#or maybe you like it a little burn

[nerdieforpedro]

So you just drop this on a Friday and leave me to read it at work ma’am?! 😝😝😝

This is a hellova comeback to your writing Dot. 🥵🥵🥵 Santi just…. I mean… Maybe I shouldn’t have read it at work but don’t feel bad about. I’ll likely read it again during lunch. 🥪 While I think about a sexy ass sandwich while eating a sandwich. 😎

I’m happy you put out Ms. Curls. ❤️

To Be Explored Later

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x female reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, rough-ish sex, hair pulling, oral sex (m receiving), a couple of spanks, edging if you squint, also yearning m/m if you squint, unprotected PIV, snowballing, threesome, dom!Santi.

WC: 1.7K

Notes: Not beta'ed, sorry. First time publishing. PWP, this was just not the time for a setup or plot. Rest assured that boundaries were talked about and consent freely given by all parties before any action happens, even though that discussion isn't included in the story. We love a Consent King here. Hope you enjoy, and thank you to my dear cheerleaders and fellow Pedro Pascal sluts @basicoccult @sweettoothsugarfix @lifewithoutcosette 🥰

---

Getting railed from behind by Santiago as you sucked his best friend and teammate’s cock? Not where you thought you’d be on a Friday night, especially not when they’re about to leave for a mission. What a sweet goodbye present you were being given.

What had started as an exploratory licking of Frankie’s cock had devolved, expanded, evolved into a full-on face fucking. Delicious but fast and deep, much too deep. You pull your mouth off him, gasping for air, and he whines. Fucking whines. A battle-hardened Delta Force pilot whose calm never breaks, even when crashing a helicopter, and you made him whimper like a kitten begging for milk. This is the kind of power you crave, and Santi knows exactly how to give it to you.

Santi doesn’t stop his thrusts. He snakes an arm under yours to crush his full weight against you, shoving you into the mattress and taking what little bit of breath you’d managed to suck in. "What’s the matter, hermosa? Been begging me for weeks to let you suck Fish’s cock.” He bites the sweet swan curve of your neck.

You glance up with the one eye not completely smushed into the pillow and see Frankie leaning back against the headboard, breath heaving, watching you with a hungry stare that doesn’t waver an inch. The intensity would scare you if you didn’t know how much of a softie he actually was. Too kind for this cruel world, and all that.

“So desperate for it that I finally caved and said okay. Now you’re gonna show some gratitude and fucking take it, cariño,” Santi rasps, punctuating with sweet hot thrusts into your cunt that’s somehow still getting even wetter. “Fucking. All. Of. It.”

Frankie smirks lecherously and swipes his thumb slowly over his bottom lip, eyes still fixed on yours, in promise you hope.

One extra deep stab of Santi’s cock inside you to make you cry out before he sits back and pulls you up to sit in his lap, crooking a finger at Frankie in invitation. No second invitation needed.

Frankie moves back to you, his hard cock swinging. You know he wants to slap it against your face, bob it on your tongue. Feed it to you while he holds your jaw open with a firm hand. Or maybe that’s only what you want. His eyes still fixed on you so solidly that you wonder if he’s even blinked once since this started. 

“Be a good girl for him,” Santi hums, gently swiping your hair out of your face and into a loose bunch. “I’ll help you. Here.”

He fists your bunched hair and pulls your head back, hard. Straight rail line of nerves travelling from your scalp to your cunt, and he knows every stop on the route. Santi’s calloused hand spans the entire back of your skull and settles fingers into the grooves as he pushes your head forward, forcing your mouth to slide down Frankie’s cock, inch by torturously slow inch. Frankie hisses, cool droplets of spit raining on your forehead, soothing the fire.

True to his word, Santi doesn’t stop until you’ve taken all of it, right down to the base until you’re almost choking. “That’s it. Look how pretty. Doesn’t her mouth feel sweet, Fish? Fucking told you it would.”

Frankie groans loudly and stills himself, dangerously close, wrapping a hand around Santiago’s to keep your head right where it is. Santi stops moving inside you and you feel their fingers intertwine in your hair. Strangely sweet, probably an unconscious gesture. Something worth exploring. Later.

Frankie’s other hand snakes around Santi’s bicep for balance as he lets Santi pull your head back, all the way off until only the tip is left resting on your tongue. It’s delicious and just when you think you finally have a moment to appreciate it, Santi shoves your head down roughly again and quickly back up, forcibly driving your mouth up and down Frankie’s length, setting a brutal pace. “Yeah, that’s it,” he croons. “Fuck. Swallow it. Take it. Take him.”

You cry out. Or it would have been a cry, if your mouth hadn’t been stuffed so full of cock. Tears start to form in your eyes, you gag, but you keep going, because Santi told you to and he wants you to. You want to. And you’ll take Frankie any way you can get him. Santi has never entertained the possibility of sharing you, ever. This is special.

A hard smack on your ass brings you back. Santi starts driving back into you, in and out, wrecking your cunt from behind, one hand still gripping your skull and the other now around the front of your neck, one finger stroking under your jaw as Frankie holds him up and braces him with all his strength.

“I can feel him fucking your throat, cariño,” Santi gasps. “He’s so fucking big. You’re such a good girl, such a good filthy fucking sweet girl, taking him like this.” You squeal around Frankie’s cock at the praise and he twitches in your mouth with a loud groan. Oh, you are a good girl. So good. You know it.

“Who do you want to come in you first, Fish or me? Nod once for him, twice for me."

Santi shifts his angle to hit that sweetest of spots inside you and you don’t know, don’t care, can’t move, just don’t stop. Sliding into that blissed-out zone where time stands still, where you lose all connection with everyone and everything. Haze and stars.

Smack. “Answer me when I’m fucking you. Him or me?”

Strong fingers press bruises into your shoulder and you don’t know whose they are, don’t care, give me all the bruises please, mark me as a reminder of you for when you’re gone. You’re so close to coming that you almost bite down on Frankie’s cock. That just makes him moan lounder, thrust harder, you feel the heat of his stare on your face even if you can’t see it. You nod once.

Frankie finally pipes up, breathless and heaving. You like how he only speaks when he has something to say. “Both. She wants both, don’t you, honey?” Is this the way he talks during a mission, voice so deep and intentional? Shit. Gimme more of that. Your shaking legs and throbbing clit can wait.

You pull your mouth off him with a wet, pornographically loud slurp and meet his whining stare. Fuck that intense gaze, going straight to your cunt like that, especially when it’s on fire. Special indeed.

“I’m not sure,” you murmur shyly in your most fake innocent-virgin voice as Santi grinds to a halt inside you with a yelp and a squeeze. You know he hates edging himself, he’s not a man of great patience. “That sounds a little… dirty. How do you two know when the other is about to come?”

Frankie’s eyes dart for a second towards Santi and back to you, flecks of panicked black pepper in a chocolate gaze. Gotcha. They’ve definitely done stuff before. Another thing for the Explore Later file, yes please, fuck yes if I ever get this chance again.

Santi’s breath is warm against your neck. "Don’t worry about that, hermosa. Worry about me being fucking jealous of how desperate you are for our guest. I’ll make you pay for it tomorrow.”

You wriggle your ass against his crotch and wink at Frankie, who still stares at you, the tip of his cock painted bemused scarlet and resting a millimeter from your swollen mouth. “Oh no,” you whine in the highest fakery, licking your lips and holding his gaze. Eye fucking never looked so good. Bad pun.

Rough hands on your hips, hitching you up into position. “Maleducado. I told you to show some fucking gratitude. Be nice or I won’t let you come tonight.” Empty promises. Santi’s already reaching for your clit. “We’re gonna fill you up now. Eyes on him." They already are.

Santi slams back inside you, lurching you forward, and you swallow Frankie’s cock in one gulp. Both slides sweet as honey, both men slotting home, perfect match. No more words.

Frankie has no sentences now. No intention, only sound that makes perfect sense and none. Eyes still on you.

Santi’s hand is doing its work on your clit and nerves start to fire in your core, burst on your tongue, the roof of your mouth, even down to the roots of your teeth and melting into your bones. Santi always knows. "That's it, I've got you. We've got you. You’ve been so good to us, you deserve this, come for us, cariño." Good words, breathlessly spoken just for you, or maybe for all of you.

You come first. Your moans vibrate around the velvet hardness of Frankie’s cock and he’s next to shatter, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it, some kind of neediness mixed with liquid heat splashing on your tastebuds and slipping down your throat. You reserve some, keep it close, willing it to rest in the mouth that you no longer have control over, as he holds himself in you as long as he can.

It all tips Santiago over the edge as he gushes more praise for you, his good girl, his good fucking girl, and you take it, all of it, like he said you would.

You twist your head around to give Santi a kiss. He also deserves a goodbye present. You swallow his moans as you feed him Frankie’s come, still hot and thick in your mouth, letting him suck it off your tongue until he’s full and sated.

He reaches out a tired arm and pulls Frankie towards him, giving him a taste of himself, being sure to let you watch how their stubbly faces scratch against each other as their tongues whirl and slide. Frankie doesn’t seem surprised at this, at all, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows what’s left. His eyes aren’t on you anymore. They’re on Santi’s.

You have so many notes now for your Explore Later file. Just come back from the mission please, boys.

[royaltea000]

he could not control the class 😔

[rottmnt-residuum]

Part 11 of Arc II (Part 37)

huzzah! exposition be upon ye

⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾ (censored) | ⇾ (gore)

[abnomi]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[reinedeslys-central]

"Leo, not to offend you or anything, but I can't see shit."

Leo scoffed. "Wow, must be pretty bad if you, of all people, are swearing. Hey, maybe it's because -" quick as a minx, he shot his hand out and -

"Wha- hey!"

-stole the glasses out of Jason's hands. Which is. Something you never do to people with glasses, seriously, Leo? Glasses are literally everything to people who need them?

"- your glasses are dirty as hell, bless your heart. Let me get that for you." Leo continued, unfazed by Jason's yelp and raised eyebrow at Leo, of all people, cleaning.

But as Leo's perpetually grease-stained fingers gently prodded and turned his glasses, Jason found himself wondering if that was maybe unfair of him.

Calloused, nimble hands danced over the wire frames, before pulling a microfibre cloth (and how surprising was that) out of yet another pocket to erase each smudge with care that not even Jason gave his glasses.

They were lying close enough that Jason could see Leo's hunched shoulder and furrowed brow, the sliver of petal-pink tongue poking through the corner of his mouth as he gave Jason's old, tarnished wire glasses the same attention he'd give any of his newest machines. He was close enough to touch the stray curl that fell across Leo's forehead, that he kept blowing away. Close enough to smell that old smell, of syrup-sweet grease and woodsmoke and water. Close enough to hear Leo's pleased little hum as he inspected the frame a final time before straightening and raising his hands to park them right back on Jason's face.

"Better?" He whispered, and Jason didn't reply. He couldn't.

The stars really were beautiful.

"What did you do to these?" He said, finally. "I've never seen this clearly before. Maybe on new-glasses days, but.."

Leo grinned. Jason looked away.

Time and space might have a shot at diluting that burning of his. There was a reason no one went blind watching the stars. But Jason would never be far enough to escape that smile. Like the stars, like the galaxies above, it was about as inevitable as a supernova.

Leo leaned over. "That's the thing, darlin' -" — and Jason's chest went thump — "I've got it all. Perks of being the one-and-only super-sized McShizzle."

Gods. Maybe Nico was right when he said there was clearly no accounting for taste.

He cleared his throat. "Well, thanks anyway. Just.. give me a little warning next time. I could've decked you for stealing my glasses, y'know."

Leo only laughed and leaned back against their blanket. The light from the waning moon fell across him, highlighting his nosebridge, his half-lidded eyes, the spot where his jeans hitched around his knees in his artless sprawl.

Jason let out a shaky breath, and copied him, reclining to give himself a better chance at drinking in the sky.

The stars were beautiful. That much anyone could admit.

..Leo was the most beautiful of them all.

outtake from 'burning like a glowing star', this new valgrace fic I'm writing. (yes, yes I am borrowing vibes from xdinary heroes. the song is called pluto and you should absolutely listen to it).

more stuff: Writing Directory

[tojiscrack]

to my all little liars!! (edit: wtf happened to my english? 😭)

we’re at 24.6k words rn 😟 if you plan on reading it next week, i recommend you read it on the weekends when there’s no school or work for you waiting in the morning 😀

calling in the troops rn ‘cause there’s still one final scene i have to write and it’s gonna be LONG (this isn’t including the bonus scene btw) but it’s extremely important for the story to continue, and without it, the rest of the story literally cannot go on 😭

we’re locking in guys. it’s 100% gonna border 30k words for sureee. sm has happened in that ONE chapter and i literally cannot wait to release it for all of you, you have no ideaaa

gonna go to bed and then wake up, study, break, write for the fic, repeat. had to randomly drop an update here cuz i’ve been edging you guys for so long i’m sorryyy, but it really is nearly here <333

edit: fck it guys i’m writing it rn (the immediate comments got me motivated)

[remyfire]

Trapper's little trickster grin as he realizes exactly what Frank has brought upon himself is everything to me

[thelaurenshippen]

the way that silver said "I will stand here with you an hour, a day, a year" to flint and "I will wait a day, a month, a year, forever" to madi....I'm sick to my stomach. who is doing unhinged devotion like this man

[coern-art-very-cool-and-nice]

sekai au 👊😔

[dirtytransmasc]

screaming and crying over Spider and Neteyam and Fable;

When I lifted his urn Divinity says, "Destiny can't be earned or returned" I feel when I question, my skin starts to burn Why does my skin start to burn? Capital loss Love was the law and religion was taught, I'm not bought Feel when we argue, our skin starts to rot Our skin starts to rot

So, share me your plan If I implore you, could I be your lamb? Understand I look for the truth in the back of your hand, and I Look into the open sky Stars blink like my brother's eyes Stars blink like my brother's eyes Stars blink like his eyes Like his eyes I dream of eternal life

Spider grieving the death of the baby brother he failed. he never pushed him away, he clung to him, he clung so hard, even if he did so quietly, because that was his first brother, his baby brother, in a way that Lo'ak was not (because first and younger are different. they matter the exact same, he could never have a favorite, but it's different in a way there are no words for). Neteyam could push and push and he'd still watch over him and love him and worry over him.

When I lifted his urn Divinity says, "Destiny can't be earned or returned"

Spider holding his baby brother one last time, even if he just sneaks into the mauri holding the dead, because he otherwise does not belong, scooping his head into his hands to kiss his forehead and whisper a goodbye and tell him he always loved him no matter what and that he's sorry. he's so sorry.

in that moment he realizes that their fate has come to end. they were always doomed. to be brothers. to fall apart. to never get a second chance. that no amount of goodness— because his baby brother was good. flawed. that's not even the right word, too harsh. he could call him flawed. no. no he was a child stumbling through life, a hard life, blindly. but he was good. always. always —could have given them a better fate.

I feel when I question, my skin starts to burn Why does my skin start to burn?

a flashback to Neteyam. maybe a memory in Eywa, when the soul of a boy who died too young with too many regrets and dreams and things to fix breaks through the idea of paradise, of peace and rest, of closure, and instead falls onto his brother.

the one he abandoned.

onto whispers— demon. he should be with his own kind. it is unbecoming of you. you need to be a warrior, Neteyam, not running of with him. he will only become his father. his blood bears his sins —that plagued him.

shame blisters his skin. it hurts. it aches. he turned his brother away over whispers? he hurt him over whispers? he put them both through so much pain over whispers?

it had always burned. the feeling was familiar. so familiar. every time he looked back to him and considered taking his hand or curling into his arms or falling into his lap, like old times, questioning why he had ever left this behind... it burned.

why did it burn? he used to think. and now he knows. shame. it was shame.

Capital loss Love was the law and religion was taught, I'm not bought

death. death and blood. death and blood and pain and...

words left unsaid.

clinging apologies.

pleading— take me back. come back to me. take me back. come back to me. take me back. come back to me. take me back. come back to me. take me back. come back to me. please I'm begging you —words wanting to spill out at freely as the blood on the rocks

none of it was worth it.

love should have always come before hate.

hate was taught.

they only fell apart when they were old enough to understand what hate was.

when Neteyam was old enough to understand he should— according to his mother and his people and his clan and all the weight on his shoulders —hate his brother.

when Spider was old enough to realize no one but his brothers- brother and sisters liked him. liked him enough to fight for him. in their childish ways.

none of it should have been.

had there been love, maybe Neteyam would still be living and breathing. maybe it would have changed their fate.

Feel when we argue, our skin starts to rot Our skin starts to rot

another flash. the final fall out. a blow up.

desperate pleading once more.

Neteyam begging his brother to leave him alone, because he cannot keep pushing. it is breaking him. but he can't— he is not allowed to have him.

Spider finally breaking under the weight. he cannot keep doing this.

but as they walk away, nausea eats them away.

Neteyam will cling to each second he can pretend things were as they used to be.

Spider will watch silently.

they are dying.

long before their deaths; the death of a body, the death of a heart and mind.

they are dying.

they are rotting.

fading away

So, share me your plan If I implore you, could I be your lamb? Understand

Spider seeking out the Great Mother. offering himself a sacrifice. forever the lamb.

he did it long before now. before Neteyam was gone. when the war came. when the war parties went out. when Neteyam joined them. when he came back bloodied and bruised.

What is your plan? do you see blood? will take my blood instead of his? I will bare my neck, just leave my brother unharmed. please I beg. I beg.

he asked again when he was taken.

take mine, not his.

because Neteyam might have been a warrior, but he was also his baby brother, and he would always bleed first. he would bleed the blood that tore them apart to begin with.

and now he asks again, still trying to scrape his brother's blood from his nails.

why couldn't you do this one thing for me? why couldn't you let him live? why couldn't you take this hated blood? why could I be your lamb?

I look for the truth in the back of your hand, and I look into the open sky

Spider holding his baby brother's hand. again and again and again. growjng older, larger, wider, tougher each time.

holding it one last time.

tracing where stars should be.

they aren't there.

neither are the answers.

he looks up.

Stars blink like my brother's eyes

he wishes his brother would just open his eyes. that he would see that childish brightness—

hope and love and light and blissful naivety. unknowing of hate

—once more. just one last time.

the stars hold that light.

Stars blink like my brother's eyes

tears prick his eyes once more.

there are more stars in the sky than there ever were on his skin.

more light than there was in a lifetime of watching his eyes.

they had gone so cold and tired so fast, just like his shoulders.

Stars blink like his eyes

he stares up at the stars and cries.

Like his eyes

he wants his baby brother back.

he just wants him back.

he'd give anything.

I dream of eternal life

Spider prays for his brother's peace in Eywa.

Neteyam plays in the creek with his brother, a wide smile on his face.

[bowl-of-fruit-loops]

I see your “satoru couldn’t bear to see suguru’s body destroyed” and I raise you “shoko couldn’t bear to do it”

[tenwhiteandalusians]

so no one was going to tell me if i got literally one episode further tenax drops that he’s the one who saved scorpus from his mom’s pimp AND that he’s intimately familiar with scorpus’ dick when he was younger. guys. guys.

[lycorisicecream]

I'm asking nicely. Give me what I want. I'll ask politely. Give me what I want. /lyr

[dw-flagler]

something that always bothered me about the worm fanfic scene is that they always try to cram everyone together. There's always the scene where taylor meets lisa in a coffee shop or whatever. I get it, it's a fanfic, you can't just make up a character for her to meet.

But one of the things i always liked about worm was that it stayed away from the comic trope of making everyone connected. Like, if Worm was a comic book, Armsmaster would be her teacher, She'd end up being friends with Kid Win, Cherie would attend Winslow, Annette would end up being still alive and a secret agent for Cauldron but with amnesia or something, over-the-top soap opera shit, right?

What I always liked was that in Worm, Taylor's just some girl. She only knows one hero out of costume, and it's the girl who ruined her life. Her dad's just the head of hiring for the union. Her mom was just a college professor. If you asked the mayor about Danny Hebert, he'd say "who?" A lot of fanfics have him be like seinfeldian rivals with the mayor, but like he just writes petitions. If you asked Lustrum about Annette Hebert, she'd have no clue who you're talking about, because Annette was just like a member of her organization.

What I'm trying to stress, is that in superhero comics, everything's connected. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone's a super genius, or met at The Science Expo, or their dad was a famous crime fighter. Comics have all these sorts of big dramatic irony reveals. In comic books, there is never a character who's just some guy.

This sort of thing is great for making everything feel connected, and it's good for keeping out extraneous exposition.

But Worm doesn't do that. It's all just like. They're just regular ass people. Of course they don't know each other. They live in a city with 300 thousand people, none of them would have ever met each other if it weren't for capeshit.

And, I mean, it does remove a lot of the potential for shenanigans but it really does a lot to make everything feel more real.

There's also something there about capeshit being a metaphor for shared trauma where like these people would not know each-other were it not for shared trauma.

The undersiders, the great team, the bestest friend team, they don't meet if not for capeshit. They have no connection to eachother outside this. These are kids who would have never met, they would never have come within 20 degrees of separation were it not for the fact they have powers. This is integral to worm's worldbuilding. It's maybe the closest you ever get to a positive aspect of gaining powers, and yet for so many capes there is no undersiders, just the fighting and loneliness and eventual violent death.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part IX

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words:- ~ 1,2 k

About: The phone call with Atsumu! What could he possibly want from you?

Part I II -> Next Part

"Hello?"

"Y/n? It's me, Atsumu Miya."

You glance at Yachi with wide eyes, and she nods frantically, clearly excited by the call. She urges you to respond, gesturing for you to say something to him.

"Oh, yes. Atsumu. Is everything alright?"

"Everything's good. Don't worry. I just wanted to let you know that I've talked to my lawyer, and apparently, we both can't have the same lawyer for the divorce. I've contacted Samu's lawyer, though, and they're willing to help us out. I'll cover the cost, don't worry. They're discreet too, so we don't need to worry about the public getting involved." You try to focus on his words, but his voice flows like honey through the speaker, causing your heart to skip a beat. Yachi taps your shoulder, urging you to respond once again. You clear your throat and quickly start to answer.

"Oh. Thank you. I really don't know what to say. I've been thinking about the public, especially since I found out you're in the Olympic team. I was wondering if the situation would cause problems for you."

"No! No, yer not causing me trouble. It's not like we're under a dating ban. Most of us just try to be discreet about our dating life. Some fans are... a bit obsessed." There's a brief silence, and you debate if you should mention stumbling upon his profile and complimenting him for it. You're technically still strangers, yet it feels like you're the early stages of actually dating.

"But don't worry about that; your husband will take care of that, 'kay?" His tone turns playful, and you snort at the comment. "Okay. Let me know how I can help." You ease back into the couch, Yachi attentively watching you with a curious expression.

"Of course. You could start by telling me about your plans for next week. We need to talk to the lawyers; can you fit me into yer schedule sometime?"

"I have the next week off, so just let me know when works best for you." You smile at the thought of seeing him again, ignoring Yachi's encouraging grin.

"Sure. How about Wednesday? We can have dinner after the appointment; I can show you Onigiri Miya, if ya want? You can say no too; I just thought it would be a good idea to get to know each other. We started rather... unusually." Your cheeks heat up at the memory of how you technically met—waking up naked and married.

"Oh! That sounds lovely, actually. I've seen some pictures of Onigiri Miya, and I'd love to try Osamu's food."

"You've seen pics? Found my Instagram, didn't ya?" His teasing tone intensifies, and you feel even more heat rushing to your cheeks.

"I just- I wasn't trying to-" You stammer, the image of a shirtless Atsumu vivid in your mind.

"Just teasin' ya. Are you getting shy on me now? We literally slept in the same bed; I'd stalk my husband's Instagram too if I woke up married like that." He teases, and you can't help but get flustered.

"I wasn't stalking!" You clarify and clear your throat uncomfortably. "Did ya make sure to follow me? I wanna stalk my wifey too." He laughs, clearly unfazed by the situation, and his lightheartedness quickly transfers to you. "I didn't. I just had a short look; I don't know if I remember your username."

"Oh? You only remember the food on my page? Guess that's the only thing I'm good for. Only known for being the brother of the famous Osamu Miya, chef, and successful restaurant owner. I'll ask Samu to post some pictures of me to gain more followers." He sighs dramatically, and you snort at his exaggerated acting. "Did you just laugh? You seemed so tense before; I'm glad yer feeling better already."

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything." You smile, and even though you can't see his face, you're sure he's smiling too. "And I'll make sure to follow you. Maybe it will help raise your popularity- I want your volleyball career to thrive, after all." He laughs at your words, and you notice Yachi looking at you with raised brows, clearly curious about what you're talking about.

"Maybe I can finance us someday with my volleyball skills. Stick along, wifey. I'll get you an even prettier ring then." You blush feverishly and cough nervously while glance at the ring on the couch table. "The rings don't look too bad actually. The diamond looks almost real."

"Oh, about that. It is real, so make sure to wear it often to show off."

It takes you a few moments to process his words, and you take a sharp breath through your nose as you look at the ring. "What do you mean it's real? Like a real diamond?" Yachi stares at the ring too, and her mouth is agape as she hesitantly reaches for it, holding it in the light. It shines beautifully, and you lean forward to inspect it closer.

"Yeah, real diamond and all that. I found a receipt in my pocket. The rings are from a real jewelry store. I got the certificates for them too. I'll give you the one for your ring when we see each other again."

"I don't know what to say- Atsumu-" You hesitate, gazing at the ring once again. The diamond is not small, not overly huge, but tastefully big enough to shine brightly. "Don't mention it. We'll talk next week? I'll message you the time. I can pick ya up, or we can meet up there; I'm fine with both."

"Okay. Thank you. See you next week, Atsumu."

"See ya, wifey."

You hang up with a smile and stare at the screen for a few moments, until Yachi starts to laugh right next to you.

"'See you next week, Atsumu'- the way you made sure to say his name, ohh, y/n, you're crushing on him."

"I don't even know him, Yachi! And we're in no position to be liking each other; it's just business!" You shake your head and furrow your brows.

Atsumu is a nice guy. Funny, charismatic, kind. And extremely good looking. You know that you realistically have no chance to score a catch like him, and yet, you find yourself married to him. You wonder if he is regretting the whole situation, even though he seems to play it cool. He's on top of his career and you're just distracting him right now in this important phase. He's probably just worried about his reputation, worried that you'd go to the media and claim that he had forced you to do something. He might just be nice to you because he's scared- scared that you could potentially ruin his career. You need to make sure to always remember that and not to let his words get to you.

You'd have to make sure you don't fall for him— or else you'd end up with a broken heart.