#some of the most self restraint of the bunch

[atiny-piratequeen]

Whose apart of accidentally used too much strength and accidentally injuured their s/o squad

Mingi and Yunho in a rut the first few times, Yeosang because he's gotten a lot more muscle mass and has forgotten that since he normally used to rely on magic more than muscle, Hongjoong in the middle of a fight if their s/o decides to be a fucking idiot and go anywhere near said fight because Hongjoong literally has rage induced blackouts

[istadris]

I talked before about how Mario is so down to earth even after being the official consort of a princess that in a fancy event with foreign diplomats, he might be confused for some janitor by asshats strutting around (especially if he's taking opportunity of everyone gathered in one place to do some maintenance stuff). But while the diplomats would want to drown themselves when they realise they've mocked one of the kingdom's most important people, Mario is too chill to rat on them. He would keep an eye on them and make sure they don't annoy more staff, but otherwise, he'll let it slide.

But Luigi and Bowser in the same situation though ?

Booooouya.

See Luigi isn't *mean*, and he's used to people berating him, 99% of the time he doesn't mind. But he has his limits, and he's prone to get really mad when pushed too far. Now add to that Bowser, who has ZERO concept of self-restraint or diplomacy when he's insulted, and multiply it by his ego who gives him a "you bother them, you're bothering ME" personality, and add to that a bunch of wizards reporting everything to him, and you end up with a HUGE diplomatic incident if someone disrespects his consort .

Luigi would feel bad if they were nice people who made a blunder. But he has zero patience for bullies and he's juuuuust petty enough to not feel too bad about it.

If asked about it, Mario will shrug and answer that someone who manages to piss off his angel of patience of a brother deserves whatever is coming to them.

[cuffmeinblack]

Dreamful Sleep

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

Tags: explicit | fluff | sex | friends to lovers

3.5k words

Summary: Garreth's habit of sleepwalking is driving his friends and roommates insane, until you start to find him in the midst of his dreaming.

A/n: Well, I do love a little fluff, some first-time smut, Garreth being Garreth. Nothing new or revolutionary here, just some good times with the most beautiful redheaded boy. I just love him.

ao3 link

Another night, another morning waking up surrounded by books, bottles and sweets strewn across the bed and the disgruntled mutterings of his roommates. Garreth never remembered his nighttime escapades, he was simply too deeply asleep to be aware of what he was doing. From his friends' recollections, it seemed as if he'd been trying to get out of the dormitory—his ultimate destination, he couldn't say, as he was usually swiftly bundled back into bed as soon as the commotion roused his slumbering roommates.

They'd threatened to tie him up if he didn't stop his mischief, but Garreth simply couldn't help it, nor offer an explanation. Weeks later, he'd woken in the common room to the sound of a shrill yelp, rattling his brain and piercing his ear drums; frankly, he was surprised the entire house wasn't woken. His blurry vision eventually focused on Nellie's horrified face, and the reason she'd let out such an ear piercing sound soon dawned on him. He told himself that it was time he started wearing more clothes to bed.

Whenever he dreamed, he rarely remembered the subject, though they often felt…familiar. Comforting, even. He had vague recollections of a friend and their piercing eyes and warm smile, though ultimately he’d never stayed asleep long enough for the stories to come to a conclusion. Part of him was curious, part terrified at what his unconscious body walking about the castle could accomplish. 

“You know I’m going to start hexing you in the night,” Leander grumbled as he pulled his shirt on the wrong way round.

“I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help it,” Garreth apologised for what must have been the tenth time that week.

“Fine, what about Incarcerous?”

“I’m pretty sure that spell’s banned at Hogwarts,” Garreth grumbled.

Maybe being tied up wouldn’t be so bad, if it did come to that. It wasn’t worth thinking about for now—in fact, it wasn’t worth thinking about anything, given how tired he was. Leander seemed to be thinking the same as he dropped the nagging much quicker than usual, shuffling his clothes around the right way on his torso with an irritated frown. 

-

You'd heard about Garreth's sleepwalking, and the endless recountings of Nellie's encounter that made you blush at the mere thought, but nothing had prepared you for coming face to face with him in the midst of his dreaming. The strangest sound lured you from your sleep; at first you thought it a remnant from your dream, until you heard it again.

Whoosh.

Thump.

Bundling yourself into your robe, you groped around the nightstand for your wand before heading out of the dormitory on softly padding feet. Silence engulfed you as you left your roommates' soft snores behind with the creak of a hinge and click of a latch. No more whooshing or thumping came from the room below. Still, it was worth investigating, and your first clue was the staircase which was no longer a staircase. Your heart pounded with shock as your foot connected with nothing underneath you, pulling yourself back at the last second with a wobble.

You'd almost fallen down the slippery slope in your haste, and the disappearance of the stairs could only mean one thing; a boy had tried climbing them to gain access to the girls' dormitories. Curious and slightly scandalised, you bunched up your nightdress and robe and sat on the landing, shuffling off to let gravity pull you down the slide. It took a lot of self restraint not to cheer as you whooshed down to the common room, landing on the carpeted floor with a thump, right next to Garreth.

Righting yourself, you opened your mouth to apologise for the near-collision but halted as you realised the redhead was fast asleep. Thank Merlin he was also wearing pyjamas this time; in fact, he looked perfectly cosy laying bundled on the floor in his baggy cotton ensemble, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as his eyes darted beneath his lids. He was obviously dreaming again, the way his mouth moved almost imperceptibly and muscles twitched—whatever the narrative taking place, it had brought a smile to his face. 

A minute or so must have passed since you were left crumpled on the floor next to Garreth, and all you'd achieved so far was to stare at his sleeping form. Brought out of your reverie by the scraping of stone as the staircase rebuilt itself, your skin flushed at the thought of having been so engrossed by your friend whilst he slept, though nobody conscious was around to witness it. You supposed you ought to wake him, as cruel as it seemed, so you reached out to place a hand on his arm, noticing how very warm he was.

Garreth shuffled slightly in his sleep, humming happily at the contact, and a heavy lurch of your stomach caught you off guard as you looked down at him. Regretfully, you squeezed his arm to rouse him, watching as he blinked rapidly to reveal dilated pupils, staring up at you with confusion etched on his freckled face.

"Hey, Gar," you said gently.

"Wha-...what am I doing here?" he mumbled.

He looked like a sleepy puppy as he propped himself up on his elbow, taking stock of his surroundings with bleary eyes and mussed hair. Even the little pout pulling at his lips was adorable. You put the thoughts down to your sleep deprivation and stood up, holding out a hand.

"You were sleepwalking again. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Mmmnh…I've never made it this far. How did you find me?" he asked, accepting your outstretched hand.

"I heard you. You erm…fell down the stairs."

"Well that explains a lot," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his bum.

Never having witnessed him half-asleep before, his amateur dramatics were downright amusing. Endearing, even. You had the urge to ruffle his already displaced hair and shockingly, kiss his flushed cheeks. Instead, you gave him a pat on the back and guided him by the elbow towards the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Once he'd said his thanks and disappeared out of sight, you trudged back to your own bed and fell asleep to the idea of being enveloped by Garreth's warmth.

-

The constant sleepwalking has taken its toll on not only Garreth, but his roommates and even you. Seemingly attuned to his clumsy attempts at gaining access to where he shouldn't be, if he made it as far as the staircase you were inevitably the one who found him in the dead of night. Leander looked more drawn by the day, furious with his best friend's antics and threatening him with a draught of living death. He'd even gone to Nurse Blainey, who had ruled out dreamless sleep potions as a cure for the wandering; apparently all it would achieve would be to wipe his recollection of the dreams come morning, not stop the sleepwalking altogether.

After a busy day of back to back double lessons, you were already flagging only a few hours after dinner. Trying to concentrate on a book, your eyes slid in and out of focus, the words becoming a garbled mess the longer you tried. After the fifth attempt at reading the same sentence you gave up, discarding the book and allowing your neck to slacken, head lolling to the side. Just a few minutes to rest your eyes then you'd try again, you told yourself—it was just a little eye strain.

By the time you woke, the sky outside the windows was an inky black flecked with light from distant stars, the fire no longer roaring and leaving the room cold and empty. Apparently nobody had bothered to wake you, likely deciding you needed the rest, but someone had draped a robe over you at some point. There also appeared to be a heavy weight pressed on your thighs, and as you became more lucid, you noticed the silken texture between your fingers and a familiar scent from the robe laid against your chest.

Sitting up from your awkward sleeping position with a flex of your stiff neck, you peered down into your lap to see Garreth sleeping soundly with your hand tangled in his hair. A slight panic rattled your brain, the urge to whip your hand away losing to the much stronger desire to smooth the strands under your thumb. The dim light from the candles and celestial bodies danced across his face, illuminating his fiery mane as you stroked slowly, gently. You also noticed a tiny dribble of drool forming at his mouth, making you smirk before your thoughts were preoccupied by just how plump and inviting his lips looked.

You shuffled slightly, trying to get a little more comfortable, the movement dislodging the robe from your shoulder as the slightly burnt smell of cinders, cinnamon and butterbeer hit you. A smile tugged at your lips at the unmistakeable mixture you'd come to associate with friendship, comfort, joy and something else you hadn't quite figured out yet. With a furtive look around the room—though you knew you were alone except the sleeping beauty on your lap—you picked up a handful of the robe, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. The smell of Garreth flooded your nostrils, eliciting all sorts of confusing feelings; some entirely innocent, some not. 

You thought he must wake soon—surely he was due another sleepwalk. The clock on the wall ticked by, your own sleep now broken and filled with distracting thoughts of the boy laying beneath you. Midnight came and went; two o' clock, four o'clock, too, until dawn was upon you with the first birdsong and golden rays flooding the common room. You didn't have the heart to move him when he slept so soundly, sacrificing your own restfulness for his. Another hour passed by, by which point you'd picked up the book you'd discarded hours before, reading in the steadily intensifying light. Students would be waking soon, and whilst you knew your current predicament meant nothing, absolutely nothing, your classmates might use the scene as a source for gossip.

"Garreth," you whispered. 

No response.

"Gar, wake up," you said, louder this time.

He groaned, eyebrows pinching into a frown before his eyes flew open wide to meet yours, like a deer caught in Lumos. Visibly flustered, he awkwardly cleared his throat and flashed you a wide smile from your lap, making no attempt to move. You wished he would—the vantage point couldn’t have made for a particularly flattering angle.

“Morning,” he croaked, wiping the sleep from his emerald eyes. “Did I get up in the night?”

“No, actually. You slept through, which is why I didn’t wake you,” you replied, yawning widely.

Garreth frowned, finally leaving his resting place on your thighs, now ever so slightly numb but nevertheless missing his presence.

“Huh. Maybe I was just trying to get to you all along," he said with a soft smile.

You laughed, presuming he'd been joking, but his eyes locked on yours with an intensity you'd never seen before.

"What, really?"

"I think my subconscious has been trying to tell me something," he nodded.

He said something along the lines of miss you, but the pounding of your heart dulled your hearing.

"Why…why would you miss me?"

"I said can I kiss you?" he chuckled.

Before you’d had time to process his question, your head had nodded of its own accord and Garreth’s lips had pressed against yours. You exchanged soft, exploratory kisses, though he already felt so familiar and utterly perfect. With a tilt of your head, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, drawing a moan from you that he echoed. Every noise he made sent a throb of desire south, the tension you’d barely noticed between you now unravelling with a fervour that seemed impossible to stop.

He was pushing you back on the sofa before long, pressing his body between your legs with an unexpected confidence that had you reeling—clearly he knew what he wanted, and the way your body responded told him plainly that you wanted the same. You clasped his head in your hands and kissed him hard, desperately trying to convey your feelings wordlessly. This wasn’t a tentative fling you’d come to regret, this was years of close friendship and unresolved sexual tension pouring out.

Garreth growled as you kissed him, a low rumble from deep in his throat that pulled at something equally as animalistic in you. He rolled against you, the friction a welcome relief that you met with a shift of your hips. His already stiff cock found that sweet spot and had you sighing for more, both lost in the feverish grinding against one another’s clothed bodies. As good as it felt, this would never be enough—now you had a taste, you wanted all of him; every inch of his freckled body pressed against your skin until there was no space between you, not even a hair’s breadth.

"Gar…"

"Hm?" his muffled reply came as he buried his face against your neck.

"Fucking hell, take me upstairs."

The request came out as an order and without a second's hesitation, Garreth scrambled off of you, helping you to your feet far too fast. Your head swam as you followed him to his dormitory, praying that you wouldn't meet any early risers on the way. So far so good, you thought as you climbed the stairs, but your luck ran out as soon as Garreth pushed open the door. Leander. Still dressed in pyjamas and loosely clutching a wash bag, his attention turned to his roommate as soon as the hinges stopped creaking. An awkward silence followed when he spotted you; flushed, dishevelled and wearing yesterday's clothes.

Of all the reactions you'd anticipated in that short, agonising moment, Leander surprised you by having none of them. No gaping mouth, spluttering or endless questions—he merely looked between the two of you and nodded; in resignation or approval, it didn't particularly matter. You were sequestered away behind the curtains of Garreth's bed before Leander had reached the door, taking care to cast a silencing charm before Garreth's mouth claimed yours again, greedier than ever. The charm and privacy had thrown all inhibitions to the wayside as you both audibly, loudly, proclaimed your approval of each other.

Between searing kisses that had your insides squirming and heart fluttering, you both got to work mindlessly ridding the other of their clothes. A groan almost left your mouth as his shirt fell off his broad shoulders, your eyes flying open to drink in the sight of him—a sight you'd only dared ponder and dream of before now. He really did have freckles everywhere, and the overwhelming urge to kiss every one almost won your attention, until he peeled off your underwear. Breeches still on, he didn't let you rid him of the last scrap of clothing before his head had delved between your legs with shocking swiftness.

"Gar, what are you…?"

Your question was cut short by his rough manhandling of your legs, flinging them over his shoulders and gripping your thighs as his mouth found your aching heat. The wet warmth of his tongue was lost amongst your own heated arousal, but the pressure against your swollen clit sent your head spinning. You ought to have been embarrassed at how soaked you were already, but Garreth seemed to appreciate every last drop with loud groans as he lapped between your folds. The flick of the tip of his tongue against your nub sent shivers across your body to every extremity, or perhaps it had been the way he stared at you whilst he did so. Those piercing green eyes under hooded lids were the most addictive sight—you couldn't look away from him, seemingly drunk with pleasure from your juices.

He had no right being so talented with his tongue, whether from experience or outright enthusiasm—either way, your orgasm built steadily under his caress. A string of endless praise and expletives left your mouth, spurring him on to flick and twirl his tongue faster, his salacious moans growing louder still, until finally reaching a crescendo with your climax. What might have been the most mind-altering release you'd ever experienced ripped through your body, leaving your limbs shuddering and ears ringing.

"Garreth, that was…amazing…"

His blurry figure appeared above you, and you noticed your eyes were pricked with tears. It was like looking up at him from the bottom of a lake, his copper locks swimming into your vision with the sound of fabric rustling.

"I want you…all of you," his gravelly voice said, dripping with lust.

His hands gripped your thighs as you wiped away the tears, peering down to see him knelt between your legs, completely naked. Great Merlin, he'd been hiding that beneath his tattered robes all this time? The times you'd gripped his arm to walk with him or slapped his back jovially came to mind; you knew he was broad, muscular, but he was truly delicious. Especially those thick thighs that braced against your own as he gently stroked his impressive length. You couldn't suppress a gulp as you took the sight of that in; uncut, pink and throbbing with desire, you could have happily watched him play with himself and welcomed his release with an open mouth.

But he had other plans for you. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face towards him as your eyes dragged lazily away from his cock.

"Eyes up here, darling."

Good grief, Garreth Weasley would be the end of you. You offered a silent prayer as he towered over you, guiding the tip of his cock towards your entrance. You laced your fingers through his hair, looking into his eyes as he pushed himself inside you slowly, carefully, allowing you time to adjust to his size. A deep inhale and exhale and your body relaxed around him, leaving you with a satisfying sensation of fullness.

"Gods, you feel good," you whispered.

"Yeah?" he asked, pushing himself deeper than you thought possible whilst drawing your legs up closer to your chest. "How about that?"

"Fuck, yes!"

The first thrust had you moaning, the second had you begging for more as you tugged on his hair, now thoroughly dishevelled with strands plastered to his glistening forehead. His musky scent was intoxicating, mixed with his usual Garreth smell and the heady mixture of arousal made something you’d remember and crave again and again. Pulling him down on top of you, your eye contact finally broke as your lips crashed together in a kiss that meant much more than you would care to admit.

His pace was slow and steady but every roll of his hips hit you deep, precise, hard. He was holding back, prolonging the pleasure as long as possible. You had the sneaking suspicion that Garreth could easily pick you up and fuck you senseless in any position he wanted, the way his biceps flexed and rippled underneath him. With his weight borne on one arm, his other was free to roam your body, large hands gripping your flesh greedily in time to his powerful thrusts.

He skimmed your breast, a thumb and forefinger pinching the peak, drawing a surprised yelp that muffled against his smirking lips. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play. Abandoning his hair, your fingers flexed as they drew down his back, nails dragging across the skin in a way you were sure would leave welts and a little blood to remember you by. Garreth groaned, his hips twitching in response and plunging harder back into you.

“Oh shit…,” you gasped.

“Do it again.”

You complied, a little harder this time, and Garreth quickened his pace with gasping moans by your ear that sent shivers across your entire body. Again and again he pounded into you as you marked up his back and grabbed handfuls of him anywhere you could. A sharp smack on his arse sent him over the edge, and he bit down hard on your neck as he came. He gave no warning, his release spilling inside you in shuddering pulses as he clung to you tightly, muttering your name between kisses to your sore skin.

“Gar…,” you sighed, nuzzling his cheek as his rhythm slowed, his orgasm ebbing away.

Laying underneath his warmth, arms and legs wrapping his body was a comfort you’d never experienced, and you stroked his hair and kissed every freckle you could reach on his face. Garreth grinned, his eyes now hazy, almost drunk, as if he could happily go back to sleep wrapped in your embrace.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Good morning,” you chuckled back.

Garreth nuzzled his face back against your neck, kissing his claim on you with gentleness.

“You know…if you want our friends to keep their sanity, I think you’ll have to sleep with me from now on,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Is that so? I’m not sure that’s a proper thing for friends to do.”

“I thought it was obvious—this was me asking you out!”

“Ah, well then, this is me accepting,” you replied, pulling him into a deep kiss that made you very late for breakfast.

[dailyadventureprompts]

What’s fasinating about the d&d movie is that it is all the fun of d&d removed from the rigid restraints of the the clunky game system: Thrills and laughs and hairbrained schemes minus the minutia of needless rolls or waiting for your turn in initiative to circle around. Part of this is idealization, but as someone who’s obsessed with making my favorite game system the most fun possible I can’t help but draw some comparisons.

Combat: Holga’s fight scenes were a highlight of the film for me, displaying a huge amount of kinetic creativity as she pinballed between different combatants swapping out weapons, bouncing off the surrounding terrain . This is a far, far cry from how being a fighter plays out at the table, as most martial characters are focused into doing just one type of attack as good as they can because it’s their only reliable contribution to combat. Try to model Holga’s fights in game and you’d be caught in a boring slog of dealing 1d4+STR damage to a bunch of guards whittling away at their hitpoint pools, a far cry from the lighting quick flury of smashing, bashing, and flips that make her the film’s action setpiece.  

What d&d needs is a system for combat that exists alongside the traditional damage/HP paradigm: an additional layer of complexity for martial characters that encourages tactical thinking and lets those who do their damage up close feel just as cool and as clutch as casters. My mind’s already whirling thinking up something that revolves around stuns, suckerpunches, and positioning, so expect it later this week. 

Powercreep: This might be subjective but I find it fascinating that the official stats put out for the party has them hovering around level 16, a point in character progression  a)that  most characters never get to b) by which the game’s difficulty systems have begun to break down. I suspect this was done in order to keep their on-screen abilities in line with how they are in the base rules, but I can’t help but feel like its odd for the “idedalized” dnd experiance to be playing around with toys that most groups will never get their hands on. 

In my experience d&d is on a sliding scale of stakes V Shenanigans, with the exact ballance evolving over the course of a campaign:  Your group starts out as a bunch of dumbfucks and at some point while you’re making  making absolute fools out of yourselves you become a found family just in time for the consequences of your actions to circle back around and threaten the realm. First the characters start caring about eachother, then they care about the world, then they have to save that world. Level 16 is, for me, distinctly in “save the world” territory, despite the fact that the HaT crew are clearly still figuring out who they are and what they care about.  It makes me wish D&D was more free with its shenanigan enabling magic/items/class features at lower levels to help fuel these kinds of antics.  

Attunement: Perhaps the best “ oh I’m totally going to steal this” moment came from Simon’s attempt to attune to the helm of disjunction. Turning what was otherwise a rote game mechanic into an oppertunity for character growth was genius on behalf of the writers, though one I’d only really employ with items that were as necessary for my plots as the helm was for the heist. Just like Simon’s major flaw was self doubt, I could easily see delicious storytelling potential in throwing up other emotional hurdles depending on the situation: A hero’s sword refusing to attune to the haunted survivor until they’ve come to terms with what they’ve done, an otherwise altruistic character being forced to admit their sin and self interest by an evil-aligned artifact. 

Over all, I really enjoyed the movie, though paradoxically It didn’t hook me as much because for me one of the biggest charms of fantasy is the feeling of discoverying a new world, and I’ve been living the d&d world for the past 20 years so it didn’t come of as wild and magical as it could have been, having hewn so close to established d&d material. 

[2af-afterdark]

🦩anon asked for Leviathan and prompt 7 “Be a good boy/girl and swallow for me” along with some others but I saw my boy and decided to chew on him

Please keep in mind that the game is still not out, so when you ask for this you are asking for a bunch of random headcanons sort of put together.

Content: Dom!GN!MC (they/them) x Leviathan (whb), aphrodisiacs, mentioned humiliation, no actual sex

They throw themselves onto the sofa beside him, all of their weight pressing down on the the frame simultaneously as their butt digs into the seat cushion. They reach into their breast pocket and pull out something which they pass to him with a smile.

"Be a good boy and swallow this for me," they whisper into his ear.

Leviathan takes it as he reclines against the sofa that currently holds them. He stares at the dubious bubbling vial they've handed him, swirling with shades of pink and purple and reeking of magic. He can smell the stench of Abaddon wafting from whatever is inside, even contained securely by the small glass container.

"I refuse," he says as he tries to hand the vial back to them.

"Oh, Leviathan," they reach over only to pull the cork out of the vial and push his hand back toward him, "that wasn’t a request."

The overwhelming scent of lust, no longer held at bay by the seal, burns his nostrils and sends blood flowing straight to his crotch. It's pure and concentrated and definitely illegal (not that devils cared about legality in the same manner as humans) outside of any kingdom but Abaddon itself given that lust so powerful is barely distinguishable from madness.

The muscles in his face scrunch up in a mixture of disgust and concern for who would give them something so clearly dangerous, but the worry starts to fade and make way for his own desires as he feels their hand gliding over the bulge growing in his pants. He knows it's whatever is in the vial controlling his body, which is why -- if this is how potent it is by smell alone -- he tries to hand it to them yet again before it can invade his senses more than it already has.

"I have no interest in it."

Short and to the point. He was a king (even if he barely felt like one compared to the others and was always analyzing which aspects of them were better than him). It was only right he put his foot down every now and again, especially with a human.

That thin resolve of his vanishes in an instant, however, as they place their finger against the base of the horn nearest them and start rubbing circles around it.

"Liar," they tease. "I can tell you want to drink it," they softly squeeze his growing erection, "but you're afraid of what it will do to you. You're afraid that you'll humiliate yourself while under its influence. You're imagining all the worst possible scenarios in your head and wondering how you'll ever live them down. It's the uncertainty making you hesitate."

They trail their finger up the fine, sand-like texture of his horn, stroking between the junction where it splits in two and is most sensitive. His pants have gotten uncomfortably tight and he fears they will burst at the seam from how strongly he's straining against them.

"Allow me to alleviate your fears." Their voice has dropped as low as it will go and there is a sultry tinge to their words. "When you drink that, nothing will matter to you more than feeling good and I won't hesitate to abuse that power over you. Any filters or self-restraint you have will disappear. You'll humiliate yourself in ways you can't even imagine and I'll enjoy every moment of it almost as much as you will."

Leviathan bit the inside of his lip, a slurry of contradictory thoughts rushing through his mind but all of them based on his all-consuming jealousy at the unknown.

It was thoughts of fear and anxiety at potentially being seen in a vulnerable state by others. It was the way he wanted them to focus solely on him. It was how his stomach collapsed in on itself when he imagined people whispering behind his back that he was a degenerate or, worse, a prude. It was the fact that he was nowhere near being a king like the others if he let a human push him around. It was the way their voice made everything sound so tempting, despite his misgivings. It was the desire he had to do whatever it took to have their attention. It was the collapsing of his reason and judgment. It was every voice in his head screaming all at once in a cacophony of different desires, all as equally pressing as the last. It was knowing that if he held strong he would envy what could have been, what he could have gained. It was the opposite, knowing that if he gave in he would envy what he'd lost. It was envying the him from only seconds ago who didn't have to make such a choice. It was-

"Go on," they prompt yet again. "I promise you it's the best stuff in all of hell. After all, you deserve nothing but the best."

He tips the vial back into his open mouth like a shot.

Instantly, he feels every nerve inside of him firing simultaneously and his constrained cock twitches as he cum in his pants after two rapid orgasms -- one from the initialshock of the drink and a second from the embarrassment of knowing he'd just ruined his pants. His skin feels like it's boiling and his clothing is a nuisance at best. Any thoughts he may have still had melt and are quickly replaced by his hands wandering across his own body as they try to make him feel good -- a sisyphean task given that every part of him feels unyielding pleasure from even the lightest of touches, but is left uncomfortably wanting when not under the ministrations of his fingers.

The parts of him that feel the best, however, are where they lay their hands; his cock and his horn. He can already feel that he's going to cum again because, even through the fabric of his suit pants, their hand against his groin is pure ecstasy and the other rubbing his horn is euphoria he could never have imagined in his wildest fantasies.

They laugh; a light laugh that is somehow both irrevocably loving and deeply condescending. Whatever intent they have behind such a laugh is lost on him though as all of his reasoning has given way to whatever Abaddon's magic has done to him. He doesn't want to think or restrain himself. All he wants is to feel good, whatever that takes.

"Good boy," they finally praise as they tug at his horn to pull him into a kiss.

As they slip their tongue into his mouth, he can tell that he has cum again and it won't nearly be the last time for the evening.

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Risotto Nero with a F Reader who has low iron HCs. Commissioned piece.

Risotto Nero utilizes every method at his disposal to run frequent surveillance on you. He could entrust this task with his La Squadra subordinates, and maybe he would if it was for business, but this is a more personal undertaking. The skills he's sharpened from engaging in assassination throughout the years come in handy. He learns your routine, when you're most likely to be alone, what routes you take, his justification being that he can't properly protect you if he doesn't have this knowledge.

He is extremely methodical — for a time. He isn't the type to enter your home and leave behind evidence of his presence. No window or drawer is left askew. Risotto considers this a form of profiling. Engaging with you one-on-one is too risky, a fact that leaves a void in his being. He exercised better self-restraint than most yanderes would bother to employ. Eventually, though, the gnawing desire to know you won out against any shreds of respect for what little privacy you have left. What does your wardrobe look like? What television channel did you leave off on? How is your cooking? These questions and more oppress him to the point that satisfying his curiosity overwhelms any flimsy moral justification that he's simply 'looking out for you from afar.'

The life he leads is chaotic and wrought with bloodshed. You bring a semblance of normalcy, this sweet consistency that he finds endearing, though he'd never admit it. Once you're finally in his possession, you'll have a difficult time gauging his motivations. He isn't physically or verbally affectionate, the few words he utters are more like commands, and his demeanor as a whole is intimidating. What you will pick up on eventually is his micromanaging of your diet. He's unnervingly silent should you lash out, allowing you to get your frustration out of your system until exhaustion settles in, yet when it comes to your physical health, his boundaries are firm.

How he came to learn of the low iron levels in your body is somewhat bizarre. His Stand, Metallica, boasts the ability to manipulate iron. The writhing bunch made their displeasure known upon you entering his vicinity. Since Stands are manifestations of the user's soul, Risotto's hypervigilant care for your well-being bleeds into his Stand's behavior. They clued Risotto into the issue so that he could see you're taken care of.

Mortally harming the human body is more in his skillset than healing it. He is curious to see if his Stand could potentially boost the iron in your body to the levels necessary. Unfortunately, this falls outside his purview, he decreases iron in his opponent's bloodstream by focusing it and turning it into a weapon. He can't influence the levels themselves. Regardless, his Stand still enjoys lingering near you. They have no shame expressing how smitten they are, unlike their stoic user.

Risotto isn't a captor who demands much from you. About the most he'll ever ask is for you to fill the air with conversation, should uncomfortable silence ever linger. There's a warmth to your voice that sets him at ease. The topic doesn't matter and he probably won't chime in aside from an occasional word or phrase. Everyone has their own way of relaxing after a stressful day at work, this just happens to be his.

While he is sweet on you, he doesn't shy away from letting you feel the weight of various consequences. For instance, since you're more likely to feel fatigued, he expects you to sleep and wake up at a certain time. Should you try staying up later than he permits out of spite, he won't stop you. He intends to never reveal his Stand's full capabilities — such as how he can manipulate iron to reflect light around his person, effectively rendering him invisible. Unbeknownst to you, he'll be in the corner of the bedroom, unimpressed with your disobedience. Some lessons are best learned firsthand. The following day, when exhaustion weighs you down, he'll reproach any attempt from you to seek caffeine or a nap. He takes a "you've made your bed, now lay down on it" sort of approach.

This serves a dual purpose. While it's also a nonviolent method of 'encouraging' your adherence to his wishes, it also paints him in this omnipotent light. How did he know you were awake? You specifically wait until he left the room before indulging your mischievous streak. Does he have night vision cameras installed? How does he know your iron levels without taking blood for bloodwork? Over time, these strange instances build up inside your psyche. You get the sense he isn't exactly like most people yet the full extent of it is lost on you.

As a result, paranoia sets in, heady and thick. You overestimate his capabilities. Should you try this escape attempt, seeing as you're home alone? ... Are you home alone? Your hand will hover over the doorknob, covered in perspiration, internally weighing if the risk is worth it. Meanwhile, this could be an instance where Risotto actually isn't present, yet the threat looms in the air all the same.

Ultimately, he wants a healthy dosage of fear, not a debilitating amount. His rules are rather straightforward and most pertain to your health. He never loses his penchant for observing you while you're unaware, but figures what you don't know can't hurt you. When you are cognizant of his presence, he tries somewhat to come across as less intimidating. He doesn't want you cowering at the sight of him. This leads to mixed results, more often than not. He can reassure you that he isn't going to hurt you all he wants, but his towering height and muscular appearance do little to dissipate your concern.

He might not fall for blatant attempts at manipulation, but should you be sweet on him, you can earn a few privileges. It just takes a lot of mental preparation to go up to this man and try for a hug. The stress almost isn't worth the potential benefits.

[helyiios]

Frosted tips and friendly political terrorism

Or that one time Benji got butthurt and almost made British Intelligence collapse in return.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luther says, “I did hack into some pretty important databases back in the day. Still do sometimes, when I’m really bored.”

“Have you ever done that, Benji ?” Ilsa jokingly asks to her friend, staring at him over her pint of beer. “Is it a hacker, huh, tech thing, to hack into, I don’t know, the Pentagon ?”

Benji stares back, mouth barely open. He’s thinking deeply about her words, considering his options. He could lie and brush the question off, or he could humour them. And anyway, he was already more than a little flushed, so his usual restraint regarding his past was down. Not smart, but funny nonetheless.

“I tried to get into MI6, when I was 20,” he offers, voice light. That seems to take his friends aback.

“Really ?” Ethan asks, “I didn’t know that.”

“It was a little before I worked for the weaponry tech firm, I think, two years before ? Something like that.”

“And you didn’t…stick to MI6 ?” Ilsa wonders, an eyebrow raised, “what a miss, we could’ve maybe gotten to know each other.”

“No, I didn’t manage to pass one of the tests,” Benji replies, the picture perfect of casual.

“Weapon evaluation ?”

“Psych.”

“How do you manage to fuck up a psych exam ?” Brandt snorts, albeit not unkindly, “all you have to do is agree with the examiner and maybe lie a little.”

“Well,” his friend shrugs, downing a good portion of his beer, “I was 20. I was young, unstable, and overall very angry.”

“When aren’t you ?” Luther jokes.

“Oh, you’ve not met little me. I was a shit show, if I’m honest. Anyway, I got rejected from MI6. It really, really hurt my ego.”

Ethan laughs into his glass, cheeks and ears nicely reddened by the alcohol. It was so rare for the younger man to admit to having an actual self-esteem, but it wasn’t all too bad.

“So I hacked MI6,” Benji finishes off, shrugging again.

“You what ?!”

“Yeah, yeah. Fucked with their access codes, made them even more encrypted, and then I leaked private information from really well secured and hidden chats. There was a lot of dick pics in there,” he laughs. “There was also some talks of treason, I think, but it’s not like I remember it perfectly. I was just wounded in my pride, so I leaked everything to the, huh, agents and workers at MI6. Then I erased my traces, and never looked back. Really fun times, it was when I had frosted tips and an eyebrow piercing.”

He looks at the table again, taking in each of his friends’ reactions. Brandt and Luther were smirking like idiots, Ethan looked genuinely impressed, and Ilsa was…

He frowns.

Ilsa had blanched, and looked like she might faint at any second.

“You good, mate ?” he asks worriedly, reaching out to pet her hand, “you look a little unwell.”

“Benji, tell me you’re joking.”

“Huh ? About what ? The private chats thing ?”

A nod.

“What ? No, I’m not. Why would I lie about that ? It’d be lame.”

“You did not,” she starts, clearly struggling with finding her words, “cause the Great fucking Leak.”

It’s his turn to look surprised, looking at the others for precision.

“What, it has a n—you guys named it ?”

“Oh, I remember it !” Ethan suddenly exclaims, “I was a bit new to the IMF too, but I’d heard of it. MI6 was furious, apparently. Someone had hacked into their system and the IMF and them couldn’t work hand in hand for a little while. They also had to fire and disavow a bunch of agents, I think ? Made a lot of noise, in the milieu.”

“And you’re telling me, the author of one of the most massive MI6 fuckups is you ?” Luther says, barking out a proud laugh at Benji, shaking his shoulder happily, “man, we’re in the presence of a celebrity !”

“I wasn’t at MI6 when it happened,” Ilsa adds, still very pale, “but it drove my superiors mad that they never caught the person who did it.”

Benji pouts, leaning back on his seat, arms crossed.

“Well, Jesus. I never knew you guys got so pissed at my little joke.”

“It has nothing of a joke !”

“I mean, the IMF knows,” he still protests, “I had to mention it when they recruited me.”

“Hunley knows ?!” Brandt yelps, “that’s crazy, man.”

“Hunley, Brassel, Kittridge,” Benji doesn’t appear too phased, “they actually kept me in the basement for a little while when I got given the Choice.”

“You mean, with the other techies ?” Luther asks, “I mean, I do recall meeting you there.”

“Yeah, yeah. After the weapons disaster I caused at the firm, and when they learnt for MI6, they told me to keep it on the down low. They actually insisted that I stayed on L-2 clearance for a bunch of years,” he sighs, “so I was just,” he gestures vaguely, his beer held safely in his left hand, “doing boring shit for some time. That is, until you and Ethan came to me asking for the Rabbit’s Foot, an’ all.”

“What,” Ilsa frowns, “was the IMF scared of you, or what ?”

“I mean, I tried to look as unassuming as possible. Fat, bald little technician,” her friend grins, eyes mischievous, “I mean, it’s not like I had killed anyone.”

He grimaces.

“Not directly, at least.”

“Sounds like they tried to contain you to low ranking tasks in case you’d feel yourself get bored enough to hack into our databases,” Ethan notes, slightly turned on by his boyfriend’s revelations. “How come they let you join the field agent program ?”

“I told them I grew a conscience after meeting you,” Benji laughs, and they all know he’s only half joking. “No, more seriously, I was way more stable by then. I pinky promised them I’d be a good boy, and that I’d listen to orders. I mean, have you seen yourself, E ? Thank God I’m here to hold you back, am I right ?”

“What I’m hearing is that we have two manic freaks in our team,” Brandt supplies, cheek resting limply on his closed fist. “Benji, be a sweetheart and keep your prescriptions up to date.”

“Oh, bugger off. Being L-2 was boring, though, y’know ? I was obviously better than the other technicians, so I sort of ended up doing my own stuff in my little corner. They said they found me broody,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad I don’t have to talk to them anymore. Hey Will, did you know I fucked with the CIA’s codes during that time Ethan was away ? I kept it lowkey, but remember how you guys kept having connexion problems, and identification issues, especially with our passes, and rem—oh, oh !” he yells excitedly, pointing at him, “remember that time Hunley turned his work computer on and loud porn sounds came out ?”

“What ? That happened ?” Ethan worries, a little grossed out, “in public ?”

“Yeah ! And it was me ! I created him a whole file of porn with the nastiest things out there, there was some piss king, incest, grandma stuff and all—not that I’m judging, in there, it took them a week to clean his computer completely !”

“I’m starting to wonder if you’d taken your meds, during those six months,” Luther snorts. “Wish I’d seen that, though.”

“Yeah, no shit you failed the psych exam,” Ilsa grumbles. “Remind me to never annoy you. Ever.”

“I’m just a tech guy,” Benji unashamedly lies, smiling wide, fangs sharp. “Say, who’s up for round four ? It’s on me,” he adds, getting up without waiting for a response and trotting up to the bar.

The remaining agents stare at each other, a little disabused.

“Your boyfriend is terrifying,” the British agent says flatly, looking at her friend. “What is wrong with him ? I’m saying this with all the love I have for him.”

“The word you’re looking for is batshit crazy,” Brandt supplies with a cackle. “The whole porn thing was actually insane. I wish I’d taken a video.”

“That’s part of the charm,” Ethan simply replies, eyeing his partner up and down, watching him collect their drinks, his gaze setting on the other’s rounded ass. Mm, those pants really shaped it nicely, he thinks. “Anyway, don’t be mean to him when he’s paying for drinks.”

“I wasn’t,” Luther calls out, index raised. “I think it’s thrilling, that he’s that weird. What a fun guy. We’ll have to exchange anecdotes more often.”

“He’s not wei—“

“Eh, sort of.”

“I mean, aren’t we all ?” Ilsa offers graciously, “it’s sort of part of the job.”

There’s a contemplative silence.

“Hey, did I mishear or did Benji say he used to have frosted tips ?”

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)

First posted: January 25, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and his various siblings

Favorite bookmark: "A variety of permutations and flavors of Robin h/c featuring Jason! The Baskin Robins of BatFam h/c, if you will."

Second favorite bookmark: "and so, step by step, the prodigal stray coaxes himself home."

Tier: #3 in hits & kudos & subscriptions, #4 in comment threads, #2 in bookmarks

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Individual chapter notations below the cuts.

Chapter One

First, to note, the title came last and is from "Hey Brother" by Avicii because it was already on my BatFam playlist and gave me strong sibling feels, so it worked!

Okay if I remember correctly, this fic came about because 1) I had jotted down story ideas, all surrounding Jason, that were all just a bit too similar for me to feel comfortable doing them as one-offs, and 2) it was late 2018 when I start writing so I was deep in 5+1 IronDad fics.

This fic was so deeply indulgent from start to finish, which I think might be why people liked it so much? Like, if you're into the tropes into this fic, you're really into them. It scratches the itch just right, because it's my itch and I wrote it for me.

The plan was to do like I did for my other multi-chapter fics (except Nature and Nurture, RIP me) and write it all out before posting anything, so I could be sure that I would actually finish. I don't have that kind of self-restraint anymore. But it was a fun challenge to figure out what should happen to whom and in what order.

Jason didn’t sleep much anymore. He’d always been a rough sleeper, his years spent in low-security public housing and then on the street grinding away at his ability to rest with ease. He slept lightly, his consciousness skimming just below the surface, ready to spring awake at the softest noise.

As I've said before, sometimes I have an idea for a fic but then, when trying to start it, a sentence pops up immediately as my opener. That's always a wild ride because sometimes it seems to have nothing at all to do with where I want to go, so then I have to backtrack and figure out but why tho????

Moving to the Manor had helped some, after he’d assured himself that no one was going to scratch at his door or steal his shoes. The cold mornings had been the best, spent curled under a mound of the softest blankets imaginable atop a mattress so perfectly contoured to his bones that it’d felt like floating on the surface of a pool. He’d slept, truly slept, at the Manor.

I like the idea of, even at Jason's most toxic and vitriolic, the Manor itself still representing safety and comfort. Maybe sometimes he would twist it into stifling or grossly indulgent, but I think deep in his stomach he would know that distortion was a lie. The Manor was safer than anywhere else, even with his mom.

Those days of rest were long gone. The Pit had done a number on his brain—intensifying and altering his emotions, erasing some old habits and dialing up others, leaving dark chasms where memories should be.

I've seen other fics play with the idea of the trauma of Jason's injuries, death, resurrection, and the Pit all combining to some degree or another to swiss-cheese his brain (a phrase I lovingly borrow from Quantum Leap.) And that of course leaves a bunch of really fun room to play with—how much does Jason know he's missing vs. how much is gone or totally distorted without him even being aware? (Again, another thing I tease out in various fics like N&N.)

It was like someone had jammed a stick in his skull and given his brain a good stir. Or maybe that was just the crowbar. Ha.

I made myself snicker with that one. It's so voiceily Jason but also that ha is so guttural and specific in my head, you all will never know.

He was making progress with his budding criminal empire—splashy progress, as displayed on the crusting cuffs of his sleeves and the splattered toes of his boots, but also more subtle progress, too. The subtle form was harder, so much harder, but he knew its changes would be more permanent, in the long run. Splashy got people talking. Subtle got them bowing.

Jason! Todd! Is! No! Thug! He is smart and cunning and uses violence to make an impact and that's that on that.

And though he’d heard her speak before in the careful neutral of the middle-class, the sounds being beat out of her now were Crime Alley crooked.

I like the idea of Steph and Jason growing up in the same neighborhood. It's not a hill I'd die on, but it makes for some interesting fic.

The girl put up a good fight. She was rough, no finesse, no real training. All knuckles and elbows and feet and knees. He spotted some of the Bat basics pop up in the way she ducked and spun, but she wasn’t lithe like Nightwing or crafty like the Replacement. She was a brawler. And she was losing.

She is who he might have been, without Bruce and Alfred and Dick. A decent fighter, stubborn, willing to brawl it out, but ultimately destined to lose.

It sucked in an abstract way, the way it sucked that someone was going hungry halfway around the world, the way it sucked when a stranger missed his bus. It sucked, but it wasn’t Jason’s problem, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care. B needed to learn to pick up his toys.

Starting with Steph made the most sense to me. She wasn't (and isn't) a member I know super well, with so much of her canon backstory being things I have no interest in, and she's part of the Family but in that awkward "we're maybe siblings but also I have a mom and also I dated one of you too??" ways, so she's got a little bit of distance, for me as a writer and also Jason. She doesn't have the emotional heat of the others. He doesn't hate her, just what she represents. He also doesn't care what happens to her, except—

The knife glinted in the amber streetlight and cast a shadow across the yellow emblem on her chest.

She's not Batman. She's not a Robin. She's Batgirl. And that's a different thing entirely.

Jason knew what they saw when they looked at him. He was big now, broad-shouldered and massive in a way he had only ever dreamed of being as a scrawny, malnourished street kid. His helmet was blood-red and gleaming, its angles sculpted to subtly suggest a skull. And his clothes were still stained with actual blood. He was an Alley myth, a nightmare with more bite than the Bat, because he wasn’t afraid to do real damage. He was death.

Jason Peter Todd is scary smart, and he knows how to make the exact impact he wants.

“I don’t know you, but I know your colors. You’re Ibanescu’s boys.”

I had to google Gotham crime families. I know literally nothing other than the name.

It was one thing to let her get the snot beat out of her. And even if someone else had taken a shot at her, he wouldn’t have minded. But he couldn’t. Not in that suit.

:3

“It’s not about you,” Jason repeated, his voice gravelly and rough. He pointed toward the yellow symbol on her chest, the symbol that, in the world he’d left, the world he remembered, belonged to someone else. “I owe her a debt. And now it’s paid.” Jason was a murderer. A thief. A criminal. A drug lord. He had no illusions as to his own goodness anymore, no hope for redemption or grace. But he had his values, the few precious things that he would not allow. One of those, it seemed, was watch a man restrain and stab a Batgirl while he did nothing.

Someday I'll write more about that. The partner and friend and maybe mentor who was still reeling from trauma and hadn't yet found her way when Jason was snuffed out of existence.

Jason was tired, but the night was just beginning.

So that's where it starts. Jason tired, literally caked with dried blood, stepping in not because of love or hate or curiosity or concern but because he felt he owed a debt to someone else and that debt instead landed on the person in front of him.

[iztarshi]

Mirage TMNT and Ideological Violence (Part 2)

Casey Jones: toxic masculinity and imitating movies where guys like you are the hero

Casey Jones is a deconstruction of a trope which hasn't been a thing since the very early 90s - the Vigilante Man. In Mirage he starts mostly as a joke, becomes an ally, and then gets a story deconstructing his whole deal.

Mirage is the kind of comic that hates people being able to start at the beginning and read it to the end, so Casey's first appearance is in a side-volume which was not part of the main series titled Raphael #1.

Casey Jones is a guy who watches too much television. One of the movies in there is Dirty Harry so he's a fan of cowboy cops. He's an uneducated white guy with violent tendencies watching movies where guys like him are the heroes and indulging his worst impulses by imitating them.

Raphael puts a stop to his rampaging, but does wind up stopping crime with him. At this point the fact that Casey is willing to kill people for stealing tape decks is a joke - he's a parody - but it's going to be less funny later.

Casey's next appearance is when the Foot break into April's home after throwing Leo through the window. Casey shows up, sides with the Turtles, and takes them all to stay in a farmhouse he owns. This marks a big change in how the comic treats him. For the next little while he's the Turtles' doofus buddy. The toxic masculinity is still there, but he's also genuinely on their side, and he's often fun to have around.

Casey immediately jumping in on the Turtles side here and offering them shelter kind of fixes what I would see as Casey's two most immutable traits, the ones that usually get carried through later versions in some form

He wants to inflict violence and feel righteous about doing so.

He will up-end his entire life to help a bunch of teenagers he barely knows.

The fact that the audience by this time sees Casey as the Turtles friend is played with when things take a turn for the serious. The Turtles are playing tag with Casey as a training exercise and while avoiding them he runs across a bunch of teenagers who try to mug him. He attacks them with his typical lack of restraint and ends up killing one of them.

The two sides of Casey Jones come into conflict. He's not able to believe that he's righteous for destroying scum when the "scum" is just a kid. Normally he draws a clear, black and white line, between the kids he'd want to help and the people he feels good about beating up, but this story is called Shades of Grey and it finally destroys Casey's black and white perspective.

Following this he abandons his mask and rather than something to aspire to his vigilante self becomes something that haunts him, a representation of all the worst parts of him - which it always was, but now he can see it.

Casey's initial reaction to dealing with this is drinking and April, who he'd previously started a relationship with, struggles to deal with it. When she learns her father is dying she leaves Casey to be with her family. Casey, not wanting to stay at the farmhouse alone, sets out on a journey to nowhere in particular.

After stopping at a diner Casey gets beaten up and gets his car stolen. And, you know, I'd remembered this as a lack of willingness to fight - especially since it's bookended with him winning a similar fight later - but he does fight back. Maybe it's a lack of confidence, or him being out of condition from the drinking, or just bad luck and being outnumbered. But he ends up injured and with all his stuff taken. A cute waitress, Gabe, takes him in.

Gabe ends up fridged, which is not a part of this story I like. She's pregnant when she meets Casey and she dies in childbirth shortly after marrying him. But the relationship between them is interesting. It's hard to say whether Casey is in love with her, although he's obviously fond of her, but they fall into a relationship very quickly. Mostly he's desperate to be something good and stable in someone's life. He cooks and cleans for Gabe, he's gentle and caring, and he finds himself again in learning he can be those things, that he's able to live a life without violence.

I don't think it's entirely coincidental he's acting as a housewife of sorts, even if it's partly because his temper is making it hard for him to hold down a job, considering how much toxic masculinity was tied up in his vigilante alter ego.

Toxic masculinity which is definitely acknowledged, because when Casey's vigilante persona shows up in his nightmares it looks like this.

It's a violent, musclebound hulk of a creature, a parody of a bodybuilder, coming to threaten the domesticity Casey has been building for himself.

The crooks that stole Casey's car return to the diner after Gabe's death. Casey goes out to fight them, beats them, and takes his car and stuff back. It shows his confidence is restored but also, like Donnie shooting someone to protect Karai, Mirage once again paints violence as not all bad. Fighting to protect yourself, or someone else, or your property, is not the same as setting out to hurt someone for the sake of ideals. In the same way the character arc for the Turtles focuses on their experiences with revenge and leaving that behind, but doesn't critique their tendency to come to the rescue of anyone they happen across who needs it.

Whether you agree with that or not, I think the work itself is more interesting for taking a perspective and drawing its lines.

At the end of his story Casey goes home first to his own mother and then to April, along with Gabe's daughter, who he names Shadow. The domesticity he's learnt to appreciate is something he gets to hold onto moving forwards.

Ultimately I really appreciate what Mirage does with Casey. Having included someone like him in the comic it takes a hard, unflinching look at what he is, and gives him a chance to become better without making excuses for him.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

What do you think would happen when Tails introduces Sails Mangey and Nine to mints?

Oooh good question!

ㅤ

Sails:

Honestly, since we don't know all that much about No Place, I like to think that mints are still a thing, just the kind of thing that Sails has to sneak on the ship and can only get once in a while. So whenever he was able to get them before, he kind of had to ration em out.

That also being said, I think it would be funny if the mints in no place don't look like the ones Tails offers to Sails. So at first Sails hesitates to eat it, although he has no reason to distrust Tails, so he does try it. I can see Sails sort of commenting his thoughts aloud on how it tastes, but ultimately he probably tries to sneak some mints off of Tails.

Although Tails is pretty much like "You can just ask. I've got a bunch"

So whenever Sails visits from No Place he lets Tails and the others try the mints from No Place, and he uh takes a good amount of Tails' mints back to No Place with him

However, if Sails has never tried any mints before, I think he'd become hooked pretty quickly (still explain the taste out loud you know) and end up trying to snatch some before Tails is like "Hey, just ask and you can have as much as you want"

ㅤ

Mangey:

Hohoho boy

While there's at least a decent chance Mangey has just straight up eaten mint plants before, I think he would become pretty hooked as well. In my head, I think he'd keep begging for more after Tails initially gives him one to try, and it gets so out of hand that Tails, Sails, and Nine have to consciously keep mints out of sight and locked up.

But before they realize how bad Mangey gets about them, Tails gives him like a tin or a small bag of mints he can take with him, and Mangey can't even make them last a day. He is in the presence of mints, he snacks on mints.

Just cause they hide em and lock em up doesn't mean that Mangey doesn't find them or that he's never allowed to have them. I think sometimes when Sails is playing that game with Mangey where he's working on something and Mangey plays assistant, they often use mints as something in exchange for helping when they're not exhanging kisses.

ㅤ

Nine:

While we know more about New Yoke than we do about most of the other shatterspaces, like with Sails I'd like to think Nine has had mints before. In this case, since nothing really grows within the city, I like to think that occasionally New Yoke will get mints in as an import.

Essentially, I think Nine used to see the resistance handing them out once in a blue moon after a successful raid or would see them sold on shady street corners and alleyways. He always tries to limit the contact he makes with people and the city itself, but he kind of had to to be able to get the matierals to create his equipment and have enough food to survive. So he managed to get ahold of a small handful out of curiosity.

It was too much of a pain to get ahold of more, so even though he liked them quite a bit, he almost never was able to get ahold of any.

With that all being said, I can see Nine sort of marveling for a moment how easy it was for Tails to get ahold of so many mints before remembering that green hill and Tails' world is much more plentiful than the city of New Yoke. I think after trying them when Tails offers, he's reminded just how good they are.

That being said, though, I think Nine would pretend that he likes them but of course has restraint, unlike the other two. So he would only take the one small bag or tin when Tails offered to give them more mints. Other times Tails offers, I think he starts out as begrudging but does eventually accept the gift of mints whenever Tails offers some.

If Mangey eats em like candy and Sails is always taking a large stash with him, though, even though he acts like he has more self control and is more normal about mints than them, that is a lie. After taking the first bag/tin back to The Grim with him, he starts figuring out how create a constant lifetime supply of mints there. He doesn't eat them like candy when he does accomplish this, but he still does eat mints about as often as I think Tails does. That's all to say that sometimes mints are just something he eats a couple of when he's bored, when his breath smells bad, occasionally when he needs to make deals with Mangey, as a special little treat when he feels down/accomplished something, and when he hasn't eaten in a while but needs to keep working, so he needs to trick his stomach into thinking its not starving by letting mints dissolve in his mouth.

In the event Nine has never had them before though, I'd think he'd still make a visual expression of enjoying the first one he tries, but he'd still try to be modest and seem "normal" about them by only taking one tin/bag of mints before he ultimately figures out how to keep a constant stash in The Grim like Tails does in his many labs

ㅤ

Thanks for the question, anon! If you have any other questions about them or their relationship(s), feel free to shoot me another ask🥰

[ha-youwish]

this video basically explains why i’ve been more visibly black lately on tumblr.

like tumblr is not only extremely white its also very liberal aka white people who say “sorry poc people for being white” (and yes i said poc people like that bc that’s literally what yall sound like. people of color people, really?)

i dont know how to explain it in a better way that he does in the video, so i’m gonna add on to what it says with something ive been thinking about.

at first i wanted to give people space or comfort them when they realized racism was bad or whatever. but also i am so tired and frustrated seeing white liberal people say the most obnoxious shit with their full chest like with the conversation about rap a little bit ago. AND every time my “learn how to draw black people or die” post gets more notes it becomes an exercise in self restraint

like i get the effort and on some level i appreciate it. but if the second i express my frustration with this whole “i’m so self aware that i dont have any awareness of this thing guys look at me give me points” thing and you get mad at me for that? you look goofy. you look dumb to me and every other black person on this site. idgaf if youre not white if you arent black and you pull this shit you have the same underlying mindset and should check yourself

dont be mad at me because i dont want to be your teacher. dont be mad at me because i dont want to aunt jemaima you into unlearning your biases. dont be mad because i dont want to hold the hand of a you being a little white baby

being black on this site feels like standing on a rocking chair. i feel unbalanced, like i can’t criticize people even when they fuck up because they not technically racist. do you know how much i have to hold back when a white person tells me about the time they ���found out about racism”? youre so fucking lucky i want to strangle you but im not because youre a good person, because youre “listening and learning” and typing in all caps on the internet about how fucked up the world is

tumblr is what you get when theres a bunch of leftist white people in one space, a bunch of people who are aware of social issues but dont know how to not make shit about them and always take shit personally. you all sound like my ex roommate who grew up mormon but lived in the gay dorms with me. you sound like the soccer team i was on who heard me make a joke about my skin color and laughed so hard and paraded me around to tell the joke to everyone else at the party.

fuck this idk how to end this post. you guys just sound fucking stupid

[salora-rainriver]

We're talking about Ads Again

Context for those followers of mine who weren't there: I made a post about tumblr ads being weird back in 2016 and it's literally still getting notes to this day. People responded GREAT to it. honestly, despite being like. ass old at this point and written by a literal high schooler, it's still pretty good! I thank my dad being in advertising helped significantly. I had an expert witness.

Tonight, I'm writing the sequel to that post. the sequel is this post.

let's just fucking dive into it or whatever.

why am I doing this?

okay for starters I made that post in goddamn 2016 and I refuse to believe my insights into the marketing world have not improved since then.

Also, the marketing world has CHANGED. Huge swaths of my old post are no longer relevant. What we saw with tumblr ads in 2016 was in some parts a passing fad, and in other parts the harbinger of a new wave of influencer marketing and corporate parasociality (I coined that term just now).

Honestly I've been thinking for a while that I should make an update post, but what with, yanno, adulthood, that's been kinda hard!

Well, I've missed a train, and it's Christmas, so I've finally found the time to do that.

What has Changed?

in my personal life... dad got fired! yeah it fucking sucks. the good news is he and his wife are working towards their retirement now, shifting away from the industry overall. Good news as far as life is concerned, but it does mean I no longer have as clean a connection to the Industry as I used to.

but more importantly, why he got fired. The fact is, dad's old! I know, shocker. More than just being old, though, his field (and my stepmom's field - they both did the same work) represents an older paradigm of advertisement. he did TV spots and posters, not ad reads for Raid Shadow Legends. He was great at his work, but we're in an era of data-driven, maximalist, google adsense, low-barrier-to-entry, super-fast and super-cheap digital advertisement.

Well, more specifically,

We're on the cusp of an extinction event poised to bring said era crashing to the ground.

Pictured: the current vibes in the ad world

Siberia is on Fire and Everything is Dying

So given that my typical source on stuff like this is currently unemployed, I decided to hit good ol google (well, google and duckduckgo. fitting given what we're talking about) to see if I could get any insights into what the current state of advertising is.

and the short of it is that everyone says the end is nigh. check this out:

Digital is dead, and so is TV. God fucking damn. BY THE WAY, I loved these two articles. Chris Gadek, a man I only learned about today, is clearly an excellent writer and his professional insights are probably gonna be way better than my amateur synthesis of the half-dozen different articles I read today, including his.

blatant shilling for random article writers aside, let's get on to my half-baked synthesis, starting with:

What Set Siberia on Fire

In small part, it's the same issues facing most major companies and industries in our late capitalist world: Hubris.

As this New York Times article points out, we've got a low barrier of entry into a gargantuan industry that's increasingly pumping out slop to follow a strategy of 'more is more'. And we've all seen the bizarre mobile game ads and shady scams that have resulted from THAT.

On top of that, we've also got the fucking digital privacy issue shaking up the entire world as consumers increasingly don't like being spied on (imagine that), and the EU starts rolling out heavy restrictions on the data harvesting that was fueling a bunch of this advertisement bubble.

There's also the ad fraud. Oh, you didn't hear about that? Well, it's nothing much, just that lots of bots are clicking ads to falsify click metrics, artificially inflating the effectiveness of said ads. look, it even has a wikipedia article

oh and Facebook did it. Facebook did ad fraud. :)

and I'm not even getting into everything that works to shake up or demolish basically every advertisement channel out there - the decline of cable tv and print newspapers, the increasing use of ad blockers, the crisis of consumer trust, etc etc.

In short we are looking at a multitude of micro-crises all working together to make the environment unlivable for most current forms of advertisement.

in other words: an extinction event!

Who's Gonna Survive

And just like in a real extinction event, whether or not you survive depends on how good you can adapt to the brave new world you've found yourself in. Old school advertising needs to drastically rethink their everything if they're gonna stay afloat, and every field of the industry needs to recreate itself. As my new favorite writer Chris Gadek says,

"These crises show that there are no safe havens. You can’t substitute one advertising medium for another. Rather than pivot, the advertising industry must adapt and learn to effectively use the channels at their disposal (TV included), factoring in the seismic societal and technological changes that have occurred over the past decade and beyond."

and what is that going to look like? what's going to be the new face of advertising?

The field seems torn, at first... but also aligned, at least when it comes to the core principles:

privacy is a big issue. Seems like a lot of advertisers are seeing an end to wanton consumer surveillance, and looking into less invasive ways to gather important and meaningful data

companies that rely on selling ad space and propping up their engagement metrics are going to be relied on less, probably, because the metrics themselves are being seen as less reliable (for good freaking reason)

regaining consumer trust is going to be a massive priority in the future.

overall, we're probably going to look at a massive downturn in ads, as people turn to a quality-over-quantity strategy in an attempt to stop flooding the attention marketplace.

that's the gist I'm getting from reading oh so many different articles of varying quality from so many different sources.

So, yanno, there may be some hope out there. If smart people start leading this industry (lol), we may get to actually enjoy ads.

Yeah. Enjoy ads.

Unironically.

I know, it's crazy.

PS: if you start seeing affiliate links on mainstream TV ads, thank our lord of excellent business analysis Chris Gadek for calling it early. God, that's such a crazy left-field idea and I really want it to actually happen.

[luchaaa]

Hummmm Mipha and/or Revali 😦

Already did Mipha, so Revali it is!

Sexuality Headcannon: This guy is as homosexual as they come. I dont think i could find anymore more zesty than this guy if you held me at gunpoint

Gender Headcannon: cisgender

Ship w/ Character: Revalink, shocker, I know! They bring me so much comfort and pain and bliss and agony. I love how, together, they are forced to confront the traits that hold them back the most- how Revali’s blunt honesty really bats heads with the restraint that Link holds over his (lack of) personal opinion, how Link’s fated role highlights Revali’s insecurities surrounding his own usefulness and self worth, how, through these things and each other, they are able to slowly mend their cracks. They complement each other’s character in such an interesting way that allows room for so much nuance beyond simply ‘I cannot stand the sight of you.’ I also love myself some good old enemies to lovers, so I’m totally not biased. This ship really got me into appreciating bittersweet endings and the not-so-happily ever afters. (also… My guilty pleasure is flustered Revali. I will take every opportunity I have to make him panic on the spot and question his romantic choices. He keeps wondering where he went wrong.)

BROTP: I’ve already mentioned my love for Miphvali brotp in Mipha’s ask, so for this one I’ll talk about a pretty rare one I think: Harth. I’d like the think (in the situation that Revali does meet Harth) they would bond over bowcraft, and almost work as partners in a way through of it. Revali’s past exprience, with making his own, and multiple other, bows allowed him to form an appreciation for the visual aesthetic in the craft, a style completely different from modern Rito designs. Him and Harth would share drafts with one another, each finding ways to elevate the other through the combination of the two eras, creating designs that manage to transcend their time. While working in their now shared studio, Harth would inevitably be subject to Revali’s rantings about a whole bunch of things- about training Tulin at the range, or the progress of their latest bow, or maybe even a certain hylian (in the case of the latter, Harth would supply a level stare and say nothing, only giving him a look. This would shut Revali up very quickly.)

NOTP: Teba, Kass, etc, any of the adult rito npcs- gives me the ick. I’d see them more as older mentors (or in Teba’s case, a mentee), since I see Revali as being in a similar age group to Zelda/Link/Mipha. 

Random Headcannon: He loves to garden and tending to flowers but absolutely refuses to tell anyone, save Zelda, who shares his interest (though for different reasons; she likes to study their growth and use, while Revali finds simple pleasure in cultivating something through his own dedication and care). Vah Medoh’s surface was once an array of freshly bloomed flowers, sprinkled with buds on the verge of blossom. Whenever Zelda visits to study the Divine Beast, she always takes a few moments to walk along Medoh’s colorful wingspan, kneeling to feel the newly sprouted petals. Revali preens at the appreciation the princess holds for the aerial garden, that fact that each flower is chosen with careful consideration to ensure it would survive in such high altitudes not missed by her. 

General Opinion: I like him a totally normal amount :) *says this while visibly shaking*

[soulofapatrick]

Never Leave Me Tommy - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Part 5 of the Instant Attraction series. Tommy and Y/N spend your first day apart and well... Tommy realises he never wants you to leave him; the feeling being mutual

Words: 2.9k

Warning: Smut (p in v); overstimulation

Y/N’s POV

The bed is empty when I awake to the sunlight streaming in but there’s a messy scrawl of a note on the bedside table. Tommy got called on an emergency patrol as there’s apparently a bunch of infected that the original patrol need help with. I can’t not smile at the way he thought about leaving me a note even if he was in a rush as time is of the essence when patrol goes wrong - it was one of the first lessons Maria taught me. 

Tommy won’t be back for a while so it’s probably a good time to explore Jackson and try make some friends as Maria told me I should try and settle in, not just with the Miller brother and Ellie. She’s right. Annoyingly. So I pull my aching body from the soft sheets, finding my worn bra and some jeans to add to the boxers and shirt so I look somewhat decent and keeping my modesty. There’s socks in the top draw so I borrow a pair before trudging down the stairs, slipping into my boots before grabbing a jacket. It’s Tommy’s fleece lined jean jacket again, he must have left it for me. He’s such a damn sweetheart, I hope he’s okay out there. He better come back to me alive or I’m going to raise fucking hell. 

The settlement is loud and bustling despite the outbreak and I envy the community feel to it all, knowing they stare and whisper. The canteen is still open, luckily, so I grab a plate and help myself to a portion of breakfast before turning to find an empty space but every table has at least one person. Someone’s waving, he seems a little older than Ellie but I’ll take it as he’s not judging but offering me the empty seat opposite him so I weave through the tables until I’m there. 

“Y/N right?” His voice is oozing with southern charm but it’s not flirty like most and it definitely doesn’t fit his appearances. He’s obviously Asian American, I expected an American just not the amount of southern lilt to it and he seems to understand my surprise, “I was raised in South Carolina before my mum brought me and my younger brother here for sanctuary.” 

“Nice to meet you…” I trail off, he hasn’t said his name. 

“Jesse,” He holds out his hand politely so I reach over the table and shake it before digging into my food, “I’m seventeen if that’s going to be your next question.” So three years older than Ellie and three years younger than me. Exactly between our ages. He’s so easy to talk to, I love it, and I can just tell we’re going to be best friends. From the lopsided smile he sends me, he can sense it too, “So you and Tommy hit it off pretty quickly. I think everyones glad as he was starting to drive us all crazy.” 

“They seem more judgemental,” I reply quietly and he laughs lightly, a musical sound, “I guess that’s a given as I’m new?” 

“You did arrive with the famous Joel Miller that Tommy could not shut up about and that mouthy girl, Ellie.” Jesse points out and yeah, he has a fair point. I didn’t arrive to Jackson quietly, the way Joel and Tommy reunited in the town square and the way everyone could finally put a face to the name seeing as Tommy would not talking about Joel it seems. He really does love his older brother, Joel should know all those fears he had about Tommy not wanting to see him again were stupid and Tommy painted him like a hero. Joel is a hero even if he doesn’t see it. 

Jesse and I fall into a comfortable silence, eating breakfast and drinking the sweet orange juice that makes me think of before the outbreak. I haven’t hadn’t half of this food since the outbreak, the QZs not being generous with their food and then on the road, it was a miracle when we found canned goods like ‘Chef Boyardee’. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to eat like a starved animal as I don’t want to make more of a scene than I already am by being in the canteen. I want to spend every day from here on out, the sense of community a little overwhelming but it’s definitely something I could get used to. 

“Come on, I have inventory to do, you can join me.” Jesse stands once our plates are clean so I just nod and follow him, putting my plate and cutlery in the designated racks. It’s cold outside, Tommy’s jacket putting up a fight to keep me warm as we walk through the settling snow. It’s pretty, the snowflakes clinging to every surface as we head towards the small hut I saw a few days ago, curious about what it was. Guess I’m about to find out seeing as Jesse is pulling keys from his pocket and unlocking the door, holding it open for me to go first. As much as I trust Jesse my nerves are still fried so I just stand there, staring at him until he shrugs, “Understandable.” Stepping in first. I follow him to find myself in a small shed that is full of all types of weapons and ammo. 

Ellie would lose her fucking mind if she saw this room, the same reaction she had when seeing Bill’s armoury. Fucking nerd. She’s right though, all this is so fucking cool, I can’t help myself as I run my hands over every gun. The cool metal familiar under my rough fingertips, having been brought up to fight with any available weapon but the one thing I want the most is hidden away in the corner. A bow and quiver of arrows, they’re tucked away as if not touched for years which is fair enough as you’d have to be faster than a clicker grabbing the arrows and firing them. Guns are the ideal weapon for this post apocalyptic world but they’re calling me so I’m picking up the bow, feeling Jesse watching me. It’s a little old but still strong, the string still taut as I pull it back as if firing an arrow, it sings when I let it go and the sound is beautiful. I don’t know why people wouldn’t use bow and arrows when able to anymore. 

“Is it true you’re the Ghost?” Jesse asks, sitting on the table as he watches me with those dark eyes, no judgement or any emotion in them really, “I’ve heard stories but I don’t think you’re the antihero people paint you as. I’m guessing you did it out of love or loss. Only those two emotions can cause a reaction like…” He trails of, shrugging lightly. 

“Loss,” I mumble back, setting the bow back down and joining him at the table, eyes skimming over the notes laid out with the amounts of ammo and guns and what types there are. People’s names are next to some of them so I guess that’s for whoever they belong to or who uses them the most, “My older brother got infected and I had to look after my little brother.” 

“I’m sorry.” Again, no judgement or sympathy. Just words, “We should begin counting everything or Maria is gonna be annoyed. She’s already stressed about the recent influx of infected in the area recently. You can keep the bow and arrows by the way. Take them home with you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Nothing to thank me for.” 

*

It’s almost dark by the time Jesse and I are emerging from the mini armoury Jackson has. The bow and arrows are secure on my back, the weight of them being familiar like a weight I’ve missed. I wait for Jesse to lock the doors before we head towards the residential area of Jackson, the snow heavier now and ankle deep. It’s refreshing, the way it clings to Tommy’s coat and my hair and the way Jesse’s voice carries my way with the soft breeze. He’s telling me about his arrival in Jackson and making friends with Dina who is his girlfriend, she sounds like the girl Ellie yelled at when we arrived. Jesse laughs at it and confirms it is her, I must tell Ellie that then. 

“See you tomorrow Y/N.” Jesse hugs me when we stop outside of Tommy’s, surprising me so I barely have time to hug him back before he’s disappearing into the night with a grin and a wave. The lights are on in the house, meaning Tommy’s back from patrol, he’s probably tired as well so I try and be as quiet as I can when slipping inside. 

Tommy’s passed out on the couch, still in his patrol uniform so I take extra care with being silent. It comes natural to me, all those years creeping up on clickers and bloaters so he doesn’t even stir as I take my shoes and jacket off, setting the bow and quiver next to the door. I decide it’s my turn to cook so I lightly pad to the kitchen, stretching my tired shoulders until they pop before raiding the fridge. There’s bacon, milk, cheese which could be made into cheesy pasta if we have pasta and flour. Not infected flour. 

He stays asleep until the aroma of sizzling bacon and creamy cheese sauce fills the air, causing him to sit up with a soft groan. The sauce is bubbling happily away enough for me to leave it for a few minutes to check on him, having not seen him all day. I’m kneeling between Tommy’s legs, holding his face in my hands as I memorise the freckles smeared across that sun kissed skin, bringing my lips centimetres from his, “I missed you.” 

“Missed you too baby girl.” He mumbles back before closing the gap, his kiss soft and delicate, rough pads of his fingers holding my jaw in place. It’s different compared to other kisses we’ve shared and I could definitely get used to this, “I love you.” 

“I love you too Tommy,” I can’t hide the smile when I stand, him trailing after me to the kitchen. His arms wrap around my waist as I turn the bacon and stir the sauce and pasta, making sure nothing is burning, “Why don’t you get changed sweetheart, it’ll be ready by the time you come back down.” 

“Missed you.” He numbers into my neck again and I can’t stop the light laugh escaping me, even when he lets out a whine of protest, my heart melting even more. 

“I will be right here when you come back down.” I turn in his grip, holding his face in both hands once again and making him look me the eyes, tiredness and fear settled deep in the cognac of his gaze, “I promise.” 

He stares at me for a few seconds more before nodding once, pressing a kiss to my forehead and disappearing upstairs so I can grab us bowls and mix everything together before serving it up. By the time he comes back down I’m sat on the sofa with my bowl in hand and his on the table, waiting for him. He practically dives into the seat, sitting almost too close to me but I’m not gonna complain, I want everything Tommy has to offer me and it’s obvious the feelings are reciprocated. We don’t talk while we eat. We don’t have to. Each other’s company is enough until our bowls are empty and his lips are on my neck. 

Tommy’s grabbing my hands and guiding me upstairs, hands on my hips and lips leaving scorching heat over every bit of bare skin he can find walking me backwards until my legs hit the bed. I pull my shirt over my head, him doing the same before I lay back, watching the way Tommy climbs over me and his fingers trail up and down my body as if trying to map it out and remember it for future, just in case, “You’re so beautiful baby girl.” He murmurs, lips trailing down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans, popping the button with his nimble fingers and I lift my hips for him to slide them down, his boxers going with them until I’m bare. He kneels above me, taking me in and I try hard not to squirm away or cover myself as he seems to need this after the patrol today, the featherlight touches and bags under his eyes say it all, “How did I end up getting so lucky.” 

“I think it’s the curls.” I joke, watching the way his eyes crinkle in an amused smile before he’s leaning down and capturing my lips in a kiss that has me trying to follow his lips with my mind but his hands holding my shoulders down stops me. 

“If it’s my curls then no touching.” He growls in my ear, drawing a whimper from my parted lips before he’s sliding down so he’s between my legs. He wraps his arms around my thighs before burying his face in my weeping mound with no warning, my hands going for those curls but I have to stop myself, wrapping the sheets in my grip as my back arches into the thrusts his tongue begins. If he continues at this brutal pace I’m not going to last much longer, he’s dragging me closer and closer to the bliss with every moan he lets out against my sensitive clit as he eats me out like a starved man. My body acts on it’s own as I ride out the bliss but it stops suddenly, dragging an anguished cry from me and my eyes flying open to see my hand is in Tommy’s hair. 

Fuck. 

He’s got a smirk on his lips, glistening with my arousal as he pulls my hand out of his hair and stands. I whine, hips rocking down onto nothing, needing him to get me there. He just watches, eyes almost black and blown wide as his voice comes out low and strained, as if he’s struggling to hold himself away from me, “What did I say baby girl.” 

“N-no touching. Baby please.” I’m practically a blubbering mess, needing him, and I should be embarrassed but the way he licks his lips has me far from it, “I need you.” 

It’s like his restraint snaps as he’s climbing back over me, lining himself up and pushing to the hilt in one quick move. It has my nails dragging down his back as he catches that sweet spot with the first thrust, my back arching up and my eyes rolling into the back of my head. My mind blanks out and I’m chanting his name like a prayer as I clench around him as I ride out my orgasm, the shock of it tensing even muscle in my body. Tommy just holds me close, thumb soothing over my cheek and hips twitching as he tries to stay still until I’m coming down, voice soft and wrecked as he practically begs, “One more baby girl.” 

He’s waiting for my consent despite being balls deep and I’m nodding, not trusting I’ll be coherent if I try and talk. My body can’t decide if it wants to try and scramble away from the quick thrusts or move into them, a cry escaping me when he begins to circle my now oversensitive clit. It has me trying to scoot away from him as my body reacts with both pain and pleasure but his tight grip on my hip holds me in place as he grazes his teeth across my neck and collarbone. I’m letting out dirty sounds, barely able to hear them as all I can focus on is the way he fucks me raw, another building orgasm making itself known, my walls fluttering around him. My ankles lock up around his hips as he lets out a beautiful sound, my name falling between it and he’s filling me up. The feeling alone has me clamping tightly around him, milking his dry as I practically yell in pure ecstasy. Tommy’s caressing my hair as I slowly come back down, whispering about how much he loves me and how good I am just for him. It has me pulling him closer, blushing furiously at the chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“Bed.” He nudges me up, neither of us wanting to part, having been one after a long day apart. He manages to roll us onto our sides so we’re facing each other, my legs unwinding from his waist as he pulls the duvet up. I should care about the sweat or the mess leaking out around his softening dick but I can’t because it’s Tommy and he’s all encompassing and everything I’ve ever wanted or needed. This is the future I want.  

“Never leave me Tommy.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

-----------

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five

------------

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[fashionablyiconic]

Let's Talk

Hey gang...it's been a while...again...

There are some 31,000 of you following this blog and so I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation for my lack of posting.

In short, it's getting really hard for me to post. Vogue now uses a paywall for their photos, I don't really have the resources to make original content, and quite frankly my life has been hella busy.

This blog has been a part of my life SINCE MIDDLE SCHOOL! Together, we have gone through my high school graduation, university, Covid, finishing university, and being out in the real world. I don't talk a whole bunch about myself but maybe I should:

Hi! My name is Alexa. I'm based in Calgary, Canada. I am a writer and an actor. I'm literally in the middle of a run for my first-ever self-produced show that I'm really proud of.

I have Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I take meds and they help me a lot. I'm not ashamed of any of this.

I have a degree in Drama with a minor in Women's Studies (a.k.a Gender and Sexuality Studies) and I would like to get my master's one day.

I love Iris Van Herpen and think that Zuhair Murad is overrated as all hell.

I enjoy running this blog and it's been a part of my life for a really long time but it's getting harder and harder to prioritize this blog over everything else in my life. This is due to time restraints, barriers to accessing content to post, and the little to no money I make from this blog. I'm not asking for money...I'd love some but hey...don't we all. I'm certainly not the one who needs it the most.

So what happens now?

I don't know. I'm not shutting down the blog any time soon. I just might become really sporadic about when I post.

I'm still very passionate about fashion and adore the art form but I just can't always express that.

So yeah. I love you all dearly.

I'm a little more active on my personal @arthoewiththesocks

Thanks.

[queen-scribbles]

bound, break, skin for Jaaide and maybe also AJ?

Ohoho, these two are both excellent for these questions. :3

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Jaaide was imprisoned by the Castellan Restraints(inflicted by her own people :) ), and then there's the five years in carbonite thanks to Arcann, and briefly, technically, captured by Heta's forces on Ruhnuk. The Castellan Restraints left mental scars after she reconditioned herself, there haven't been any long term effects from the carbonite, but she did deal with nausea for a while immediately after Lana freed her(and sometimes forgets how old she is bc those 5 years feel like they "don't count"; she has to do the "What year is it? And I was born in...? Making me...." math). Nothing even short term from the Ruhnuk one bc of how fast Rass saved her neck.

AJ was captured by Murphy in book 1, wriggled herself free before running into Unit Bravo, and she has a deep-seated fear of being retrained now, as well as the bite scars on the side of her neck. (Also some lingering trauma from watching him beat Nate unconscious. No, knowing about vampire superhealing--and that Nate's is extra good--does not help)

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Jaaide it's one of two things: either failing at her long-term goal of bringing down the Empire and seeing that everything she's spent a decade working and sacrificing toward that end was for nothing or losing Theron. Whether that's death-type losing Theron or she says/does something that makes him turn on her for real. There was a taste of the latter during the Fractured Alliances arc; she takes insomniac workaholic to a whole new level, is half a step from a complete non-functioning wreck. Theron's seen her at her lowest bc.... well, he didn't put her there but he def rubbed salt in the wound. Her lowest was post-Onslaught, when a whole bunch of civilians died bc she said the wrong thing and didn't talk Darth Krovos out of bombing Corellia. Add Theron yelling at her for something she already felt massively guilty over(one of their only real fights. :)))) ) and that was probably the lowest she's gotten.

AJ it would be failing to protect someone, especially someone she cares about a lot. She felt horribly guilty when Bobby got sick in b2 and she kinda loathes him; if something horrible happened to, say, Nate or Felix or her mum in a scenario where it's even 3% possible for her to blame herself, she's gonna break down. Lots of tears, streaky red face bc she's an ugly crier, either self-imposed exile bc she just gets people hurt OR driving herself unreasonably hard to set it right. Like, we're talking almost-killing-herself hard. Adam needs to have a talk with her hard. Her lowest point so far is when she was crying over the missing posters in b3, so no one saw her, but she called Nate, so he heard her, if that counts.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

They're both pretty comfortable in their skin. You could say Jaaide grapples with what she knows she's capable of; the rage that tore Vinn Atrius to (figurative) shreds for trying to kill Theron, the manipulation that's turned people against their own families, but she knows just bc she's capable of those things doesn't mean she's going to use them.

AJ doesn't have anything(yet? there are some hints for book 4 that are 👀), and I don't think either of them's truly had to face the worst version of themselves yet. And I don't think AJ would be able to acknowledge it without facing it. She knows she's not perfect, but idk how she'd handle the absolute worst version of herself.

Not So Nice Asks