more precarious positions. A perk of the job. But under the veil of darkness, they were able to pretend that they weren't vying for touch just to have it. To feel the warmth of someone else next to them. To know that they were both alive and safe and, despite everything, here with each other.)

But, even if Wade curled in on himself at night, feeling the chill in his bones despite the luxurious blankets in the mansion or whatever insulating sleeping bag he was using, he was fine.

So fine, in fact, that it didn't bother him at all that it'd been nearly a week since he arrived in this universe. Not that he was counting. (He was.)

Logan was probably fine. Wade would send him a message or something, let him know that he was okay and that the mission was just taking longer than expected, but interdimensional texting hadn't yet been invented. Or, at least, the TVA bastards were cheap enough to not let him access it.

Besides, they'd been making progress. They were finally working their way up to beating The Big Bad, to telling whatever evil organization was plotting to destroy this timeline to fuck off and go to hell.

As a matter of fact, they were on their way to a particularly promising lead right now. All the henchmen they've managed to get information out of seemed to point their fingers to the same place, some discreet nuclear power plant that had been shut down a decade ago. (Real original, guys. Why don't supervillains ever set up base in a less stereotypical place? Like a public park or an Olive Garden. But nooooo, it always had to be the shady abandoned government facilities.)

"You seem to be thinking real hard over there, bub," Wolverine remarked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, y'know, just the usual, like what your abs would taste like if I covered them in whipped cream. Would it be more salty, or sweet? Do you think they'd taste metallic if you'd been roughed up lately?" Wade slid back into his typical persona instead of lingering on his unhelpful desire to mope around until he could go home.

Other-Logan snorted. "I think you're thinking way too hard about my abs when you should be focusing on your plan for when we get to the base."

Wade pouted, "Awwww, c'mon, Wolvie, don't you know that my pleasure comes before our job? You only live once, fuck capitalism and all that."

"Without capitalism, you wouldn't have the money to get 'pleasure,'" Logan deadpanned.

"Ah yes, you're right. I'm but a humble servant to the almighty Capitalism King. I shall kill and show no mercy as long so long as my king asks for it." Wade clutched a hand over his heart dramatically, voice imitating sincerity but a few pitches too high.

Logan just shook his head and chuckled, trying and failing to suppress the grin that threatened to stretch across his face.

It looked good on him. A far cry from the serious, no-nonsense, version he'd first encountered. Who knew all it took to have someone open their heart to you was revealing you were besties in an alternate universe?

"We're here," Logan grunted, smirk falling off his face as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"Fucking finally! One hour longer and I think I'd puke all over your shiny yellow suit," Wade whined obnoxiously. Logan elbowed him harshly in response. Ouch. Manners.

The base was exactly what you'd expect. Just run down enough to not attract suspicion but just well-kept enough to be home to some freaky villain technology.

And, also as expected, as soon as they entered a blaring alarm went off. Flashing red lights and all. Just great, exactly what he needed today. Wade was definitely going to end up with a headache by the end of this raid. They're lucky he didn't have epilepsy or he'd sue them.

Wolverine didn't seem to be faring much better, judging by his furrowed eyebrows and how he was barely holding back a grimace.

They make quick work of whatever lackeys they find as they tear their way through the halls. They'd definitely improved their synchronization during the time they'd spent fighting together (mainly on Wolverine's part).

Finally, they arrive at some sort of convoluted metal dome with a suspiciously alien-looking machine in the middle. It didn't seem to be an exact replica of the Time Ripper Wade knew, but it was close enough to make an educated guess about its purpose. (An educated wish, some may say.)

Unfortunately, it wasn't left unguarded.

Some old-looking bald guy (never a good sign) with a metal arm (again, never a good sign) was holding a suspiciously futuristic gun. (Who is this, Cable's long-lost twin with a receding hairline gene?)

Deadpool unsheathed one of his katanas, gripping his gun tightly with his other hand. Wolverine shifted into a battle stance beside him.

"And what do we have here?" The man drawled, his piercing gaze sweeping over them both. "Deadpool and... Wolverine? An interesting team-up." Despite this, he didn't seem too surprised. If anything, he seemed to be glancing warily at Wolverine beside him.

"I don't have time to listen to your monologue, how about you just undo whatever fucky-wucky stuff you did to the timeline and we all head our separate ways, yeah?" Wade was nothing if not merciful for offering this fucker a chance to stand down before it got ugly.

"I don't think so," the man huffed, as if he found it amusing that he'd even suggest that. He was starting to get on Wade's nerves.

"Then let's cut the chit-chat and get straight to the ass beating." Deadpool nodded at Wolverine, who smirked almost imperceptibly.

They both lunged at the same second, Wolvie swiping at the bastard's head while Deadpool fired at his legs and torso.

Oh fuck, this guy has a regenerative healing factor too, Wade groaned internally when he saw the bullet wounds stitch themselves up. Just his luck.

The battle was more difficult than expected, but they managed to hold up fairly well by bouncing off each other's attacks. When Wade moved in, Logan moved out. When Wolverine sunk in his claws, Deadpool fired his gun or slashed with his katana.

That was until the bastard injected himself with some sort of serum, like a heroin addict stopping to shoot up during a fight.

That better not be what I think it is, Wade grimaced.

It was exactly what he thought it was.

Fighting a meaner-looking, more equipped version of Cable was hard enough, but on steroids? Wolverine and Deadpool soon began to lag behind. Even their teamwork couldn't help much when the opponent was that much stronger and they both were becoming exhausted.

However, Deadpool saw an opening. The fucker wasn't guarding his flank properly. And so, without warning, he flipped over the asshole's head and slashed at his side at the same moment Logan sank his claws into his neck. (Yay, teamwork!)

It seemed to hit some sort of weak point because the man slumped down onto the ground, unconscious. Wade sighed in relief and walked over to Logan.

"Hey man, I don't know about you, but when we get out of here I think we should get some chimichangas to celebrate—"

Bang.

Wade was flung into the wall with the sheer force of whatever futuristic weapon the man shot him with. Fucking rat bastard.

His head began spinning with the force at which he'd been full-body slammed against the wall. His vision was blurred and it was hard to make out shapes, but it seemed that Logan was having the same issue, given the red, blue, and yellow spot on the wall opposite him.

His vision was dancing with black dots and colors bled together, but through the haze he could make out the man they'd fought getting up and limping away, seemingly talking to someone as he did so.

Wade groaned and tried to lift his hand up to feel the wound on his head when he noticed. There were fragments embedded in his suit where he'd hidden it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In his haze, he managed to yank the tattered remains out of a device from his suit. Oh shit. It was broken.

How the hell was he supposed to get home now?

He didn't have time to linger on the question before darkness overtook his vision.

---

Logan paced back and forth on the shitty hardwood floors of their one-bedroom apartment.

Where the hell was he?

Wade was supposed to be back a month ago. Hell, the mission was only supposed to take a day and he said he'd be back for dinner that night.

But then that night passed, and Wade didn't show. Logan had waited at the table, bouncing his lex anxiously (although he'd deny it if anyone asked) long after Al reluctantly went to sleep and Mary Puppins settled down for the night. He remembered waiting, staring blankly at his plate but unable to stomach a bite, until he finally decided to put their food in the fridge to reheat later. He felt vaguely nauseous at the idea of eating peacefully while Wade was still frolicking about, fighting bad guys (and potentially getting hurt).

Logan fell asleep in that position, his head resting on his arms, hyperaware and jolting awake at the slightest sound. Waiting to hear the jingle of the doorknob and the sound of Wade shuffling in.

When Wade came back, Logan would tell them that he didn't care what the mission was about or what type of universe it was, he'd come with him next time. No room for arguments. He'd rather be bleeding and bruised by Wade's side than feel the gnawing emptiness and anxiety of being apart from him.

Logan never dealt well with separation. Not when it came to Wade. The only person who made this universe he'd barged his way into a home. The one who'd looked at him—a pathetic, miserable, drunk, mess—and still asked him to come home with him. The only person to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, to someone. That he wasn't just an unwanted, shunned monster who could only be loved for the destruction he could cause.

When Wade was gone, it felt like he was alone again. Like he was back in that shitty universe where even the fucking bartender refused him service unless he begged. Where everyone mocked him or shied away but nobody looked him in the eyes.

Wolverine was used to being alone. He'd been alone, in one way or another, for as long as he could remember.

But that's why he latched violently, viciously, desperately, onto the first lifeboat he could. The first person to yank his head above the water and welcome him onto their raft without expecting anything.

The next morning came and Wade still hadn't come back.

Logan tried to convince himself that it was just taking a second longer, that maybe he'd encountered an obstacle, that everything was still okay.

(Don't be overbearing, Logan. If he sees what a needy, writhing, mess you are then he won't want to be around you anymore. He'll finally wise up and leave you behind like everyone else. Like how you deserve. He'll finally see you for the pathetic creature you are instead of the delusion of a man he's been holding onto.)

But then that day turned into two. Turned into three. Turned into nearly a week in which he hadn't heard a word from Wade.

(Accept things how they are, Logan. Take the warmth you can get and savor it, clutch it so tight to your chest that your fingers bleed, and don't ask for more. Don't ruin this.)

Blind Al had tried saying something, once, about how Wade might just be running that. That he was having troubles, you know how it is (but even she had a worried crease to her brow, the slightest bit of hesitation that spoke volumes). Logan had grunted something he couldn't remember and kept pacing.

It felt like every day was an endless loop. Wake up, choke down what food he could, and wait anxiously. Wait to see if Wade would stroll through the door.

Until one night, he snapped. He'd just gotten out of the shower (the first he'd taken in a while, with how difficult it was to focus on anything but Wade Wade Wade Where is Wade Where—) when he noticed Wade's shitty music box was playing. The one he had of him.

He saw red. The next thing he knew, he stood in a completely trashed living room. Chairs were knocked over and splintered, bottles were shattered, and blood was splattered across the walls from where he'd raked his claws up and down his arms in a desperate attempt to get out of his skin because it was burning so badly and he just wanted to crawl inside Wade instead of being trapped in a useless fucking husk of a mindless animal—

He barely scraped the room back together by the time Al got back. He knew she was able to tell, but she didn't say anything. Just sat down on the tattered couch and murmured something that suspiciously sounded like Wade's name.

Logan was barely functioning. It was a Good Day if he managed to eat, shower, and not drink himself into a stupor by night. Every day that went by made the knot in his stomach twist further until he could barely remember what it felt like to not be on edge constantly.

(He knew it was pathetic. That he should be better than this. That he shouldn't need Wade to babysit him to make him want to eat and sleep and shower and do all the things that normal people were expected to just do. He knew that he shouldn't revert back to a state of depression and anxiety when he was gone but Logan didn't know what to do. He'd been fucked up for so long that he didn't know what okay meant anymore, didn't know to just breathe without clenching his teeth and forcing his lungs to expand and contract.)

(The only time he got relief from the reminder of who he was and what he'd done was with Wade, who knew him and still somehow wanted him. Who made him feel normal, like he could just be Logan and live a domestic life as a borderline househusband in their apartment. Who made him feel like he had a future and a chance at happiness again.)

At first, he could convince himself that it was just the mission holding him up. That he was being unreasonable. (Why didn't Wade just take him along to begin with? He'd let Wade talk as long as he wanted, take the lead, and annoy him however he liked as long as he could be with him.)

But then doubt began creeping in. What if Wade realized that he really was the Worst Wolverine? What if this universe's Wolverine was better than him—nicer, stronger, less fucked up—and Wade preferred him. He wouldn't blame him. Hell, he knew Wade only settled on him because of a time crunch and the fact that he didn't claw his eyes out immediately. If Wade had more time, he would've gone with a better option.

(Logan chose to ignore the instinctive dread he felt at that thought. What if Wade hadn't come for him? What if he found another Wolverine and he was left to be drunk and miserable for the rest of his life, never knowing Wade's presence? The thought made him physically ill.)

But Wade, despite what people said, was a man of his word. He kept his promises and tried to avoid lying. Even if he did decide to fuck off and find another Logan, he'd tell him first. He'd let him know, at least.

As the time crept closer to a month, Logan's anxiety reached an all-time high. If Wade was taking this long, something must've gone horribly wrong. He's in danger.

Logan couldn't pace back and forth anymore, listening to the TVA rattle excuse after excuse when he called them to ask for an update. (It's confidential, they said. Don't worry, they said. Eventually, they got so used to him calling—without fail, twice a day, once in the morning and once at night—that they'd immediately forward him to the line he needed. And they'd always give the same excuses.)

Not anymore.

Logan was going to find Wade, even if he had to rip the whole fucking TVA or multiverse apart to do so.

---

Wade groaned, slamming his forehead against the counter before eating another spoonful of cereal.

The X-men still hadn't found a way to fix his universe-hopping device. To be fair, back in his universe it'd taken a while to fix Cable's time-jumping one, and Wade's sure that dimensional travel adds a whole new level of complexity. The TVA does not fuck around with their technology.

That being said, at least the rest of the X-men were starting to take the timeline issue seriously. They'd finally all decided to pitch in and try investigating on their own time.

"Look alive a little, bub, we're going on a mission today." Logan eyed Wade as he continued to eat his high-protein classic bacon and scrambled eggs breakfast.

The other X-men eyed them curiously. Logan had been acting differently as of late. Ever since Deadpool had come to their world and began hanging around him, he'd softened around the edges. He'd become a little more open, actively engaging with conversation instead of tuning in and out.

It was... nice to see him close to someone. To see him look at someone with an odd sort of affection visible in his eyes. Even if it was a little jarring.

(A few wondered what Wade had done to earn his affection. How a single man could swoop in and do what they'd been trying to do for years. What was so special about him? Why couldn't they reach him earlier? What were they doing wrong?)

It was good to see him be close to someone. Even if it stung a little that Wade made more progress in a month than they'd made this entire time.

Aside from that, the X-men had been able to interact with Wade more ever since he started spending a bit more time at the mansion.

When he'd gotten knocked out and his dimensional travel device broken, it'd taken a few days for him to fully regenerate (and mentally recuperate). During that time, him and Logan seem to have developed an odd kinship. A casual, friendly relationship where they eat meals together and occasionally, in between missions, watch shows together, or just... talk.

It was a little unnerving to see Logan so willing to act almost domestically with someone else. Of course, the X-men had managed to coax Logan into hanging out with them more casually. And sometimes, they'd gotten the privilege of seeing how his shoulders would relax and he'd become content to just listen and soak up the company. But those occasions were few and far between, and Logan's default state was to keep a certain degree of distance.

Wade had begun to interact with the other X-men, too. He'd taken to teasing Colossus to pay him back for the many headaches he'd given him in his world. Logan often trailed a few steps behind, trying and failing to pretend to be engaged with something else while keeping an eye on Wade. It'd be endearing, almost, if it wasn't so out of character for him.

Unfortunately, after the villain had escaped, their luck seemed to dry up. They'd only gotten a few leads since, and all were dead ends. With too much time to spare and too much pent-up energy (and anxiety to some degree over being away from his world for so long), Wade accompanied Wolverine on a few of his other missions.

Wade sighed and pushed away the remainder of his cereal. Well, there went his appetite. Thinking about his world and his Logan was a surefire way to kill his mood.

(It made him feel sick to think about how Logan was faring without him. To question when he'd get to see him again. To remember that this wasn't His Logan. It was always uncomfortable to be away from him for too long, to feel the same loneliness settle inside him like an old friend. What a joke. He saved the world just so he could whine about how he wanted it to revolve around him.)

(Logan never made him feel that way. He understood how it felt to lose everyone and still tremor at the thought. He understood the struggle of knowing you'd outlive everyone you love. He understood because they'd been through it together. Because they'd shared their pain and their feelings and their hearts and bared themselves, raw and vulnerable and bloody, before each other and still sacrificed themselves for each other anyway.)

"Not in the mood?" Logan asked. "Y'know, we have other types of cereal. Think they keep Captain Crunch or Cheerios or some shit around here."

And Wade almost screamed in frustration.

It was so stupid. Logan was trying to help. But Other-Logan wasn't His Logan.

His Logan knew that he hated that type of cereal. That he drenched his pancakes in syrup. That he was a picky bitch with food and would only eat certain brands. He'd learned to cook food just for him so that he could eat comfortably.

He was about to take a few centering, deep breaths (never claim he doesn't know how to be zen) before an alarm blared.

"There's been a break-in in the main lobby of the mansion!" someone shouted.

Huh. That's a convenient way to get information. A very good way to move the plot along.

The X-men around him were tense, drawing their weapons and preparing to investigate who dared intrude. Wade got ready too, drawing his baby knife just in case. (Not that he really can take the moral high ground here, considering he did the same just a month ago.)

Other-Logan glanced at him from the corner of his eye and Wade nodded. The two slinked along the walls, braced for an attack.

Loud crashing noises could be heard from the lobby. Furniture slammed against the wall, shattering into a million splinters (strong ass motherfucker, it seems). There was yelling and screaming and... growling?

The cacophony got louder as they drew closer. Except, Wade began to recognize the sounds. They were distinct, clear, and... familiar.

Too familiar.

Holy shit.

"Logan?" he breathed, and then he was darting out from behind the wall even as Other-Logan let out an aborted shout and attempted to grab his arm.

He slipped through his grip and turned the corner, and lo and behold, there he was.

His Logan.

He was snarling, claws unsheathed and raised to attack the people who swarmed him. They all seemed terrified and incredibly confused (given that he had the same face as one of the X-men themselves), but seemed to recognize him as an enemy and were making a quite frankly pathetic attempt to fight back.

He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and eyes darting around anxiously. He had a feral look on his face, like a cornered animal that had just escaped his captors.

His eyes were somehow distant and hyper-focused, as if he was running on pure adrenaline without really registering anything.

He looked furious. He looked serious. (He looked scared.)

It was the sweetest sight he'd ever seen in his life.

"Peanut!" Wade shouted, pushing through the people who crowded around.

Logan's head snapped in his direction immediately, body trembling.

"Wolvie! Babygirl!" he continued to yell out nicknames as he drew closer, finally elbowing past the last line of unhelpful bystanders.

"Logan," he murmured breathlessly, reverently, at finally getting to see him again. To see him up close and personal.

As soon as he muttered the word, Logan pounced.

From behind him, Other-Logan and a few of the X-men yelled for him to move out of the way, that he was hostile.

But Wade knew that face. Knew those eyes.

This wasn't just A Logan, this was His Logan.

(His Logan, who knew how he liked his pancakes. Who listened to him rant about stupid conspiracy theories and children's shows. Who had gone through hell and back with him just to help him save his family. Who he'd slowly, painstakingly built a home with.)

And so Wade simply opened his arms and offered a shaky, wet, smile as Logan barreled into him, wrapping around him like he'd die if he let go for a second. Digging his fingers (with the claws retracted, luckily) into his back and gripping onto the fabric of his suit like a lifeline. Shivering against him as if he were a man stranded in a blizzard, finally able to huddle up against a fireplace.

And oh.

Logan was crying, hot tears trailing down the curve of Wade's neck and soaking his suit as Logan nuzzled closer, desperately.

When Wade went to stroke the back of Logan's head and brushed against his own damp face, he realized he was crying too.

He'd been trying so desperately to push down his feelings. Of frustration, of anger, of sadness (of fear). To pretend he didn't miss Logan like he missed air, to pretend that the separation wasn't putting him on edge.

He knew that Logan would worry about him. Wade wasn't that oblivious. But he didn't think Logan would be nearly full-body sobbing against him, rocking back and forth, trying to convince himself that Wade was real.

"Please, never do that again. Don't leave."

And oh.

Wade knew that Logan cared. Knew that Logan would be upset, would miss him, if he disappeared or died. Logically, he knew that.

But Wade was used to being seen as annoying. To being someone people could begrudgingly tolerate, maybe occasionally find funny, but never actively want. Was used to being seen as lesser.

Physically, he was a freak. Mentally, he was a wreck. Emotionally, he was one bad day away from trying (and failing, yet again) to end it all.

He didn't understand how someone could want him. Could need him. Could make him their whole world and cradle it in their hands like his absence would be the collapse of their very foundation.

And yet, here Logan was.

When Wade considered it, it was obvious in hindsight. Logan may respond to his insults, and may be up for a fight, but he never actually seemed to be bothered by Wade. When Wade called him stupid nicknames, he may grumble out a response, but never showed actual annoyance. When Wade slung an arm around his shoulder, he'd let it rest there or lean in closer instead of pushing it off. When Wade goaded him into a fight, he'd rise to the challenge but never unsheathe his claws unless Wade drew out his knives, too.

In fact, he'd only shown true irritation when they'd first met. When Wade had kidnapped him and turned his life on his head. When they were struggling under high-stress situations while Logan grappled with grief.

Logan... more than cared. More than tolerated his existence. More than reluctantly put up with him.

The realization was so obvious and yet it hit Wade like a freight train. This whole time, he'd been trying to convince himself that his feelings were one-sided, that he was abnormal for latching so hard onto Logan while he only humored him in response.

He'd let his self-hatred blind him to the most obvious fact of all: Logan needed him too.

He clutched Logan's back tighter, murmuring reassurances and apologies into the top of his head.

"I'm not leaving you, Wolvie," Wade whispered, "you'll have to kill me to get me to stop haunting your ass."

Logan grumbled, "You aren't allowed to die on me. You can't leave. Ever."

"I won't, I won't. You came and got me. I'm not going anywhere."

While Wade and Logan had their reunion, the crowds were herded away until only a few X-men remained. They stared at the two, bewildered.

"...Is that seriously Logan?" Jean murmured to Scott.

"It looks like him... but..." he gestured to the scene in front of them.

They'd never seen Logan break down before. Had never seen him so vulnerable. He'd never let anyone as close as he was to Wade, right now. Not even a fraction as much.

They cast contemplative and vaguely concerned glances at their world's Logan. He was staring hollowly at the scene in front of him.

It was so... odd to see himself like that. Open. Emotional. (Safe enough to let himself be that way.)

Wade had never acted that way with him, either. Tears welling up in his eyes, looking at Logan as if he hung the stars in the sky and set his universe back in balance again.

(Logan looked back at him with the same fervency, as if Wade was his universe. The stars and the sun and the planets all in one.)

It made that familiar envy curl in his gut. Before, it'd been muted by the fact that Wade's Logan was just a story. He was the one physically with him, able to get to know him and learn about him and get his undivided attention and time.

It felt nice. To be understood. To be able to treat someone as an equal, a companion, without worrying about them pulling away if he revealed too much. He'd gotten used to Wade's presence, to the comfort it brought.

However, it looked like he was going to have to confront the version of him that made it all possible.

Wade and Logan had finally calmed down, holding each other more loosely and letting the tension bleed away. Logan nearly collapsed onto Wade as he came down from the adrenaline high, feeling the exhaustion and anxiety of the past month hit him all at once. He was in Wade's arms and finally able to process his emotions now that he was home.

Other-Logan approached them carefully, schooling his face into the typical mask of calculated indifference.

However, despite that, there was a sharpness to his tone as he tersely spoke to his counterpart, "Nice to meet you, other me. It seems you've managed to find your way into our mansion."

"Yeah, well, the mansion was holding something of mine, so let's call it even," Logan near growled, glaring at himself.

It'd almost be funny if not for the tension crackling in the air between them.

"Woah, woah, woah," Wade placated, "we've all made our mistakes. I'm guilty too, your honor. Let me just have some time alone with dear Wolvie here and we can all have a group therapy session later to talk about our feelings."

Other-Logan looked at Wade, a searching look in his eyes. Wade met his gaze steadily, smiling slightly to reassure him that it'd be OK.

Finally, he sighed and moved away to let the other X-men gawk.

It was going to be a long night.

[enteroctopusdarkysilis]

✨More Clones Brickheadz !✨

Since I acquired the Small Cody (40675), I found that there was an untapped mine. Why would they only make one ? Well. I don't have an answer to that, but I decided to take matters into my own one; so behold : 11 more. I went mostly for commanders here, but then I went a bit astray and so I added some captains to the mix.

In order, row by row :

Tukk (Not cannon but the colours are so beautiful)/Vaungh (died too soon-)/Rex (obviously)/Fordo (I did Rex, so I had to)

Gree/Doom/Thorn/Neyo

Bly/Cody/Fox/Wolffe

It was a really fun project, and I hope to do more of them in the future - maybe even phase 1s, some day~); supposedly not commanders because I did most of them (except Bacara, I know...The helmet was too tough).

And because I really like challenges, if you want to see another clone turned into one of these (Be it cannon or one of your ocs) feel free to send requests in my aksbox !)

Anyway this post is already far too long for anyone's dashboard, so closeups and details will be under the cut !

Let's start with the easy ones : Cody, Doom, Fox, Thorn

Obviously, Cody was easy, I just rebuilt the original one virtually - Nothing too hard. The printed pieces here are not the right ones, because Cody's are not available on STUDio yet, but the storm trooper ones were relatively similar, so I used these for most of these models. Of course, it means I'm lacking the sun bands, and a few other distinctive elements, but it works well enough for now.

Now, Doom is essentially a colour variation (minus a few antennas). I also used an old space piece, which has this big yellow arrow printed on it. I's not exactly what Doom has, but I feel like it's close enough for a first attempt.

Then, Fox is relatively similar to Doom, but with two DC-17s. I also moved the printed torso brick up to get that red line he has.

Thorn works in a similar way to Cody too, except I removed both accessories on the side of the helmet. I also added this tile with diagonal lines to figure the wings he has. One day I'll slap some real wings on there, but I haven't found the right image yet. I also gave him a Z-6, obviously. I really like it, so I might actually make that one physically, because the way it's build (with old binocular pieces) is pretty nice; although I doubt the pieces are available in black.

Moving on to two captains : Vaughn and Tukk !

Admittedly, not really that different either, except for one thing : I learnt to do custom prints now ! Yay ! Well, these are really basic : the blue line for Vaughn, and some trapezoids for Tukk's helmet (which are, indeed, not visible here - shame, I spent so long making these fit). The Ahsoka pattern was already in STUDio (because Ahsoka already has her own brickheadz, which I'll get my hands on someday~)

I must also add that having some cyan in this whole thing added some much needed colours in here, I'm grateful some people give their clones amazing colours (If somehow someone doesn't know who Tukk is, well just check High Ground Animation. Right now. It's really cool, trust me). Anyway.

As for design changes, I modified the faces slightly by adding 1x1 tiles, to allow for different colours variations on the face. It makes them look slightly blockier, but given the overall size of the head, it doesn't do much.

I also gave Vaughn a DC-15A. It's a bit messy, but it works out well enough. Past me forgot to render it, so here is a raw, in-software picture of it (from Fordo(s hand, but it's the same design for both) :

BARC helmets ? Wolffe, Fordo, Neyo

As I've been told, these look a bit wonky, and I'll admit its wasn't exactly easy, but in my defence, it's relatively hard to get such round shapes with bricks (lego cheated by adding the visor). Anyway, given that doing that with a printed piece was out of the question, I tried to replicate the filter's shape with actual bricks, and I used a printed piece which, technically, is Lando's moustache, but downward. I'd say it does the job relatively well.

I also added a rangefinder to Wolffe, which is a little big compared to everyone else's antennas, but It's still relatively to scale with the head itself. No custom prints for him (not sure where I would find the correct pattern images ?), but I've done it for Fordo and Neyo. Fordo obviously has his well deserved Jaig eyes (and who knew it would be that difficult to find a picture of that on internet ?), and Neyo has his symbol on the helmet, chest plate, and the shoulder not shown here.

The really tinkered ones : Gree, Bly, Rex :

Here, it was a matter of trials and errors to figure out just how to get the shapes right.

I actually started with Bly, by removing the previous visor and adding the macrobinoculars first, then I tried to shape the helmet around. Truth is, it doesn't make sense technically : the two separated parts of the helmet do not connected at all, if you remove the equipment. Luckily, no one has to know that.

Next is Gree. It took me some time to figure out how to properly get a round feel, but I feel like it's as good as I can make it like this. Colour-wise, it was surprisingly difficult to find how to balance the different shades of green, and equally hard was to figure out which silvery colour would render well in STUDio. The answer lied, as it always does, in Bionicle. Of course, none of these pieces exist in this colour, but it's not really my main problem (because none of the coloured printed pieces exist either).

Finally, Rex...He gave me some trouble, I have to admit. Firstly, the part-designing software decided to have some trouble with custom prints, which was problematic, because I simply couldn't do Rex without jaig eyes (and Fordo already had his). Then, I started with Gree's base and tried to go from there to fit Rex's custom helmet. I ended up using Boba Fett's printed visor piece for Rex, because these were all triangles. I also got rid of the printed chest piece and used some black plates to simulate the pouch he has; while also adding a a few more custom printed pieces for the arms and pauldron (barely visible, but they're here. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I don't see much other solutions than more and more custom prints, which isn't my goal, so it'll stay like that for now.

Anyway, that's way too much rambling for one post, so I'll just end by saying that next week I'll post an alt version of this whole build [here !], with some 'slight' colour alterations. Definitely nothing big.

[itstatartdump]

So like most people on here I had been watching Watcher since they started their channel, and like most others I was surprised/concerned at the announcement that they're starting a streaming service. After checking out the site and looking close at their YouTube, this feels destined to fail.

I'll go through my thoughts.

They don't currently post enough to justify the paywall

Over the past year, they have posted between 4 to 9 videos a month. That is a decent amount for most YouTube channels, but for a streaming service that is way to low. For $5.99 a month, getting only 4 episodes is not a good deal when other services give you more for less.

What makes this problem worse it that...

They only produce one show at a time

Whenever Watcher releases a shows, they only have that show running. During a series of Mystery Files, they only upload Mystery Files. During a series of Too Many Spirits, they only upload Too Many Spirits. Now this isn't the case all the time, when they have smaller productions they usually release a similar size production along with it.

If we go back to the issue of only getting 4 episodes, this means that you can be paying $5.99 a month to access 4 episodes of a show that you don't enjoy.

These two issues would be less detrimental if it wasn't for the fact that...

They backpedalled removing their YouTube back catalogue

Lets be real, not only were they originally going to remove their YouTube content, It was the only way I could see this being worth the price.

Yes, they say that they aren't removing it, but if you read the full article it say's that "The company originally told Variety that Watcher would eventually remove all of its videos from YouTube".

Their original plan WAS to make all their content exclusive to streaming, the problem was that everyone new this was a scummy idea and they gaslit their audience into thinking they weren't doing that. But that now leaves them with a streaming service where all they offer is 4 episodes of a show per month and a back catalogue that is free on a more well known platform.

The big question I have is...

How are they going to make more content

This is something that I feel should be addressed, they are a small production studio who are trying to "creating television-caliber, unscripted series in the digital space" (direct quote from their YouTube Description). They need more content per month to make this service worth while, how are they going to do that?

Will they push out multiple small budget, easy to film, YouTube like content that bring up the overall upload count which may cause them and their employees to crunch and burn out.

Or are they going to produce several higher budget, TV-calibre shows that would each be more expensive than they can afford to make.

Not sure if this was coherent but thanks for reading anyway.

(sidenote)

While I agree that Steven is getting a huge bulk of the anger that should also be applied to Shane and Ryan, I also have to acknowledge that the first announced show after saying they need money being his travel show is not helping.

[yourladyem]

The Three Men in Lydia's Life: All About Connections

Richard: "We made a great kid."

Made a great kid. Thought it was an odd saying instead of they have a great kid. Shows he wasn't very much involved in Astrid's life.

Doesn't try to make a connection with his family even when he sees the riff growing between his ex-wife and their daughter. Doesn't do anything even after he sees them again. Goes back to work and doesn't help them in any way afterward. Doesn't tell Astrid how to stay in contact with him even though she has Lydia's gift. Basically like he wasn't around as much as Astrid thinks he was. Not a lot of family pictures in that album she found. The "free spirit" with a dissolved connection who seemed to care more about his causes than his family.

Wasn't really around.

Rory: "It's like we have the same stupid little heart."

Well, we all know what Rory is. Connection through manipulation and trauma. Pulls at the emotional heart strings.

He degrades their so-called connection by using the word "stupid" like there's no seriousness to their relationship or what they feel isn't important enough to be taken seriously but pretends to be serious about her in order to marry her. And we all know the real reason why. More like manipulated teenage puppy love.

Thinks the person they are manipulating is extremely stupid and tried to separate their victim from everyone else.

But like many who've been through similar relationships, the abused is usually the last person to figure it out or they don't possess the strength to leave out of fear of never being enough. But sometimes it takes a certain person for you to listen and see the truth. Enter Beetlejuice.

Childish and selfish.

Beetlejuice: "Lydia and I have a psychic connection."

Never left her. Never lied to her. Never lied about his motives. Never tried to manipulate Astrid. Always kept his word. Seems to want to be a husband and father. Romances her and let her go. Didn't get jealous of Richard and tried to insert himself between him and Lydia during their closure.

Bettered himself with his own business and was devoted to Lydia for 30 years. Seemed to always be talking about her to his employees and maybe others who would listen.

Exposed Rory and knew his true intentions a long time ago. Gets excited when Lydia sees him (even if she is absolutely terrified every time).

Left her alone while she got over Richard's death before approaching her again especially when Rory entered the picture.

The picture on his desk. I don't think Richard had any pictures of his family anywhere including in his little Hobbit hole. He never pulls one out of his pocket and says he keeps it to remember them and it's the one he had on him when he died. None of that. Beetlejuice steals a picture of Lydia and proudly displays it on his desk for decades.

The Hawaiian sequel had him constantly looking at her picture that was always on him. Richard had nothing.

Literally gives her his heart when Lydia gave away hers to two other men who didn't cherish it.

Doesn't push Lydia's family away. He includes them and helps them. He's got a soft spot for that family.

Even after everything, Lydia feels more comfortable and herself around him than the other two. She's bolder. And might even see him as a friend in some ways. She trusts him more. She didn't question Beetlejuice when Rory started spilling the truth. She didn't see the Truth Serum being injected into Rory. How did she know it was the truth and not a trick on BJ's part to get rid of him so he could marry her? Because in the end she knows the one person she's wanted out of her life is one person she can trust the most. He gives her the boxing glove to finish the job on her own. He knows her strength and is even surprised by how much she has when she punches Rory. He's proud of her and wants her to fight for herself and speak for herself.

Always there for her even when she doesn't see it.

He is honest with her when Rory wasn't.

He is devoted to her when Richard wasn't.

He is proud of her when the others weren't or didn't show it.

He listened to her when the others didn't.

He respected her when the others didn't.

He cherished her when the others didn't.

He defended her when the others didn't.

He protected her when the others didn't.

He tried when the others didn't.

He loves her when the others don't.

[fixfoxnox]

Mw2 headcannons where Shepherd kills us as bait and sends a video of it to the team...

Oh boy oh boy this is dark isn't it? This should be fun though. Not sure if you wanted this as romantic or friendship so I'll try to toe the line.

141 Sent A Video of Reader Dying

Warnings: Reader Death, gunshots

Price is the one the video gets sent to, Shepherd knows that if it gets to Price the rest of the 141 will see it too

Price has been stressed about you being taken hostage by Shepherd, and while he's tried not to think the worst, he knows immediately what the video is as soon as it shows up.

The second he looks at it and sees no letter or anything attached, a part of him just knows. A part of him starts grieving right then.

For the rest of the 141, Gaz and Soap had been staying pretty positive.

It was clear that Gaz was feeding off of a lot of Price's energy, so while he knew the possibility, he'd been cautiously optimistic about getting you back.

He was one of the younger members of the team and while he'd seen death, it had never been anything as close as this. So in his mind, the possibility of you dying just didn't seem real.

There was no world for him in which he wouldn't eventually see you again and get to have your warmth to brighten up his days.

For Soap, he wasn't even letting himself consider the bad that could happen.

Even when Price and Ghost were trying to keep him realistic, to him there was just no world in which you didn't come back. He never even questioned it for a second.

Your disappearance didn't seem to bother him, because he expected that by the next week you'd be right back at his side, teasing him about something or the other.

For Ghost, he was probably the most pessimistic of the group.

Ghost has seen loss. He's seen loss and he knows what men like Shepherd are capable of, what they'll do to prove a point

So the second that Ghost hears that Shepherd has you, he practically already starts grieving.

He's more quiet and reserved from the rest of the group and when he refers to you, its already in past tense.

He and Soap butt heads a lot during this time. Ghost isn't being positive enough for Soap's taste, and Soap isn't being realistic enough for Ghost's.

Several times, Ghost just closes his eyes and tries to picture your voice and your face. He wants to commit you to memory, keep everything fresh enough that he can't forget.

Roach doesn't know what to think.

He's worried out of his mind and his brain keeps bouncing between grief and determination to get you back.

A part of him wants to just sit still and do nothing, a part of him is frozen in that state, just numbness as it tries to work through what is happening

The other part of him is working his ass off. This part doesn't care about processing what happened, it just wants to have you back.

He's already planning your return meal, the breakfast and lunch and dinner he'll make for you as he recovers.

Similar to Price, as soon as Ghost see's the tape, he knows.

Price walks in to the meeting room with it, Laswell trailing behind him and Ghost sees the little tape in his hand and his mouth just snaps shut. He doesn't say a word.

Price warns the group flat out. He tells them whats likely on the tape, he tells them that if they don't want to watch, if they don't want the chance of seeing, then they can leave

None of them leave. They can't, not when it comes to you. They have to see.

The video starts and immediately they're all on edge. There's you, tied to a chair in some dark and dank room.

You look tired and even over the video they can see the cuts and bruises on your skin, the way your clothes are torn and cut, how defeated you look.

Shepherd starts talking. He's walking around you, stopping behind you to place his hand on your shoulders. When he does you flinch.

Soap is seething as he watches the video. Roach seems frozen in place, Gaz is wringing his hands together nervously, Ghost hasn't moved a muscle, but his whole body is tense. Price seemed defeated.

They only pick up on bits and pieces of what Shepherd says, they're so focused on you.

They pick up on Shepherd saying that you've given them nothing, stayed loyal and kept your mouth shut no matter what they tried. Each of the boys feels pride flood through them at that.

But, of course, the video has to end and Shepherd brings things to a close.

He stops behind you in the video. "If we can't get anything from them, the least we can do is send a message."

He pulls his gun out. You don't flinch as you feel it press against the back of your head. You just stare forward at the camera, unmoving.

The gunshot rings out and your body slumps forward. The video cuts off and the 141 are left in the silence of what they've just seen.

It doesn't take long for tears to start falling. For Soap to collapse with his face in his hands against the table. For Gaz to look to Price, hoping to see something only to be met with the signs of clear grief on his face. For Roach to feel tears slide down his cheeks as he stares forward, completely unmoving. For Ghost to get up and leave the room, unable to sit with the group any longer as grief consumes them.

A cloud lays over the 141, they've lost one of their own. They have to start grieving.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter five | part two | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Dr. Gaul is her own warning, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning, mentions of Arachnes' death

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 you meet Dr. Gaul and her snakes with Coryo at your side 🐍

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 here's part two!! Hope y'all enjoy it! Give me your feedback!

beta read by the AWESOME @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

Classes were dull. He couldn't stop thinking about the morning, Sejanus' tears, and Lucy Gray's smile. It felt like a terrible dream possible when sick. He hates how easily Sejanus will have his girl after Coryo makes sure she wins.

He hates how he will never have you. And another district girl will be brought to riches undeserving or maybe Sejanus will leave with her.

He hates how he sees himself in Sejanus. Sejanus' sobs are so similar to the tantrum Coriolanus had thrown when he was eight. The tears were the same as his, unable to stop. The pain is too much. Coriolanus’ tears were of shame of who his soulmate was. Sejanus’ tears were of fear that his soulmate might die in the arena.

He had to make sure Lucy Gray won in the arena. Not because he felt pity for his so-called friend but for the fact that this would ensure his victory over the Plinth Prize. Surely, mentoring the soulmate of the heir of Plinth's fortune would get him some kind of reward, at least from the kind, foolish Sejanus.

Coriolanus received a dismissal from his current history class as he was called to meet Dr. Gaul. It took him mere minutes to reach the lab of the Academy where she was temporarily stationed until the games ended. His proposal is in his satchel. He sees you there, waiting for him, and he pauses.

He soaks you in, ignoring the confusion in your eyes. He stomps on his heart that he feels broken because of how fast it is beating. And begins to walk towards you confidently, trying to channel annoyance and anger over your actions of yesterday. He failed miserably.

He mirrors the small smile you give him and he acknowledges last night by saying, “How's the day going for you, little thief?” He feels his worries fade away, the paranoia that you might have stolen his work gone as he hears you laugh at being called a thief.

“I wasn't confident enough to let you read it, and it felt rude to make you walk back to her lab to submit when I was on my way there anyways,” you explained instead, your eyes hoping for his understanding and forgiveness.

You answered his question as well, “It's been going well, I was nearly late for my classes.”

It's pathetic how easily he caved in. “It's fine,” he whispered, “maybe next time don't leave a note, so the culprit isn't more obvious.” Coriolanus Snow decided your giggle was the prettiest sound he had ever heard and his face burns as his mind repeats it. You give him a friendly swat on his arm and Snow lets himself grin. A real smile with teeth, not the perfect one designated for his classmates.

His proposal is forgotten in his bag as he and you enter the lab. He pulls you a bit closer to him, and a bit behind so he's a step ahead. Dr. Gaul was insane and Coriolanus couldn't help the feeling of being protective of you. He didn't want you to receive even a scratch while he was there.

Dr. Gaul greets you and the Coryo with a feral look in her eyes and her red-stained lips in a wild grin befitting animals. You politely greet her back and Coriolanus follows. Coriolanus swallows as he sees hundreds if not more rainbow-colored snakes in a tank.

“For the games?” He hears you ask.

Dr. Gaul replied, “We'll see, child. Now come forth.”

Coriolanus swallows and even though he shouldn't, he holds your hand, his fingers gripping yours and he walks forward, still keeping you a step behind.

The snakes hiss and move around the tank in swirls of color that hurt his eyes. But in the limited space, he could almost make out parchments with familiar handwriting. What was Dr. Gaul planning?

As if on cue, Dr. Gaul asked, “Which brings me to your proposal. I liked it. Who wrote it? Just you two? Or did your brassy friend weigh in before her throat was cut?”

Coriolanus is surprised by the small laugh you let out, and he sees the humor in Dr. Gauls’ eyes. “No ma'am, I am sure she was rather busy choking on blood. They were written by us,” you said.

“Is that so?” Gauls' voice is full of suspicion but it deters neither of you.

“Yes,” Coriolanus butts in. “Our proposals were written completely by us.”

“Well, let's read it again, shall we?” Dr. Gaul adds, “Unfortunately, my assistant lined this very case with it while I was having my lunch. Let's retrieve it, shall we?”

“Isn't it dangerous?” Coriolanus asked, his voice edged.

Dr. Gaul chuckled and explained, “They can’t see too well, and they hear even less,” said Dr. Gaul. “But they know you’re there. Snakes can smell you using their tongues, these mutts here more than others.” “If you’re familiar, if they have pleasant associations with your scent — a warm tank, for instance — they’ll ignore you. A new scent, something foreign, that would be a threat,” said Dr. Gaul. “You’d be on your own, little boy.”

He doesn't let the fear swallow him, not when he saw how eager you were to prove her suspicions wrong. He didn't want to take Dr. Gauls' words at face value but what else could he do? In no world, he would let you dip your hand into a pit of possibly venomous snakes. Not if he had a choice.

“Me first then,” he said, his voice filled with (fake) confidence.

He puts his hand inside the tank, trying not to shiver in disgust. The snakes ignore him, slithering around his hand as he wiggles through to pull out his proposal successfully. It was safe. Which means you could do the same as well. He hands his proposal to Dr. Gaul before stepping so you can repeat the action.

And you succeed as well with flying colors. You step back to stand beside Snow as Gaul holds both of your works. She raised an eyebrow impressed but Coriolanus can see the underlying disappointment and vows to never leave you alone in her presence.

Dr. Gaul said, “Well… I will try to implement both of your ideas for the Games as soon as possible. The victory tour and idea of what you called tesserae were impeccable. Same with your idea, Coriolanus Snow. I am proud to have you both as Capitol students. I am also looking forward to Arachnes’ funeral”

“Now leave,” Dr. Gaul dismissed, “It's time for my tea and crackers.”

Coriolanus couldn't walk out of there faster. Je catches you before you can walk away. Your actions tilted his reality, in so little time since the reaping day, you were changing every thought of his.

“Choking on blood?” He said, “So much for Arachne's 'family'.”

You raised an eyebrow, “There were people in the library and it was already a bad look that we weren't in our homes grieving or whatever.”

He frowned, “So that tear- those red eyes were fake?”

You looked around the hall, the students present were out of earshot. You pulled him closer by the collar and whispered,

“Guess your songbird isn't the only performer.”

Your lips were mere inches away from his. He could seal a kiss. He could take you- he processes your words and doesn't know how to react. You… you changed his whole reality, his perception of you with a sentence. Coriolanus Snow didn't know what to make of you anymore.

You pulled back (why, why, why) and handed him your proposal. “I need you to know, everything I wrote here is for Panem. Don't judge me too harshly.”

You were nothing like he thought of and you were laid bare as he read down your proposal, what you had planned for Arachnes’ funeral. And in his mind, he realized that perhaps. . .

You stopped being District a long time ago.

NEXT PART

[twst-hottest-takes]

Tweel Anatomy discussion!

Part 1.

(Ask and ye shall recieve! This will be split up into a couple of parts because this could get long and it's easy enough to break up into pieces. [I definitely wasn't putting this off until the cards officially released.])

For starters I have to say again that I just love the twins and their merforms are so cool. I just want an excuse to gush about them. A lot of this discussiom will involve headcanons and hypotheticals and estimations, so there is your warning to not take anything in this post as law. This post, like pretty much all the others is very opinionated. Some of the fun bits about contemplating the anatomy of a fantasy creature involves drawing the imaginary lines between where the fish parts end and the human parts begin, and where the two become a blur and turn into something completely new. I like to think I strike a balance with my hypotheses, but perhaps others might not feel the same way. This is a post meant to start a discussion, not a fight. So let's see how far down the rabbit hole we can go . . .

Starting with a classic: How big are these guys?

Let's answer Ace's question. (While laughing like middle-schoolers about how that question was phrased.)

Now there is no canon answer to my knowledge so I can only give my best estimation. (Corrections welcome!) I firmly believe that they do not change "size" between their land and sea forms. For all intents and purposes, the twins are being treated as though their heads, arms, torsoes, and pelvic regions are the same size between human and merforms.

BECAUSE EVEN WITHOUT CHANGING SIZE THESE GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE MONSTERS IN THEIR MERFORMS.

I have no real proof of my theory. I simply compared the sprites and scaled the chibis until they had the same head size. Forgive me for not having a better method of measurement. I am not going to try and unravel the live 2D mermodels and I think trying to measure their shadows from their intro scene would be even less reliable. The length of the tail is approximately 75% the length of the rest of the body after where his feet theoretically end.

I didn't do the same with Floyd because I feel that it's safe to assume that he's probably a few cm longer (3-5 cm max) due to his 1 cm height difference when they are in human form. I hazard a guess that only the two of them actually care about that difference in length.

332 cm. (Or around 11 ft for those of us stateside.)

We know they're huge, but tying a number to the length REALLY puts things into perspective. Like it's actually a little scary.

Next: Gill placement.

I am a big fan of the gill slits being around the ribs! Not only do they look cool, but I like that it can be read as a combination of human and eel anatomy in their merforms.

Since they have a humanoid chest cavity, it makes sense that even though they don't have lungs, they may have a muscular structure similar to a diaphragm. By having a muscular system that works passively/sympathetically they could have a "breathing" motion similar to humans; but, instead of taking air in, it simply keeps water moving across the gills to maintain gas exchange.

Benefits of this system include: Being able to sleep (as I would assume merfolk do), and being able to stay in one place (most fish need to be moving constantly to keep their gills working). The ability to be stationary isn't necessary for fish, but for merfolk who have social conventions, even being able to sit still to have a conversation is a boon (unless the world of mermen is built around the idea that no one ever sits still, but I feel like the photograph from Book 3 proves otherwise).

Furthermore, having the gills on the ribs as opposed to somewhere farther up--for example, on the neck--the twins can reasonably stick their heads out of the water without fear of limiting their breathing ability. Though these new card illustrations show that they don't seem to have any problem with having their gills exposed to the air (at least as far as being photogenic is concerned), I can see it being convenient for merfolk to be able to poke their head and shoulders above the water and still be able to breath regularly (which definitely doesn't have anything to do with luring unwary travelers to their deaths. . .nope. . .not at all).

I have seen people say they don't like the choice and that the gills should be on their necks. If that's coming from a place of personal preference and is purely aesthetic I guess I can see it. But if anyone tries to tell me that it's not "eel-like" enough and they need to have the gills closer to the mouth, I will fight you. From a design and functionality standpoint the rib gills are fantastic!

For the last bit of this entry, let's talk about the elephant in the room: THE EEL ABS!

I'd say "don't get me started on this one" but I'm already here and we're already too deep in, so here we go.

Things are about to get spicy!

~They're fine.

Like, as a choice, the inclusion of these muscles is likely just for fanservice points, but it's not an anatomically strange thing.

Come here and I will explain to you a thing:

MERFOLK DO NOT SWIM WITH THE SAME MUSCLE GROUPS AS HUMANS DO!

Once upon a time, (this is going somewhere, just stick with me!) people complained that Ariel, the Little Mermaid herself, was too skinny and not built like a swimmer. People insisted that she not have such a tiny waist and her arms should be bigger. Now I, here and now, should not have to tell the reader why this is so ridiculous to say, but I'm going to anyway~ ARIEL DOES NOT USE HER ARMS TO SWIM! Those who have watched the movie may have observed that she swims like an aquatic mammal. All of her momentum comes from the verticle motion of her tail, and to some extent her abdomen, not her arms. When she turns human, Ariel does not even know how she can use her arms to help her swim upwards and out of the ocean. She struggled without her tail so much Sebastian and Flounder basically carried her to the surface.

In this way, merfolk do not need to have the same type of body as a human swimmer because they are functionally different and some people seem to get stuck on that.

Now returning to Jade and Floyd, again, their arms are not "built like a swimmer's." Once again THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE. There is nothing in all of Twisted Wonderland that suggests they swim with their arms at all. These boys have 5 foot long tails that are probably primarily muscle to propel themselves through the water. The arms are not for propulsion. The tails do the grand majority of the work, but this conversation was started about abdominal muscles so we'll circle back to that now. Unlike other merfolk (as exemplified by Ariel) who swim with verticle motions of their tails, eel-based mermen would swim by making horizontal motions, also primarily with their tails. I do say primarily because the idea occurs to me that there may be situations where the limits of their ability to move might be tested. If a merman built like this wanted to go significantly faster than whatever is "normal" for them, muscle groups higher in the body would get used. Essentially, given Jade and Floyd as characters, I don't find it hard to believe that, at the speeds they swim, they would be using their very human-shaped abdomens to increase their speed. That's a workout, especially for the obliques.

So, in conclusion, I don't think the abs are weird. Gratuitous? Absolutely. But they aren't the anatomical monstrosity some people seem to think they are.

Let me say once more, if you simply don't like how it looks, or the fish abs squick you out and you like to headcanon they don't exist--that's fine. But don't argue with me on the basis that it's not realistic. Mermaids are, after all, fictional creatures and depictions of them tend to be fanciful. The tough conversation comes about when we choose to draw the lines with how realistic we actually want them to be, HENCE THIS ENTIRE POST!

(Laughs like a maniac before signing off.)

Thank you for coming to the first part of my rambling. What should I talk about in the next part?

Other than the throat teeth. We've got a miniature essay about the throat teeth just about ready to go.

Also, apologies if there aren't enough visual guides. I really wanted to get this posted, so if anyone wants me to I can doodle up some more stuff to help with things like the image of the breathing aparatus and swimming motions. I have just not had much time this week.

(Going to fall asleep thinking about how sparkly these boys are.)

[allfearstofallto]

Let's do something different and imagine things the other way!

Yandere! Reader x Scaramouche

TW: Yandere obsessive themes, very tragic back story, mention of character death

A/N: just a short idea from the drafts! :)

You're not obsessed, you tell yourself after your months of rigorous training, after joining the Fatui, even after working so hard, that you earned yourself a vision that lay on your hip. You're normal. You're not constantly thinking of the man, who's visage is like a blurry memory of your past, but if you saw him, you'd know for sure that it was him.

How many years ago was it? You weren't sure you could count such a thing, but you remember being too young to understand death. Too young to get why your parents, or even the rest of your humble village wasn't waking up. Why red was dripping from their lips and their fingers felt cold. You weren't old enough to understand that no one was left, no one but you.

It didn't take long for hunger to set in. Too small and weak to even start a fire, you ate what little scraps you could find. You couldn't leave. Not even when the village ran out of food you could eat, the rest rotting away. Or when the well ran dry. Or when the smell of decay set in and there was nothing left for you to mourn. You couldn't leave because you had no where to go. You wouldn't even know what direction to head in and the fear of setting off into the wilderness with no destination was scarier than just waiting out in your village.

He arrived on a particularly cloudy day, one where the wind smelled of rain. A part of you thought you made him up, but when your big eyes met his and he looked upon you, you knew he was real. He looked disgusted at your display at first, then a bit sorrowful. He stayed beside you as the rest of the armored people he came with went through the houses, breaking doors and windows like they were looking for something.

An apple was dropped into your lap. The first fresh fruit you'd seen in days and you scarfed it down like an animal, even licking the juice from your fingers.

"You were left behind too, huh?" He questioned, making you tilt your head in confusion. It was only now when the pains of hunger weren't ripping through your body did you truly get a good look at his face. His skin pale and indigo hair covered by a large hat. When a raindrop fell and hit your nose, he lifted that hat from his head and placed it on yours, shading you from the impending downpour, "I can't tell if you're weak or strong, having lived this long."

He took you with him, letting you sit next to him as the two of you rode on the back of his carriage. He didn't have much to say and you didn't have much to talk about, but you still found yourself staring at him. Drinking in every inch of his features, every part of his face and body. He was dressed lavishly, with clothes so vibrant, yet so different than what you knew. He was perfection in the human form, even young you could see that.

You were left at a random city, at an orphanage. So far away from home, but similar at the same time. His hat was lifted from your head and your hair was ruffled by his long fingers. And then he was gone. You stayed at the door and watched the way the tassles of his hat swayed in the wind. You remembered everything about him. Including his name. Lord Scaramouche, they called him.

With the way you talked about the man who saved you all those years as you aged, it was no surprise that you joined the Fatui. It was no surprise that you got a vision. It wasn't even a surprise when you cheerfully waved goodbye to your siblings at the orphanage, telling them that you were off to Inazuma, where you knew his clothes were from.

He didn't look any different. That's all you could think about when you were bowed before him, head lowered as a sign of commitment. He looked over you and the rest of the new recruits in disgust, a face that made most fearful, but only made you heart beat faster, a blush forming on your face. You'd found him. And he was as breath taking as he was before. Only this time, you didn't intend to ever let him leave your sight.

[molsno]

I don't think there's enough discussion of the transmisogynistic voyeurism that's extremely widespread in online spaces. it's definitely a problem offline too but it's become significantly more pervasive and inescapable online.

transmisogynistic voyeurism is an obsession with trans women's internal lives. while traditionally it's usually been focused on our bodies, hormones, sexualities, transitions, and other such aspects that portray us as exotic, artificial, hypersexual mimics of "real" women (this is still largely the case among conservatives), it's taken on a new form in the past several years as society's understanding of transness has slowly improved.

in more recent years, the fascination with trans women and transfemininity, particularly in purportedly progressive spaces, has shifted to focus on the "artificiality" of our womanhood from a sociocultural perspective, rather than from a biological and sexual perspective.

it's become common to see screenshots from 4chan and other similar communities of trans women or transfem eggs posting about their unusual kinks, often with racist or antisemitic undertones. screenshots of ostensibly closeted trans women being transphobic to openly trans people have become commonplace. whenever a trans woman is revealed to be racist or a sexual predator, she becomes the new topic du jour, where everyone has to weigh in and publicly disavow her actions.

you might be thinking, what's the problem with this? after all, shouldn't we be holding racists, antisemites, transphobes, and sexual predators accountable? and while the answer to that question is an unambiguous, resounding "yes!", the problem here is the unusual focus on trans women in particular, and the fact that what's happening doesn't even remotely resemble accountability.

bigotry is not a uniquely transfeminine trait. anyone can be a bigot. however, by and large, even supposed trans allies, people who put "trans women are women" and "terfs dni" in their bio, still secretly see trans women as fundamentally male, due to having been "male socialized" (a notion which very strongly contradicts our own lived experiences). thus, when they see post after post after post of trans women being bigoted, it reifies tme people's beliefs that we are all holders of male privilege who have never had to face oppression before coming out as trans.

this idea is problematic for a number of reasons. first, it denies the experiences of trans women who have been oppressed by other systems before coming out as trans. for example, multiple times in just the past few weeks, I've seen trans women of color accused of being racist, even against people of their own race; as if having to face racism all their lives wasn't bad enough, now they're assumed to be perpetrators of it. however, this idea also ignores the very real effect that transmisogyny has had in shaping our lives, even when we didn't know we were trans ourselves.

when we attempt to talk about this topic - the perception that tme people have of trans women being uniquely bigoted, we are by and large brushed off as seeking to "excuse the actions" of bigoted trans women so that we can be bigoted ourselves. this abject refusal to actually engage with what we are saying to instead paint us as the very people we're constantly made to publicly disavow lest we face social ostracization (even if we have no idea who said people even are) further reifies the stereotype of us as privileged men.

I want you to imagine for a moment if trans men were subjected to this kind of voyeurism instead. on an average day scrolling through tumblr, you'd see a post of a trans man's nsfw blog where he shares posts about how rape should be legal, right alongside his bloodplay and cannibalism kink posts, accusing trans men of normalizing rape and murder. another post would show a screenshot of the trans guy who proclaimed to have been hitler in a past life, accompanied by comments demanding trans men take responsibility by purging their community of people like him. you'd scroll down a little further and see a screenshot of a terf blog with "dysphoric female" in bio where they complain about how a trans man they know has been brainwashed by "gender ideology" with all of the comments hoping they figure out their gender identity but still vehemently disavowing them and asserting they would feel unsafe around such a person even after coming out.

the reason that doesn't happen is because biological essentialism runs rampant even in queer spaces. trans men, who were afab, are often presumed to be incapable of harm due to having been "female socialized". trans men don't have their kinks publicly shared to paint them as dangerous because they're generally assumed to be victims of sexual violence, not perpetrators. trans men aren't collectively held accountable for the actions of one trans man they don't even know because a trans man doing harm is believed to be an anomaly, and thus can be dealt with on an individual basis. that last example is especially laughable, because trans men who were formerly terfs are often lauded as heroes for sharing their stories and offered condolences for having been victims of "cult brainwashing".

the fact that this kind of voyeurism does happen to trans women is because, having been amab, we are presumed to be the perpetrators of harm rather than victims. that's not to say that trans women can't be bigoted or dangerous; clearly they can, or else this kind of voyeurism couldn't exist in the first place.

trans women can be racist, trans women can be antisemitic, trans women can be transphobic, trans women can be sexual predators, and so on. these things are all true. however, they are not more likely to be true of trans women than of other demographics. that's the point I'm trying to make here.

stop and consider for a moment, what accountability actually means. are racist, antisemitic trans women being held accountable when you share screenshots of the bigotry they post anonymously on 4chan? does that screenshot you reblogged of an assumed transfem egg being transphobic to an out trans person hold them responsible for their transphobia? is that racist trans woman who's a convicted sexual predator sentenced to prison being held accountable when you share detailed documentaries about her crimes? are they facing consequences for their actions because of you raising awareness about them?

in the vast majority of cases, the answer is no. what's really happening is that you're raising outrage about trans women, and demanding that all of us publicly disavow and distance ourselves from them, even when we have no idea who they are, so that you won't come after us next. you're upholding the idea that trans women hold a "male privilege debt" that we can never fully repay but must endlessly strive to repay regardless. this obsession with our perceived socially male traits has got to stop.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being An Assassin Who Joins The team

A/N: I'M OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA :D I have so many ideas attached to it, so many posts brewing, so I really hope you like it!!! I kinda think of it similar to Red Room from MCU and also the Aunts from The Handmaid's Tale, if that makes any sense lol. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher likes you. He sees the emotion you evoke from the rest of the team and he thinks you're a perfect fit. You're not sure what to think of him. If he was one of your siblings, he wouldn't have lasted long. Selfish, arrogant, self-righteous. That's the kind of thing that got you punished, that got you killed. Beneath it though, to a degree, you can tell he really cares for everyone. It might be twisted and warped and at this point unrecognizable, but it was there. He enjoys hearing about your kills, especially when it was Supes. You weren't just good at what you did, you were the best. You were creative, too. Imaginative. He brags to you about killing Translucent, how they did it. You're not terribly impressed, but for his benefit you put on a show. You're a little weird, but he likes that. You're except in some areas (like going undercover) and mediocre in others (like figuring out how to befriend Hughie). He doesn't judge what you've done. It's just how you were raised. He tries to do a background check on you, but there's nothing. The name your mentors gave you wasn't the one your parents, if there even were parents, gave you. You were a blank slate. It was both riveting and terribly dangerous.

Hughie has the most questions. He can see just from your appearance, all the scars on your face and neck, all the ones he can't see, that you've been to hell and back. You hold yourself rigid, tight. Even when you seem relaxed you aren't. You're constantly looking for the nearest exit or weapon, scanning every room you walk into. It spooks him a little. He lets his imagination get the better of him, something he knows he shouldn't do, but just can't help it. You like Hughie instantly. And not just because he's too awkward and frail to get in a proper punch, too soft to ever truly hurt you. He seems sweet, naive, like he needs protecting. He reminds you of the kids in the program who didn't make it. You protected them, too. Or, at least tried to. You're as friendly as you let yourself, taking an interest in whatever he's doing, becoming his shadow. Everyone takes notice, but he doesn't seem to mind. He likes your company. The rest of the team hopes you'll open up to him, tell him what you won't tell everyone else, but he refuses to pry. If you talk, that's great. If not, oh well. If you want to hang out by his side, that works too.

Annie has nothing against you, but you definitely keep your distance, especially at first. You've killed more than enough Supes to prove your competency, more than you can name. You're not sure what they tell each other, but you imagine it similar to the system you grew up with: word spread quickly, you all felt it when one of your own were killed. There was an alliance that went unsaid. If you could avenge your fallen siblings, you would. If she found out who you killed, how many, would she come after you? Eventually you learn they're not all connected like that, that Annie's on your side. Still, you kind of see her as the embodiment of everything you're not. She's sweet, caring, and honest. You've been lying all your life, you can't tell what's real and what isn't. Hughie likes her, loves her, so that definitely helps in developing your relationship. Annie knows about your past, what little you share of it, but she doesn't judge. Maybe, at a time, she would have, but after being part of The Boys so long, that kind of thing kind of loses its shock power. You did what you had to, what you were trained to. Weren't you all guilty of a version of that?

M.M., similar to his initial feelings about Kimiko, isn't too fond of you. He doesn't mean to judge as harshly as he does, but just by the looks of you, you mean trouble. Hughie tries to talk to him, but he just can't get past your quirks. You're so naive about certain things (what music you like to listen to, shows you've never seen, how to form normal friendships, what jokes are funny) and so knowledgeable about other things (the fastest way to bleed out a man, how to make a murder look like a suicide, the amount of languages you were taught to better go after your targets). It just doesn't sit right with him. Knowing this, sensing this, you keep your distance, knowing not to further upset him similar to how your mentors were. Be invisible to him, them. It isn't until you give him sound advice for protecting Monique and Janine, something he never would have thought of, does he reconsider his feelings. He's still not a big fan, but he can see why you belong on the team, why your skills are beneficial, even if some of the stuff you say so lightly gives him the heebie jeebies, like the time you reminisced about killing someone with just a wooden spoon.

Frenchie doesn't really see you as an assassin. They've all killed people, it didn't seem like such a big deal. He doesn't love the idea of you being around Kimiko. She's made a life for herself beyond what she's gone through. It feels like you're still learning how to be without it. Without your mentors, your siblings. He knows there's no one better to give you a chance than him, so he's very open, inviting. You talk to him exclusively in French. You tell him small parts of your past, and he's grateful for that. In return, he tells you about his own childhood. When he shares the scars from his father, you tell him about the ones on your face and neck, how you deserved them for disobedience. He doesn't tell anyone else, knowing it was only meant for him to hear. You even speak affectionately about your mentors, the ones who were kind and only hurt you when you needed it. He wasn't shocked, at least not outwardly, not wanting you to feel strange or odd. Because you don't speak French with an accent, it's hard for him to decipher where you're from. All over, you say, and though you know it's a non-answer, it's the truth. You've been all over the world. You just happened to end up in New York.

Kimiko becomes your friend immediately. Though you gravitate towards Hughie because he's sweet, you like Kimiko because you can tell you're very similar. She doesn't have to say anything, you just know. You recognize the signs. The rest of the team doesn't think it's a great idea, you are alone with her, namely Frenchie. When you aren't cold and standoffish, you're far too casual about what you've done, pointing to old movies with famous Supes back in the day or old politicians, reminiscing how you killed them, made it look like a suicide. Or you talk about growing up, how you were punished for crying even when your friends were killed, pointing out the scars they left. She's not upset by it, she's glad you're talking about it. It makes her upbringing feel normal. You learn sign language quickly, another language you can add to your list, telling her more than anyone else. In return you listen to her, whatever she wants to share, grateful for someone who doesn't look at you like a monster or a freak. You like listening to her go on about Frenchie, her feelings for him. It's a piece of childhood you never got to take part in. It's nice.