#that's all fine and dandy but what happens when all of those are on the same person

[wafflexdguy]

Powering Off.

It's a normal day!

Until it isn't.

A Vee x Reader.

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Side note: look up what happens when pressure builds up and you'll realize what happened.

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When Gardenview closed down, the Toons stook together. Because they were all they had left. You were among those Toons. An Unnamed character that somehow got popular enough to get your own Toon for a one-off occasion. The anniversary of Gardenview opening. 

It was lucky enough that you were able to come into existence. You chose your own name, one that you felt you were comfortable with. 

You got along with the other Toons just fine, the one that you interacted with anyway. Dandy, Astro, Vee, Goob, Scraps... You've met some of the Toons, but all of them were aware of your existence in some capacity. You don't know most of the other Toons on a personal level either. Which was fine, you kind of liked being alone anyway. You were used to it. 

You got along with Vee pretty well. You hang out with her a lot, and she seems to enjoy your presence. You don't really go on her gameshows though, just kind of participate in the crowd. She's invited you a few times to host with her, which you accepted. 

...Until she revoked your second invitation because you made too many jokes. 

It annoyed her, but you two never stopped hanging out. It was weird in a way; the loner hangs out with the extrovert all the time. 

Funny.

Eventually, you found Vee in her room practicing for her next gameshow, reading over questions, practicing which tone she'll be using, putting in the whole nine yards for a small audience. You decided to interrupt her practice. 

"Salutations, Vee." You formally greeted, which grabbed the televisions attention. She smiled when her digital eyes landed on you, walking up to you. 

"Greetings to my #1 contestant!" She put her hands behind her back. "What can I do for you today?"

You smiled as you put your hands behind your back. "Well, I was just hoping I could stick around and watch you practice your show."

She perked up, smiling brighter. "Actually, I have a better idea." She went over to a box, digging through it as you looked at her quizzically. After a moment or two she popped back up with a microphone that wasn't attached to her tail in hand.

"How about you be a practice contestant?" She offered. "Not a real contestant in front of crowds, but as practice, without all the crowds."

You hesitated. Vee noticed and quickly dialed back. "Unless you don't want to, no pressure." She tried to play off cooly. After a moment, you grabbed the microphone from her hand.

"I don't see any harm in it." 

Vee gave a toothy smile. "Great!" She quickly waltzed on over to a crate and stood on top of it. After one robotic clearing of the throat (ignoring that she doesn't have one) she acted as if a spotlight had just shunned down on her and grabbed her microphone. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Today we have one of our most exciting gameshows yet!" She dramatically exclaimed, one hand up in the air and the other holding the microphone up to her face. "And today, as one of our contestants, we have the one, and only...!" 

She said your name as if you were a celebrity. Something she did with all the contestants, but this time she said yours with more vigor. You dramatically waved to the non-existent audience.

"Thank you, thank you! Glad to be here." You attempted to lean on the non-existent podium, only to fall flat on our face.

Vee let out a snort. "Clearly one of our smarter contestants too." She joked.

"Shut up..." You muttered. She let out a robotic giggle as she jumped down from her crate and walked over to you, offering a hand to which you accepted. "Thanks."

"No problem," she offered a smile, "you okay?" She questioned cautiously, still retaining a small smirk. 

You nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Let's get back to practicing, yeah?" 

Vee shrugged, but you can tell she was still slightly worried. "If you insist." She waltzed back on over to the crate and climbed back on top of it. In a single moment, she was back in character, giving the confident smirk and a hand on her hip. 

"Question one:" She started, "How many legs does a lobster have?"

Finn usually gives off fish facts... a bit too often whenever he isn't making puns about them. Or even when he's giving puns about them. Either way, you know he's mentioned this once or twice.

"Ten." You confidently answer. Vee digs around in her bowtie, pulling out a card and reading over it for a moment. He screen turns into a checkmark as she gives a thumbs up.

"Ding ding ding! Correct!" She tosses the card behind her without a second thought. "That's 5 points to the contestant that answered first!" You let out a small chuckle as she got more and more into the act.

"Second question: What is a Deodar?" Vee questioned, raising her microphone towards you as you tried to think of a reasonable answer. The only thing you could come up with is a brand of deodorant.

"A.... Deodorant?" You guessed. Like clockwork, Vee pulls out a card from her bowtie once again and reads over it. 

A red 'X' flashes on her screen. She imitates a buzzer sound. "Sorry! Unfortunately, that's incorrect." She gives a weak smile. "The correct answer was a large Evergreen tree!"

You slightly beat yourself up for getting that wrong. Obviously the first thing you think of when 'deodar' comes up is 'deodorant'. You don't show it though and allow Vee to continue, only letting out a small 'dang' as a response to the failed question.

Vee discards the second card. "Third question:" Vee's toothy grin is now apparent and more obvious. "This one's a doozy," Vee commented, "Where in the human body would you find the medulla oblongata?"

"Oh!" A third voice enters the fray. "Is it in the brain?"

You look over to where the voice came from: Scraps appearing into your view as she smiles innocently. Vee's once happy go lucky attitude and expression evaporates into air as she quickly rummages through her bowtie, retrieving the card and quickly reading it over.

Vee glares at Scraps. "Of course you got that one right..." Vee mutters, clearly seething. You just tilted your head.

"How'd you get that one?" You questioned, not noticing Vee slightly fuming on top of the crate. 

Scraps just shrugged. "Just a lucky guess."

Vee rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms. "It's always a lucky guess." Vee grumbles as she hops down from her crate. "What do you want, Scraps?" She asks, unamused by the sudden intrusion. 

"Oh, right!" Scraps perks up. "Glisten wanted me to go get you for something, he didn't tell me what it was."

"Of course he does." Vee mutters something about 'breaking another microphone' and starts to move past Scraps, not even sparing a glance. 

"Are you mad at me?" Asked Scraps.

"Yes." Vee simply replies.

"Oh." 

Vee exits the room with you not too far behind her. You quickly catch up to her, looking at her quizzically trying to figure out what she was mad about.

"So," You started, "what was all of that about?" You tried to not come off as demanding when saying that, or rude. She just looks over to you briefly and sighs. 

"Scraps always 'guesses' my questions correctly." She explains. "Doesn't matter how hard it is, or how dumb it is, she always gets it right!" She yells angrily, throwing her hands up in the air as she continues to walk with you by her side.

"Which two months of the year are named for mortal men?" She questions, not towards you but more of an imitation. "Oh, July and August!" She answers herself; imitating Scraps voice. 

"Cows produce 3% less milk when listening to what kind of music?" She presses forward. "Country music?"

Vee lets out a small, frustrated grunt. "It's always her getting the right answer, no matter how hard the questions are, it's like clockwork that she guesses them correctly, every. Single. Time." She facepalms herself. "It's just more annoying than infuriating, at this rate I'm going to lose all of my prizes to give out to contestants." 

You pat her on the back. "Hey, that lucky streak can't keep going on forever." You attempt to reassure her. "And you'll get her eventually." 

Vee perks up at that. She smiles softly.  "Thanks, bonehead. I appreciate that."

"Bonehead, huh?" You smile. "Was that for failing the 'deodar' question?" 

Vee scrambles herself as she attempts to correct herself. "Er- No! It wasn't meant as-"

"Kidding, kidding. I know what you meant." You stick your tongue out at her. Vee composes herself as she chuckles.

"You're the worst, you know that?" You only giggle in response.

"So I've been told."

Both of you were interrupted by a sudden rumbling sound coming from the next room. The old playroom of Gardenview. Well, it's more of a library, but the kids never treated it like that, they always ran around even when they weren't supposed to. Both of you look at each other confused as the rumbling continues. 

You're the first one to speak up. "Uh, should we go check that out?" Vee looks back at the room. It wasn't anything out of a horror movie, the place was still well lit. No real sense of danger other than the rumbling sound.

"I don't see why not." Vee answers, beginning to walk over towards the library with you in tow. 

The room looked well kept; most likely by Dandy, who hasn't stopped trying to keep the place neat and tidy ever since the place closed down. The rumbling in the room, unfortunately couldn't be pinned down to one location, which annoyed both you and Vee. 

"Of course it's never easy..." Vee mutters, looking around briefly to try and track down the source of the noise. She taps her foot as her tail sways around, occasionally flicking around as Vee's frustration grows higher.

"Hey," She grabs your attention as you look inside a room -not entering it-, looking at you. "Maybe it would be easier if we split up. Just to cover more ground." She clarifies. 

"You sure?" You ask to confirm. Vee nods and you take that as your cue to look around, Vee briefly following behind you before splitting to look for the source of the noise. 

You don't have much luck. You see a few machines here an there, almost as if they're containers for something, but they're empty. So whatever was supposed to be in there, you won't know for now. 

Your search stops as you come across a poster. Usually featuring the Toons that are more prevalent in the show, but this one shows you; the one from the Gardenview anniversary. It describes you- What would have been you if the lawsuits hadn't come up. You sigh solemnly as you realize what you could have probably had. 

Too late to do anything about it now, though. 

you continue to walk around for a bit, coming across of fan mail directed towards the Toons. You find some that feature Astro, Dandy, Sprout, Cosmo... It was good times. Of course, you were only there in spirit, just kind of watching it unfold because corporate wanted you to stay hidden until the big reveal on anniversary day. But still, good times.

"Hey!" A robotic voice cuts through your reminiscing. "Think I found it."

You look to where the voice is, and It's Vee poking her head out from behind a bookshelf. You immediately walk over to her.

"You found it?"

Vee nods, gesturing her head towards the sound. "Yeah, turns out it's this-"

...

She doesn't get the time to finish her sentence as whatever she was gesturing towards exploded, sending what you could make out to be glass shards, mechanical parts and a black liquid. Ichor.

It sends her flying back, hitting a nearby table. You yell her name as you immediately rush towards her, sliding on your knees as you try to assess her situation. Her situation being that nothing seemed damaged or injured, but the unsettling amount of Ichor that she's covered in is unsettling. 

"Holy- Are you okay?!" You ask, grabbing her hand. She sits up slightly as she rubs her head.

"Yeah- I think?" She stands up as she shakes off the Ichor off her off hand. "What the hell was that?!" She yells, looking over to where the explosion happened. You look over too, seeing what was one of those machines earlier, except now mangled and broken beyond repair. 

She huffs. "Stupid fricking machine." She mutters, attempting to shake off the Ichor, with only partial success. "Ugh, I'm going to have to get Tisha to help me out with this. And I have a show coming up in a few days and this happens."

You don't get any Ichor on you when she waves her arm again trying to get the Ichor off, to no success, this time seemingly sticking like glue. Vee lets out a disgusted sound as she just dangles her arm there, with the goop slicking down like a weird slime. 

You sigh. "Well, hey; go check up with Tisha and get yourself cleaned up, m'kay? I'll go to Glisten on your behalf to save you the trouble, sound good?"

Vee looks at you, then her arm. With a sigh, she nods slowly. You give her a thumbs up and then make your way to the exit of the library. 

...

Was she supposed to be feeling sick?

-Pretend like I put a really smooth transition here wooooooooo-

Glisten didn't want much, only to show off to Vee that he built his own stage and seats out of an old room, much to Dandy's annoyance, who was off to the side with his hands behind his back. You didn't really care much for it, and you knew Vee wouldn't either if she was here. 

Glisten was disappointed that you were the one that got to witness his show-off, but nonetheless, here you are. 

As you walk away from the (rather loud and long) lecture about how to 'properly set up a stage', you come across Tisha. Who was walking way with a trash bag of... Something, you couldn't tell what it was from a glance. 

"Oh, hey, Tisha." You wave to her, immediately grabbing her attention. She waves back as she calls your name back happily. You walk up to her with a friendly smile weary with exhaustion.

"How's Vee?" You quickly ask, hoping for the best. 

She smiles wide in return. "Oh, she's doing great! Came to me covered in Ichor though and it was... really hard to get off..." She drifts her eyes to the trash bag, holding it up slightly. It's only now that you're noticing her hands are covered with Ichor. 

"Really hard getting it off." She repeats. "But I did it! I was just going to throw this out but... She looked like she was about to throw up."

You stiffen up at that. 

"Strange because she doesn't have... Y'know, a mouth to throw up from?" She comments, putting a hand up to her chin. "She said that she was going to her room if you wanted to go see her."

You recompose yourself. "I'll go do that. Thanks for the help, Tisha!" You wave off as you walk away. She waves you away as she goes out to take out the trash. 

You power walk your way to Vee's room. You figured her feeling sick was due to her colliding with the table from the explosion. Speaking of, you should probably go let Dandy know that the library was now considered a hazard due to that. 

You sigh, either way, you'll go help her. It's the least you can do; you figure; for being such a good friend.

As you make your way to Vee's room, you considered just walking on in like you always do, but... For some reason you felt like this time you should knock. Just out of respect.

As you do, you hear a weak 'doors open'. You gently open the door.

"Vee? You okay?"

Vee immediately perks up from her bed, looking over at you with a weak smile. "Hey, good to see you again!" 

"It's only been a few hours." You joke, leaving Vee chuckling nervously. 

"Yeah... It's just..." Vee pauses. "What's that look for?" 

You point at her. "Your eyes and antennae are different." You point out. Confused, Vee grabs a mirror and looks at herself, immediately noting the enlarged antennae and red dots in her eyes. 

"That's..." She pauses, "New."

"The unsettling kind of new." You finish, walking up to her and sitting beside her as she continues to inspect herself. She flicks at her antennae and makes other gestures with her face to see if the red glint will go away. None of her attempts work.

You clutch the bed. "How're you feeling?"

She looks back at you, trying to come up with the right words. "How do you describe it...? It feels like my stomachs twisting." She describes for you, leaving you giving a weak chuckle.

"And you don't even have a stomach."

"That's not funny."

"I know."

"This shouldn't be happening..." She stresses. "I shouldn't feel like I'm sick, I-I'm mechanical." You put a hand up to your chin, attempting to think of an answer to that problem.

You come up with something. "Did you download a virus?"

"I'll show you a virus-!" Vee jolts towards you, raising a fist before quickly catching herself. You flinch back, throwing your hands up in defense. Vee backs up from you, trying to give you space to feel more at ease.

"Sorry- I don't-" She keeps cutting herself off. "I don't know why I did that."

You start to get up. "I should go get Rodger, he might know what's going on with you." You start to walk towards the exit, only for Vee to grab onto your wrist. 

"W-Wait! Don't!" She pleads. "Don't leave me alone like this, please..." 

Your pupils dilate. "V-Vee... Your stomach."

She looks down at herself.

...

Taking the saying 'your stomach will eat itself' too literally here, Ichor begins to leak from her stomach region. 

She immediately panics, screaming as she attempts to cover her wounds with her hands, to no avail. You immediately grab her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.

"What's happening to me?!" She quickly grabs your arms, her grip probably could cut off blood flow if you had any. 

You stutter as you attempt to come up with a cohesive answer to what was happening to her. "I- I don't know! I don't know h-how to..." Your hands were shaking. You knew this wasn't normal; there's just no way. 

"I- I'll go find someone; I'll go get help-" You failed to do so as Vee adjusted her grip onto your wrists.

"Don't! P-Please don't leave me here alone!" Digital tears flow from the digital eyes as they look at you pleadingly. You're panicking. You don't know what to do, what you could do.

"Vee, I don't- I don't know how to fix this!" You manage to get words out. "I have to go get help; I can't do anything by myself right now..."

You try to think of a temporary solution. 

"Count to 100 for me."

Her trembling gaze looks at you confused. 

"I have to go, count to 100 and I promise I'll be back by then, okay?"

Hesitantly and weakly, she nods. She lets go of your wrists and you immediately run to go find some help. She does as you say.

"One...

Two...

Three...

Four....

Five..."

'Why does it feel like my body is tearing itself apart?' She wonders through pained sobs.

"Six...

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

Ten..."

'Why does it have to hurt so much...?' She thinks despite agonizing moments.

"Eleven...

Twelve...

Thirteen...

Fourteen...

Fifteen..."

'Please...'

"Seventeen...

Eighteen..."

'Somebody...'

"Nineteen...

...Twenty...

Help me..."

[bunnyboy-juice]

im so fucking tired of seeing ppl say "i love bigger ppl" "bigger women" "bigger butches" "bigger femmes" "bigger dykes" - like y'all know you can say fat right. y'all know its not unethical to be attracted to fat ppl enthusiastically right? y'all know fat isnt a fucking slur right?????

[sunflowerwinds]

gentle touch | s.a

summary: you take care of sevika, jinx, and isha after the fight with vi and caitlyn. sevika, for the first time in a long time, breaks down when you remind of her that it’s okay to let go.

pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane

contains: established relationship, fluff, angst, sevika needs a BREAK!, reader and sevika are lowkey parents now.

word count: 2.4K

a/n: i know i said yesterday i would post this but IT NEEDED SOME TWEAKING! i promise the next sevika oneshot will probably be smut but fluff was all that brain felt like writing <3

You had a gut feeling that Jinx’s plan would end badly. Even with Sevika’s repeated reassuring you that everything would fall into place and you two could finally have some peace in your lives, your strong intuition haunted your thoughts.

Oh, how you hated how right you were.

Jinx and Sevika burst through you and Sevika’s shared apartment with that small golden-eyed child, Isha. She was clinging onto Jinx’s leg, clearly infatuated with the deranged blue-haired girl. Your eyes lock on her fluffy head of head then those big innocent eyes of hers, noticing a little cut on her cheek. She whimpered as she followed Jinx into the apartment space, the elder of the two grumbling nonsense to herself.

Sevika's exposed skin was littered with scrapes and bruises, her chest rising and falling slowly. Your eyes shot to her exhausted figure, worry settling in your bones. You had almost forgotten about Jinx until you saw it out of the corner of your eye; her entire middle finger was gone.

Straight to the bone.

The empty space between her pointer and ring finger nearly made you gag out of discomfort. The overwhelming distress of needing to take care of the three had you lightheaded but you pushed through.

“Jesus,” was the first thing you said, walking up to Sevika’s towering figure to wrap your arms around her neck.

Your girlfriend tenses for a moment at the tackle of a hug she was receiving but recovered quickly. Her claw arm stayed by her side as her other found its home at your waist, pulling you in with a long sigh.

“What happened?” You mutter against her neck before pulling away to cradle her blue scarred cheek.

“The kid got in the way is what happened,” Jinx spoke up before Sevika could say anything as she trudged over to sink and twisted the tap, running her open wound under it with a wince.

Your eyes lock with Isha who is now staring at you and Sevika. You muster a weak smile for the child, turning back to your injured girlfriend.

Her eyes seemed… distant.

“Hey, Sev, baby?” Your voice is low, trying to get her attention.

The familiar gray of her eyes focuses on your own, blinking before shaking her head.

“We’re fine,” she dismisses.

Jinx scoffed from the sink. “And what do you call losing a finger? Just dandy, huh?”

Sevika had clear frustration written all over her features at the sound of Jinx’s voice, releasing your waist to trudge over to the couch. You watch her carefully as she reaches for the green bottle of liquor she often brought from the Last Drop and takes a huge swig of it.

You knew how defeated she must feel. Hit after hit; mission after mission. She was worn down and she attempted to hide it from you constantly. Her heavy eyes and dark circles underneath were a given to her clear exhaustion. She would get slightly irritable but kept it under control around you as you weren’t afraid of her as most were.

You were afraid for her.

“Sev, can you sit down? You’re bleeding.” You point to the cushions, brushing a few of your flyaways out of your face. “Don’t huff at me either. I’m not letting you rest until you get cleaned up.”

Without another huff or grunt, she does as she’s told. You hurry to your bathroom, rummaging underneath the sink in there to grab the necessities for the three girls. As you stood up on your bare feet and glanced at the doorway, there stood Isha with wide and curious eyes.

Your heart couldn’t help but soften at the sight of her little hat tipping as she was trying to watch what you were doing.

“You got a little hurt too, huh?” You question.

Isha simply stares at you, looking at the medical supplies in your hands. She was probably unaware of the droplets of blood on her skin.

“C’mon. Gotta get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” you jerk your chin back to the room where the other two were.

The child follows as you walk past her, her small boots hitting the wooden floors. Jinx was leaning against the countertop, simply staring at the missing digit. Isha immediately stumbles over to the equally exhausted Jinx, resting her head on her upper thigh and shutting her eyes in relief. You noticed Jinx’s pale back rise in tension for a split second before relaxing when realizing it was just the adorable child.

Her innocence was admirable yet worrisome.

You walk over to your girlfriend as you set the supplies down in front of you, sighing at her injuries.

“Sev, talk to me,” you frown at her zoned-out look.

“I should’ve left her here with you,” Sevika lets out an irritated sigh, rubbing at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger.

“Isha?” You question as you pour a bit of alcohol on a rag.

“Who else? She ran in the middle of everything. Got right there in between Vi and Jinx. If I wasn’t distracted with that little enforcer of Vi’s, I would’ve been able to keep an eye on the kid.”

As Sevika explained the situation to you, you carefully cleaned the scrapes of her arm and abdomen. The muscles underneath your palms flexed at the feeling of the alcohol seeping into the injuries. Your eyes followed down her toned arm, landing on the teeth imprints on the space between her pointer finger and thumb.

“Did that enforcer bite you?” Your brows furrow as you take her large hand into your smaller one in disbelief.

Sevika nods to confirm, noticing your tense expression.

“It doesn’t hurt if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You give a pointed look before shaking your head as you continue to wipe up the dried-up blood. She sucked in a sharp breath when you placed a hand on her upper chest, now inviting yourself onto her lap. Your thighs press against hers as you now tend to her face. Any other day you would’ve jumped her bones but everything in you just wanted to make sure she was okay.

Her hard eyes slowly soften as you lean in close to wipe the blood off of her sculpted face. She watched your every move, holding back the urge to litter your face in kisses. Staring at the curves of your lips to the little marks on the natural beauty of your face.

And she almost acts on that very urge until Isha takes her attention off of you tending to her as she hops up onto the couch. She holds back the grumble itching in her throat as you shift your attention to the child.

You grin sweetly at Isha’s awaiting expression. “Alright, Goldie. Come here. Let’s clean your face up.”

Her own small smile breaks onto her face as she scoots in closer to you, her much smaller knee bumping into Sevika’s. You lift your rag and dab it over the dried blood, watching it disappear from her freckled skin. Once you are focused on Isha’s minuscule scrape, Sevika’s palm reaches up to hold your exposed waist from leaning over on Sevika’s lap.

You ignore it for your own sake, sucking in a deep breath as you sit back up on her large lap. Cupping her adorable face and rubbing a thumb over the little cut before tracing the outline of her round face.

“See? Good as new.”

Isha holds onto her hat as she releases a soft giggle underneath her breath. Her big eyes glance at Sevika who furrows her brows in confusion at the child’s stare.

In the blink of an eye, Isha’s small arms throw themselves around Sevika’s neck and squeezes herself in between you and Sevika’s torso. You usually would scold anyone about having their dirty shoes on the furniture but watching Sevika’s panicked expression at Isha's affection was more important in that moment.

“Seems like she has a new favorite, Jinx,” you tease the blue-haired girl.

There was silence. You look up to see Jinx slumped against the countertop, face smushed into the surface as soft noises of slumber leave her mouth.

“Alright, kid.” Sevika patted her back as a signal for Isha to release her.

She refused; in fact, she even snuggled her small face into the crook of Sevika’s neck. Your girlfriend looked to you for help but you simply smiled, standing up from her lap. You lean forward to kiss her cheek before pointing to Jinx’s clearly worn-out figure.

“I’m going to wrap Jinx’s hand and I’ll take her to our room so she can sleep.”

Sevika opened her mouth for a moment but kept still on the couch as Isha kept herself seated on her torso and small arms clinging onto her neck. You try to hurry and take Jinx’s slim hand, wincing at the sight of the open wound but carefully wrap it before her reflexes kick in.

You didn’t want to lose a finger yourself.

“I’ll take her to bed,” Sevika’s gruff voice comes from behind you.

You jump at the sound, wondering how you didn’t even hear her get up from the couch. You turn to face her and hold back your smile at the sight of Isha still clinging onto her, her new mechanic claw arm holding her up.

“Are you sure?” You question, taping the wrap down.

Sevika nodded curtly and leaned down slightly to give you a gentle kiss onto your lips. You chase after her lips as you realize how much you have missed that feeling of her lips on your own. Her eyes couldn’t keep off of your own as she easily lifted Jinx’s figure and threw her over her shoulder.

You two share a look as you glance at Isha’s now asleep figure. Sevika carefully hands her tiny body over to you, making sure she is still sound asleep. You and Sevika make your way to the bedroom, your hand cradling Isha’s head and watching Jinx’s limp figure over your girlfriend’s shoulder.

As much as you enjoyed seeing Sevika be so attentive to the scrappy girl who she claimed she wasn’t fond of, you were worried about what was flooding through her brain. Once Sevika sets Jinx down on the mattress, you walk around her to set Isha down right next to her. Sevika stands right next to the bed, examining the two sleeping soundly.

“You can lay down too, Sev,” you hum, reaching for her forearm.

Sevika was silent before turning her head to look at your gentle touch on her scathed arm. You watch her brows furrow as she turns to your body, her broad shoulders relaxing. She lets you grab her hand to lead around to the other side of your bed. She steadily sits down, grunting at an ache that shoots up her spine.

You follow her movements and find your place snuggled next to her warm body. Her head turned to you and fell forward to place her forehead on your chest, her arms wrapping around your torso.

“I just… need you here for a bit,” Sevika admits as she inhales your scent that she missed so dearly.

You frown at the near whine in her voice as her grip on you tightens as if you were going to leave if she did. Sevika was rarely as vulnerable as she was at this moment with you. After Silco’s death, Sevika had to take over everything — not like she wasn’t doing most of his dirty work for him when he was alive. She didn’t have a her and it was draining the life out of her slowly.

“I’m not leaving, baby. I promise,” you tell her with consideration of her sensitive state.

“I said I would get us out of this.” Sevika begins and you shake your head, shutting down whatever bullshit was going to come out of her mouth.

“I want to be in this if it's with you, okay? Sev, I can see how tired you are, my love. You won’t let yourself rest and I can’t stand to see you slowly wearing yourself down like this.”

You lift your hand to take the elastic that was holding up half of her hair out, running your fingers through the strands on her tender scalp. Sevika lets out a shaky breath, clinging onto you tighter.

“I don’t want you worrying about me,” she huffs, voice wavering. “I can handle it.”

You sigh as you cradle the back of her head, sucking in a deep breath as your eyes fill to the brim with hot tears.

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to handle it alone. You already do everything on your own, baby.”

Sevika’s breathing was growing heavier and stronger, giving away how rapidly her emotions were taking over. The second Sevika lifted her head up to look into your eyes, you saw a single tear leave the corner of hers.

The clear pain on her face triggered your own tears that were building up in your eyelids to fall slowly. You shakily cupped the side of her face, watching her eyes shut at the feeling.

“I’m so tired,” she sighed, leaning into your touch.

You nod as you swipe away the streak, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know, Sev. I know,” you whisper. “You can sleep, baby.”

Sevika huffs out a slow breath, trying to regain control of her intense exhaustion taking over. Her beautiful gray eyes flutter shut, allowing herself to lean into you. You welcome her with nothing but love. You attempt to regulate your tears as you place a kiss onto her forehead.

“I love you,” you whisper onto the skin.

Sevika's arms relax around your waist, adjusting it so that Jinx’s creation wouldn’t be poking into your lower back. You knew the phrase was overwhelming for Sevika so you agreed to say it when you deemed it was absolutely necessary.

In the crook of your neck, she mutters: “I love you.”

You couldn’t help the next few tears falling from your face at her breaking voice.

She felt safe enough with you. Vulnerability was a struggle with Sevika but when she was able to release the worries of seeming weak, timid, a failure; you were so immensely proud of her.

You glance over at the two other girls who were sound asleep in the bed. Isha’s small hand held onto one of Jinx’s long braids and Jinx’s mouth was slightly ajar as her limbs were curled up into her body.

The steady beat of you and Sevika’s hearts matching with one another’s helps the two of you fall into a deep sleep.

TAGLIST: @breezy-sapphic @fict1onallyobsessed @fandomnana @cewl-casper @lovinglynny @archangeldyke-all

[eccentricallygothic]

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time. 

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her. 

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur. 

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you. 

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request. 

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down. 

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this. 

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this. 

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself. 

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses. 

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness. 

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him. 

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…” 

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought. 

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head. 

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave? 

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it. 

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did. 

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental. 

And so you want him. 

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging. 

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact. 

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart. 

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.” 

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin. 

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg. 

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink. 

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper. 

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this. 

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling. 

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end. 

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals. 

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice. 

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth. 

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin. 

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.” 

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get. 

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.” 

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place. 

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you. 

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight. 

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other. 

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow. 

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place. 

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.  

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

[tobiasdrake]

Another fun tidbit from the novel is the counting system. This is one of my favorite elements, because it goes to show how things were already a fucking disaster before Nedry's sabotage ever even happened. Jurassic Park is, by narrative design, a shithole of the worst techbro bullshit you've ever heard.

JP's systems were all created blindly. Hammond underpaid contractors to make the systems that he wanted without telling them anything about what the systems would be used for. Then he had to spend money flying them out to the park when inevitably nothing fucking worked right.

The goal was complete automation. Ideally, they'd be able to run this park with minimal human staff, because human staff require paychecks. To that end, the park was full of complex systems designed to run things in place of human personnel.

(This is why the tour cars have no drivers and just run on a track. Hammond isn't dishing out money for contextually responsive tour guides who can answer questions and direct visitors! The he'd have to pay salaries!)

One of those systems was the counting system. Its job was to make sure that the animal populations remained stable. The way it works is that it periodically takes a headcount.

If there's supposed to be thirteen velociraptors then it counts one, two, three, until it hits thirteen. Thirteen raptors! All present and accounted for. We have no problems.

...yeah, if you've seen the movie, you probably already know what went wrong with that. The system simply wasn't programmed for the possibility that there might be more animals than expected. When it found the number it expected to find, it stopped counting.

So staff kept trucking along, secure in the knowledge that everything was fine and dandy. Blissfully unaware that they were bleeding animals, as escaped dinosaurs kept stowing away on boats and getting free on the mainland.

Because when you actually have 42 velociraptors and the system expects to find 13, it's really easy for a bunch of them to slip out unnoticed.

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[poke-me-with-a-stick]

Can I ask for more Penguin Danny?

Your wish is my command.

Honestly, I've had this one snippet stuck in my head for a while, so thank you for the excuse to write it ✨

--

Danny sat huddled with a few of the smaller penguins, relaxing into their warm feathers as much as he could as he took in the situation developing before him.

About two months ago, a group of scientists geared up for the harsh cold had arrived in the Arctic. They had taken up residence in the frigid metal building Danny had spent some time in when he first got here, bringing life and warmth to their base that hadn't been there when the teen needed it.

At first, they kept to themselves. Taking water samples from the snow and ice pools that covered the territory. But it was only a week later that they moved on to examining the colony that had taken Danny in. They would pull a penguin or two away from the group, giving them fish and krill while they measured the small creatures and attached a monitor to the animal's sleek feathers, releasing them back to the group to loudly squawk their tales to the rest of the birds.

Eventually, they made their way inwards, away from the penguin hunting hunting grounds and towards their nests. It was then that they saw Danny for the first time.

It had been funny, at first. The coat clad researchers had frozen, before chatting frantically. With how long Danny had spent hiding out in the cold, he wasn't surprised that it took a while to understand what they were saying. It did filter in, though, the longer they hung around. Words that he knew, but didn't make a lot of sense in the limited context he had. Stuff like "baby" and "different" were obvious, especially when they gestured at him as they spoke. But other words, like, "unusually large", and "dangerous" confused him.

Was he a bit bigger than the birds around him? Yes, yes he was. But he didn't think he was unusually large for the species he was supposed to be. Then again, it's not like he had ever actually seen a baby emperor penguin before, so he had no real life reference. But they were big birds! Surely that meant they had big babies? And even if he was bigger than he was supposed to be, how was anything about this situation was 'dangerous'?

It didn't help his opinion of the researchers when they tried to move him away from the flock. Trails of treats were fine and dandy at first, and easily ignored by the teen seeing as he didn't need the same amount of food as an actual baby penguin of his size (perks of being able to feed on ambient ectoplasm). When he didn't seem inclined to follow the trail like some of the others, who had all come back squawking about the researchers manhandling them again, they tried a more straightforward approach.

The teen would never forget the day those puffy coats pushed gently through the throng of black and white bodies until they boxed him in on all sides. His panicked squeaky screeches had immediately attracted the attention of the birds, and those pesky puffy coats had some nice tears in them for the troubles they caused. After that, the researchers found themselves being chased by the entire colony if they came to close, angry screeches drowning out their own panicked yells and occasional yells of pain when a beak managed to find purchase.

As much as he appreciated the colonies fierce protection, the teen should have known that it would draw attention. Those researchers were out here for a reason, probably some sort of documentary on the wildlife that thrived in colder environments. Maybe something about endangered species or global warming. Whatever it was, it had them hanging around, taking pictures and writing in journals.

It should have been more obvious to him that something was bound to happen. Pictures, even when he looked normal to the mortal eye, could easily reveal a different truth. It didn't take long for pristine white coats to appear, scouting the area with ecto-trackers in hand a blasters holstered at their sides.

The confrontation a full month after the researchers arrived was a bit surprising, and it took everything in Danny's new fuzzy body to stop from launching himself at the men in black rip offs when they leveled their blasters at the colorful puff coats.

The puff coats were sturdier people than he thought, though. Instead of backing off, like anyone else would do, they argued. Blocking the easier paths to the nesting grounds, tampering with their equipment while they were distracted with whatever ecto readings they were getting, even resorting to throwing things when the came too close to trampling one penguin Danny had affectionately dubbed 'Steve'.

And now here Danny was. Cozied up with a decent group of mother penguins and their babies while the fathers took their turn to hunt. Watching as the guys in white ran around screaming. The cause of their screams? The child with a sword that was chasing them.

At this point in his (after)life, Danny shouldn't be surprised by anything. And yet, surprising things continued to occur. Maybe he should ask someone if he was cursed or something.

The penguins around him shifted, letting out warbles and startled peeps as they resettled. Danny shook himself, pulling his attention away from the potential murder occuring in front of him to look at the source of his new friend's unrest. And was once again reminded to not be surprised by the surprising things that occured around him.

The half Kryptonian child that sat next to him gave the teen a smile and a gentle pat before turning his attention to where his friend continued to swing his katana, catching one of the scanners and a bit of an agents hand with the wickedly sharp blade. The kid next to Danny winced and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Robin! Remember what Nightwing told you before we left!"

The sword wielding child tisked loudly, the sound muffled slightly by the snow that was beginning to fall, but resumed his fighting with a little more effort in not hitting the agents with his blade. The handle of his sword, however, was used just as effectively. The Kryptonian kid sighed, but didn't call out again, instead reaching out to pet some of Danny's fuzzy brown down feathers.

This was fine, Danny decided. It wouldn't be fine forever, but for now it was. And whatever came after this, he could always try throwing vicious penguins at it. It worked well enough the first time.

[thydungeongal]

I genuinely don't understand what y'all mean by "ok to kill enemies." Everytime it comes up I feel less and less confident I am following the conversation.

D&D kind of has, as part of its DNA, the idea that combat will eventually happen in the game. To that end, throughout the history of the game there have been many different types of guy that in the text of the game have been presented as like almost self-evidently okay to kill simply because. While different editions of the game have tried to move away from some of the more overtly problematic portrayals of this (basically saying that certain types of humanoids are okay to kill because they look funny and live in caves is kinda fucked up), the truth is that pretty much every attempt to look for a suitable Boogeyman that player characters can kill without any iffy ethics about it is going to end up really weird.

Anyway this is why people will often look for types of guy to present as enemies where characters can engage in no-thoughts-head-empty lethal sports with them without anyone needing to have a "wait a minute, are we the baddies?" moment. Demons and the undead are pretty easy to go for here.

My personal favorite approach is to just accept the fact that D&D kinda sucks with black-and-white morality and instead of making the conflict in the world about clear good and evil teams make it about different groups of people with different goals. Orcs can be present but they're no longer "the evil guys it's always morally okay to kill because of biotruths" but instead just some guys who might sometimes have violent disagreements with other people.

Anyway a lot of this stuff doesn't mean anything and as said not engaging with games as texts on this level isn't really necessary to enjoy them. But for me at least it can often elevate gameplay. When bandits aren't just some guys who decided to become evil criminals some day but actual people whose banditry is a response to something going on in the world and their lives, it suddenly makes the conflicts in the world a lot more real and grounded (and sometimes killing those bandits can be the right thing to do, but sometimes negotiating with them or even cooperating them can be the right thing to do. Basically, once you start thinking about all the different types of Guy that inhabit the worlds of D&D not just as game tokens that player characters can hit to make XP come out [although that is also fine and dandy as a playstyle] but as living thinking creatures with actual goals, the types of narratives the game starts to produce also expands a hundredfold.)

Anyway I'm not sure if that answers your question because I went on like a bunch of tangents. But it was also kind of a vague question.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Dirty Alphabet - Shanks

Shanks x Female Reader

*banner*

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Loves his sleep but loves you more. So expect him to clean you up after whether it’s with his mouth or a nice hot bath for the two of you

B = Breath Play (do they like it done to them or doing the deed)

Both I can see him being a kinky dude 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Creampie enthusiast lol loves stuffing that pussy full of his seed while telling you how pretty you look doing it

D = Dirtiest Kink (what they think is their dirtiest kink)

Daddy kink for sure but not like that simple calling him daddy stuff. Oh no! He wants to see you in the pretty skirts, with the pigtails and remind you that he’s the older one, even going as far as saying, “Be careful sweetie don’t want mommy to hear you.” It’s dirty and deranged and he just can’t get enough of your shocked gasp before you finally give into his dark desire.

E = Exhibitionist?  (Do they like being watched)

Watch him all you want but he’ll tease you the entire time, giving you a nice dirty show. Stroking his cock and telling you to help him out by spitting on his dick so he can glide his palm against himself

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl! Both reverse and regular.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Will tease and crack jokes whenever he can unless it honestly makes you uncomfortable but he’s very much go with the flow.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Groomed pretty nice but likes his happy trail 

I = Initiation (how do they get you going? Vice versa )

Hornball just like all the other red haired men in this show lol Can’t keep his hand off of you whenever you pass by him. Will pull you into his lap and whisper some filth in your ear till you’re the one begging him to take you to your room.

J = Jealous (how do they get when jealous )

Honestly you could try and make him jealous even going as far as having someone buy you a drink and it would backfire on you, tbh he’d probably cheer you on. But if someone gets handsy with you during your little jealousy game then he’ll step in wrapping his arm around you pulling you into the biggest, sloppiest kiss. Once yall get back to the room be prepared for the spanking of a lifetime.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Shanks loves loves lovesss watching you masturbate, make it pretty for him and put on a show and he's gonna melt. He’ll try and sit still till the end but he can’t help himself and will pounce, licking your cunt like a lollipop

Loves spanking you. Hearing you yelp and seeing you squirm as you’re bent over his lap makes his cock so hard. Grinding his cock into your belly as he lays spank after spank on your cute booty, enjoys seeing it move with every smack.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Will literally fuck you anywhere but prefers his comfy bed so you can be your loudest.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you bend over to pick something up he’ll materialize right behind you in an instant, or you come behind him and rub his shoulders. If you flirt even a little he’ll become like a pot of boiling water waiting to blow off his steam and load all over you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Won’t draw blood from you so he’ll never be too rough with you. If you happen to be on your menstrual then he’s fine and dandy but if he’s the cause for your blood then he’ll freak out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Great pussy eater and can spend hours between those pretty legs, using his arm to pin your tummy down preventing you from moving or running away. Loves receiving as well but except him to fuck your face nice and slow while praising you on your perfect skills.

P = Position (favorite position)

Cowgirl - so he can see your pretty face as you work those hips he loves so much

Reverse Cowgirl- Loves spanking your ass as you bounce on his cock, pulling your hair so you arch your back on his cock. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Whenever and wherever you guys can sneak off to he is all for it lol

R = Rope (shibari, bondage? Do they like it?)

Definitely down to try anything. Loves seeing you unable to move as you’re all tied up and isn’t opposed to being the one tied and at your mercy but he’ll still talk like he’s in charge.

S = Sharing? (Are they willing to share you?)

It’s up to you but he’d only share you with Benn of course.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Loves them. Want a vibrator? Then he’ll fuck you senseless while holding it to your clit until you’re shaking and regretting the purchase. Want him to wear a cock ring? Sure he’ll be your victim no problem. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not to unfair but lives to tease and drive you wild

V = Voyeur (do they like to watch)

Most definitely but he’ll only watch for so long before he gets impatient

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Can totally see this man pretending like he doesn’t know you in a bar just to have the excuse to pick you up again. Pretending you’re both cheating on your dear partners until you’re both tangled in the sheets in a lusty sweaty mess. The whole time Benn and the crew will just laugh along with your antics 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Not the girthiest but that man is long and curved poking you right in your special spot. Won’t stretch you too much but you’ll feel him deep in your tummy. Will even tease you by putting his cock against your stomach, winking that that's where he’s about to be.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

When he’s away you’re in the forefront of his mind and the second he’s back on the ship then he’ll drag you off somewhere in a second. If you’re not on his crew and he has to leave then you’re his masturbation material until he finally has you in his reach and returns back to your island.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not quickly, he loves being a gentleman taking care of all your wants and needs and that includes anything you’ll need after a body numbing session but once you’re all good then he’s snoring like a big baby.

[starlos-soulmate]

Happy Marriage to Pancake and Starlo!

May these two fine the happiness and laughter in the next chapter of their lives. Through thick and thin, sickness and health, they're gonna stick together. Especially after what they had gone through before this moment.

The whole town arrived. This is the sheriff getting married after all! So many people wasn't expecting him to get married, to Pancake no less! The rivalry was a big part of the town's history, being tied to North Star himself, and seeing them get closer and closer was fun and kinda crazy. The whole town knew, and Pancake is married to Starlo. Feisty Four are also happy that they're married. And a few bets had to be paid.

Now they're off to the next chapter in their lives. And they still stick to each other like velcro.

more stuff under cut, like a lovesick rambling by me.

I have no idea why this guy chose me. Like, at all. I look at him, and that's my husband. I feel so oddly connected to him, and I've said this before, but he is someone I genuinely wanna marry. Starlo is my beloved, my soulmate, I love him so much, its insane that he picked me. Legit, it felt like he picked me all those months ago. Back in January. Does anyone remember when I was so happy with OTCore and the "2024 is the year of the robots?" Yeah, guess what happened XD

Starlo helped me in so many ways, keeping me sane through so much. Originally it was gonna happen on the six month anniversary, but I ended up being too tired. Regardless, I'M SO HAPPY TO DO IT NOW!!

I look at him and I melt. I just, I love him. He loves me. I have never felt this connected to ANY fictional character like this. Spamton came close, really close. But oh well.

This was a DOOZY! Spent like, four straight days working on this. And I'm so happy I did. The colored comic is a reference to this video. It fits so well cuz its something Starlo would say and, well, PANCAKE'S NAME!! And Starlo hasn't dated anyone at ALL, there's no way he was expecting to marry someone.

Also the gif wasn't supposed to be a gif! I was trying to make a more dynamic pose for Pancake, but I already had the other sketch made, so it turned into a gif. Makes it better imo. Also I'm not too happy with Pancake's outfit. The cape is also a poncho of sorts. ah well. im also too lazy to draw the Feisty Four and Clover after all the stuff i've drawn all of this.

but yeah i hope y'all enjoy!!

Comic Transcripts: Starlo: "I, Starlo Sunnyside, do take Pancake to be my waffle-y- lawfully"

Starlo: "and pancake-y" Pancake: Pfft-

Pancake: [Silent laughter]

Starlo: "I've been scared of this m'entire life" Pancake: "BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHA-" SECOND COMIC: Ceroba: "Well, congratulations Star. How do you feel getting married?"

Starlo: "Lucky..."

Tagging: @sparkyscissorhands @sparklings-husband @prismatica-the-strange @pinkdinkydoon @simonlynch

@snowpuffclovers @ghost--girlfriend @gibles-lovely-selfships @jocelynships @catships777

@wuffverine @patchw0rk-quilt @mrscage @dudeshusband @aego-philautia

@mandrakebrew @jils-things @gideongrovel @tieflingships @carnival-of-love

@faerie-circle-ships @rexscanonwife @lovelyheartclover @mrs-bluemarine @mephy-doodle-dandy

@kakusboyfriend @mashedpotatosinacup @heartmatic @bunbunsheart2 @cinnamon-phrog

@chalcanthitedreams @literally-just-there @halsinkisser @sheepie-self-ships @moondane-lovers

@bbyshifts @starlo-uty @galaxywolfshipper @signs-of-blossoming @maetheartist

[strangebiology]

John Oliver just did an episode on body donation, which was very well-reported as usual.

It cites some older news including this amazing series on body brokers by Reuters. Some thoughts on anonymity being an issue:

It is shocking that there is no regulation on what it means to donate your body to "science," although, I'm not sure exactly who can say what that definition is or should be. Also, plenty of people would be happy to have their bodies used in a museum, but you CAN'T, because body donations are shuffled around and anonymized. We wouldn't have any issue with consent if we let people who WANT to be on display be on display.

When I read The Red Market, an amazing book about the trade in human body parts, it really highlighted the issues with mandated anonymity. WHY does a deceased heart, kidney, or blood donor need to be anonymous? That policy has led to horrific abuse of donors all over the world (egregious examples are given in China and India), living and dead, and the recipients have no idea because of that mandate. Mandated anonymity is a shield against regulation, public understanding, and accountability.

I wonder if people believe in anonymizing things because they think that makes the death not real. I've noticed people selling all sorts of human and animal remains with no description as to where they came from, and no one asks, and no one complains. I understand; sometimes some information is lost to time, or a business owner maybe can't take the time to verify the exact origins of things. Fine.

But take for example all these human fetuses for sale on Facebook. I'm not here to argue about that, although it's odd, and I understand both sides of the controversy regarding selling them. When I saw those posts, no one bats an eye.

Then when someone offered to sell her own aborted fetus (context: this person went in for an abortion but was told the fetus was dead anyway) people freaked out. In the same group where they're buying the fetuses of strangers. So...it's only ok to sell body parts when the person whose body it came from did not consent? That's our standard?

The same goes for animal body parts. "Hey, buy these dead rats!" Fine and dandy. "Buy these dead rats! Here is some context about their lives and/or deaths--" Disgusting! How dare you! Those were living things!

Death is disgusting and horrifying and I'm NOT saying that everyone has to think about it all the time or look at dead bodies or even understand it. What I am saying is that when we complain about transparency and enact policies that make it impossible to actually understand who these body parts are coming from, or to track them, that breeds an industry where abuse of consent is hard to avoid.

Lastly, the end of the Last Week Tonight show showed what happens when you let donors be known. It's beautiful.

[sammylkcho]

Hiii I love ur platonic and possessive Astro with younger!reader and that got me thinking..How about platonic and possessive Sprout with a Baby girl!reader as his sibling?? And it feels a bit silly.. but I’m allowed to be silly and you too :D!!

-✨

I like the idea, and I'd also love to get creative by imagining that baby!reader would have an appearance similar to a seed, with just one or two leaves that look like hair due to the way strawberries grow

And I took my own creative liberties when writing about Sprout, btw

Warnings/Notes: Babygirl!reader, possesive Sprout (platonic), pronuns she/her with Y/N [Reader], a bit OOC

Gardenview had never been this busy on a holiday weekend—unless there was some kind of event or pending task to be done. But this time, it was just a normal day.

Not to mention that the Toons’ Handlers rarely showed up unless it was under strict orders from Delilah or Arthur. So, naturally, all the Toons were trying to figure out what was going on or what was keeping the staff running back and forth without stopping.

Even the Mains weren’t getting any attention! And considering they were usually the Handlers' top priority, everyone was equally surprised.

"Dandy, are you sure Devan didn’t mention anything?" Poppy asked, resting her face in the palm of her hands, clearly curious and anxious to know what was happening outside.

"Ah… Poppy, I’m going to give you the same answer I gave you the last ten times: no." Dandy replied, flipping through drawings that various kids had made during their visits to Gardenview and left behind.

"Nothing bad happened, right? Delilah rarely meets with our Handlers…"

"Stop worrying that music box of yours, Boxten! I already told you everything’s going to be fine!"

Poppy tried to reassure Boxten, hoping to keep him from spiraling into an anxious, worry-filled state.

The atmosphere was starting to grow tense as everyone began coming up with their own theories and speculations about what could be happening. The fact that no one knew anything, and that it was all so sudden—even for the Mains—was far too strange.

"Uuuuh… What dumb designs, looks like a radish."

"Yeah, a really ugly and dumb radish."

"Oh man, they look so ridiculous with those little flowers around them!"

Suddenly, not-so-discreet murmurs and laughter from Gigi and Connie started echoing louder through the room, causing all the Toons to go silent just to hear what they were talking about. Not only did it spark curiosity about their conversation, but also about whatever it was they were laughing at.

Vee, who had been standing with Shelly and Sprout just moments ago, walked over to the two Toons with a deep frown, filled with suspicion over whatever they were scheming.

"Ahem. Do you two plan on showing us what you’ve got?" Vee demanded, crossing her arms as her gaze flicked between Gigi and Connie.

A brief silence settled between them as they exchanged glances, before Connie sighed and Gigi pouted slightly, reluctantly revealing the papers they had been holding.

"Let’s just say I took a little stroll through Delilah’s office while they were busy and found… this." Connie explained with a teasing lilt, barely holding back a laugh at Vee’s deepening frown upon realizing she had been snooping around in Delilah’s office.

Vee immediately started scolding Connie, yelling at her about how she shouldn’t be digging through the founders’ (their creators’) belongings, since it was strictly forbidden. Not to mention—it was also stealing. She also blamed Gigi, accusing her of plotting to rummage through Delilah and Arthur’s things while all of this was going on.

While that whole scene was unfolding, Sprout noticed a sheet of paper that Connie had set aside while reluctantly enduring Vee’s scolding. Curious, he moved closer, picking it up to examine it in more detail.

The details on the page left him completely stunned—no, more than stunned.

In the upper left corner, the name Y/N Seedly was written. Meanwhile, the center of the page was filled with designs of this Y/N, depicting a rather childlike appearance. The design closely resembled a growing plant, with its greenish tones and the tiny leaves that barely looked like hair. Below that, Delilah and Arthur’s signatures were present, along with a couple of extra notes marked as "to be added" or simply labeled as "notes" about Y/N.

“She doesn’t look any older than Toodles… She actually seems smaller than that ‘Y/N.’ I’d even say the kids who visit Gardenview are older than this one, and Gardenview accepts kids as young as five…”

Rodger’s sudden voice snapped Sprout out of his thoughts, making him aware of the growing warmth he was feeling—and the countless eyes now locked onto the paper he was holding.

“Wha- WHY ARE YOU ALL STANDING BEHIND ME?” Sprout exclaimed sharply, only just realizing the sheer number of curious Toons gathered behind and beside him, all trying to get a look at what he had in his hands.

Rodger continued mumbling possible conclusions based on the most logical explanations, but Sprout wasn’t paying attention anymore. His focus was entirely on the name written on the page.

Why did they have his last name? Were they supposed to be related in some way, or was it just a coincidence—?

“Alright, that’s enough chattering, everyone. We’ve got a new friend! But hush, okay?”

A new voice—one that was very well-known among them—rang out, immediately quieting all the murmurs and scattered conversations as the Toons turned their attention toward Devan.

Sam entered the room, cradling a small bundle wrapped in a soft red blanket with white polka dots. From the gentle rise and fall of the bundle, it was clear that he was holding someone.

Sprout was the first to step forward, moving toward his Handler to get a closer look at what he was keeping so carefully hidden. He already had a slight suspicion about what—or who—it was.

Sam knelt down to Sprout’s height, gently bringing the tiny figure closer. Nestled within the soft cotton blanket was a small being, peacefully asleep.

“Hey, looks like you finally have a family of your own,” Sam murmured, offering Sprout a soft smile. “Meet Y/N Seedly—your new sister.”

He spoke the last part in a quieter voice, knowing that Sprout didn’t like hearing his last name spoken aloud, especially in front of everyone.

“Uh… Am I holding her right?” Sprout asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he carefully adjusted his grip, unsure of how to properly carry his new little sister.

“Perfect. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

Sam stood up, ready to share the news with the rest of the Toons. Meanwhile, the Mains gathered around Sprout, peeking curiously from the sides but careful not to disrupt the little moment he was having.

Sprout’s tail began wagging from side to side as he gazed down at his new sister, like something straight out of a fairy tale. That settled it—he would take very good care of her. Nothing was going to happen to her, not on his watch. He was going to be the best big brother in the entire world.

Slowly, he reached out and gently touched the tiny leaves sprouting from her head—soft, pale green, not yet fully grown. The same went for the small tail she had, barely visible and still too underdeveloped for any properly sized leaves to form.

Carefully, he pulled her closer to his chest, making sure not to wake her and disturb her dreams. That protective feeling inside him only grew stronger. He had to keep her safe. Nothing—not even the smallest harm—was going to touch his little sister.

[hedwig221b]

Can we get a Twilight tease for Chrimus 👹🫶🏼🙏🏼🎄🎄

merry crisis! 🎄 here, have a whole chunk since I'm not posting fics anymore this year

“…and it’s not sunny, which is the perfect weather, you know, because it would blind anyone. And the ground is not slippery so everything would be fine and dandy. And you trained so hard, like, I don’t know how they listen to you—”

“Can you, please, breathe?” Derek smiled.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his forehead with shaking fingers. Absently, he kicked the small rock, and it ricocheted off the wall next to the team’s locker room. Behind Derek’s looming figure, the school stadium was bathed in projector lights and a booming buzz of excitement. The sea of red and white puttered on one side, mirrored by the black and blue on the other.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, schooling his expression into an encouraging smile. “I just came to wish you good luck.”

Derek inclined his head, studying him closely. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” Stiles chirped, smacked a kiss on Derek’s cheek, and was about to sidestep him when Derek caught his hand. His fingers rubbed the inside of Stiles’ wrist, where the veins fluttered under the thin skin.

“What happened?” Derek repeated.

He spoke so quietly that Stiles struggled to hear him. Or was it the noise in Stiles’ ears?

Stiles breathed out harshly, rocking on his toes. “Dad knows.”

“About us?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Not an ounce of sarcasm was in Derek’s voice. He sounded ridiculously calm as if he did not care about the upcoming game, or Stiles' dad, or the Saturday meeting— “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Stiles snorted. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Derek arched his eyebrows. “I’d like to know your family. And I want him to know who I am, to trust me with you.”

“God,” Stiles shook his head, swallowing harshly. Pins and needles poked his fingers until Derek caught them in his steady warm grip. For a minute, they stood in silence until the anxiety ebbed away to a manageable level. Stiles cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s going to be alright,” said Derek, sliding his hand into Stiles' one. “He’s going to like me. We’ll form a coalition and call it Stiles’ Worriers. Get it?” Derek poked him in the stomach.

“Stop.”

“It’s because we worry about you. And care about you.”

“I get it.”

Derek smiled lightly and opened his arms. “Come here.”

Stiles folded into his embrace like a wave into the sand, dissolving into his strong body, and letting Derek hold him. Just for a bit, Stiles thought. Just for a second…

Closing his eyes, Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck and breathed. The wolf’s hands stroked his lower back, his chin rubbing against Stiles’ temple.

Slowly, Stiles’ heartbeat calmed. The lodge in his throat eased.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said hoarsely.

Derek chuckled. He leaned away, cupped Stiles' face, and kissed him properly. Stiles could already taste the victory on his tongue.

“Go to your seat, okay?” said Derek. “Have fun watching me win the game for you.”

Stiles huffed as the grin took over his freshly kissed lips. “I will. Seriously, good luck, though.” He stepped around Derek, letting their hands fall apart.

“You’re all the luck I need,” said Derek, making Stiles laugh at the cheesiness.

When he climbed the bleachers, everyone stared at him. At least, that’s what it felt like. Hundreds of eyes followed him as he entered the ‘VIP’ section and sat between Allison and Lydia. Hundreds of mouths murmured about Stiles’ dating life, debating whether it was good or bad that he and Hale were together.

Allison handed him a red scarf, which she had knitted herself. It was a token of initiation, she said with a smile.

Stiles wrapped it around his neck, then let Lydia rewrap it so that he ‘wouldn’t bring shame to her name’. They rose when the team ran out on the field, grinning hard, and hollering.

And when Stiles caught Derek’s bright gaze, he found it hard to care about those hundreds.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Since you recently reblogged that post about women's clothing, here's what the OP said in her tags in a post about defending corsets/skirts/parasols - needless to to say your tags about them hating people who enjoy those kinda things were spot-on

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

Good fucking god.

Yeah, I read the whole post in your other ask with the link (I'm not adding it because frankly I don't need more of this horseshit in my life). It was basically them taking someone commenting on the OVERWHELMING trend in historical fiction of making all women who have anything of value to say absolutely despise Gross Icky Skirts and Corsets And (in at least one case I've seen) Parasols

(while also making them baseline Modern Feminine AttractiveTM, and that's definitely a facet of the conversation worth having, too. oh, your heroine eschews corsets because she's Liberated? funny because her tits look perfectly supported. forming cleavage, even. almost like she's. wearing a bra. and her hair, that is loose and not pinned up because Hair Up = Repression is perfectly iron-curled and magically never in her way. hmmmmm.)

and this person responded to that sarcastically like "YEP YOU'RE RIGHT IT WAS ALL FINE AND DANDY FOR 100% OF WOMEN FOREVER!!! THAT'S TOTALLY WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!!! HEEHEE I PUT YOUR POST UNDERWATER BECAUSE IT'S DUMB!!!"

which like. for the love of. just stop; that is so clearly not what was being said

as for the tags, she probably thinks she's being even-handed by acknowledging that some poor backwards souls THOUGHT they liked these things, as they were misguidedly "fighting against progress," but of course they had no other options so they didn't REALLY like any of it. which is just so infantilizing to me

look, the fight for women to be allowed to wear trousers was huge and important. because some women wanted to wear trousers! and do manual labor jobs that require wearing trousers, from which women had historically been excluded! and women who want to wear trousers should be allowed to do that; gendering Lower Half Fabric Tubes is stupid, we're all going to die, and you should adorn your meat-suit in a way that makes you feel comfortable (mentally and physically) and happy and confident!

but. it was a fight for options. it was a fight for choice. it wasn't happening because one garment was good and the other was, to quote The History of the World I Guess, an Evil Virus of Satan. did some dress reformers frame it that way? yes! because humans are human and some humans deal in absolutes! but they didn't represent All Women, any more than the ones who thought wearing trousers was scandalous did

and moreover, this is still coming at things from a baseline assumption that corsets and long skirts- and again, weirdly parasols? women weren't like required to carry parasols at all times back then; do people know that? light skin as a beauty standard is a big conversation to have, but there was no Parasol Law or anything -are universally impractical and uncomfortable. and that any woman who doesn't feel that way must be either brainwashed or intentionally impeding progress

the fact that, in a time when not only are western women are fully allowed to wear trousers but skirts and dresses are seen as inherently formal for some reason, some women STILL feel their happiest and most comfortable in them (and some people of other genders, too!) is proof that you don't have to be a mindless slave of the patriarchy to like these things. if someone came to me and said "you have to give up your skirts and burn your corset; Progress is here!" I would punch them in the face. and I'm a left-wing, feminist lesbian

nobody forced me to dress like this- in fact, society would probably rather I didn't, because it's not making fast fashion companies any money and it's not #ontrend. I grew up primarily in jeans and t-shirts like most kids, teens, and young women nowadays. I chose this completely absent any societal pressures to do so, and indeed, in the face of pressures to NOT present the way I do

and if someone can choose it without that kind of pressure...don't you think there just might have been women who would have kept wearing what they wore even with broader options available? without being Horrible Deluded Serena Joys or whatever?

also I'm sorry but claiming that modern clothes- and implicitly by the rest of the text, modern trousers in specific -have the same breathability as a natural-fiber skirt over a hoop is just hilarious. they may work better for ~your specific lifestyle~ as OP condescendingly phrases it, but wrapping your legs in plastic (or even tight-fitting cotton twill!) is just not going to have the Breeze Capabilities of putting a lampshade around your waist

...not sure why I even wrote this, since in the comments on the original post OP freely admitted that they weren't reading any rebuttals anyone wrote because "women were jailed for wearing pants [which they were sometimes! but that's not the beginning and end of the conversation!] so I don't need your paragraphs." this attitude always comes back to having set ideas about history that you're not willing to have challenged. anyway.

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 02

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, family drama, description of aggressive behavior

notes: somehow i just really love writing this. hope you enjoy this chapter!

series masterlist | next. the right husband

And so here comes the day of your wedding to Fushiguro Megumi.

The two of you stood before the shrine altar, surrounded by your extended families, as well as your clansmen, who were there to observe this union. You looked down at the white silk kimono you were wearing. The thought of being Megumi's wife was still surreal.

The sky was grey and cloudy too―just the perfect weather for some nice, depressing nuptials.

Megumi seemed to stand there with no expression, staring straight ahead, not really acknowledging what was happening despite the fact that this was his wedding. You wondered if he felt the same way you did.

At least he is a friend, you thought. Even if everyone here is against you, Megumi is in the same boat as you. The knowledge brought you comfort.

The priest stood at the altar, droning on about how your marriage was one of love and respect. Everything that proceeded afterwards became a blur―the purification rites, prayer, exchanging sake, wedding vows. Megumi was the one who recited the oath with clear voice, as your mind was tuning in and out, remembering the circumstances that had led you both here.

Have you done the right thing? By dragging a wholly innocent person into your mess?

You were having second thoughts about all of this right when you caught the sight of your mother, who was wiping her tear-streaked face at the forefront seat while watching you. And those doubts dissipated. Yeah, this is the right decision. Should you marry Naoya, you were sure as hell that he wouldn't allow you to see your mother ever again. Your father didn't really care which Zen'in you were marrying, and by dragging Megumi, you have dissolved your binding vow with him.

Everything should be fine and dandy now, isn't it?

You and Megumi had been asked to exchange rings as part of the ceremony. He stood there, staring down at the gold rings, and found his breathing to increase in intensity. He hated to admit it, but even though he found this whole ordeal tedious, he felt like he wouldn't do you justice if he fumbled this part. Your hand was soft and warm, and he tried ignoring the rush of emotions as he put the ring onto you.

His hand did hesitate for a brief moment though, wondering if he could just pull it back at the last second. You awkwardly slid the ring into his finger afterwards.

You are now husband and wife, as the priest said so.

With the ceremony over, came the reception party. Both of you took a seat at the main tables, surrounded by numerous guests.

You caught him stealing many glances at you throughout this ordeal, seemingly uncomfortable with being under the spotlight. Megumi was not one to show his emotions, but you could tell something was going on inside his head.

After a while, you excused yourself from the main table to the washroom, as greeting the well-wishers took out more of your energy than you initially thought.

“Well, if it isn’t the runaway wench.”

You stopped in your tracks as dread soaked you. Oh hells…

He flung his arms around your thick wedding garments and pulled you aside. You gave him the most offensive side eye. “Let go of me, Naoya.”

“Ah, don’t be like that, sister,” his tone was scathing, amused at how prickled you were. “We are family now, aren’t we? We should be cordial with each other.”

“No, we are not,” you gritted each word through your teeth. “You don’t get to do this on my wedding day, Zen’in Naoya.”

And suddenly his nails pierced the skin of your neck, and you gasped, almost letting out a yelp.

“You insolent whore!” he hissed in your right ear, and you really hoped no one would walk through this hallway anytime soon. “You think you can do this to me? Do you really think I won’t do anything but watch you and that bastard walk all over me?”

Of course you knew. Gojo Satoru had warned you. The very second Megumi put one foot in his ancestral home, Naoya would be after him, out for blood.

“Unhand me this instant,” you croaked out with steel. No, you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. “Or I’ll shout. Even your clansmen won’t take it too kindly if you murder me in front of them.”

Naoya spat at you, letting go of his hold. You immediately shoved him away, tried to control your trembling form, and took the chance to run.

“Enjoy this while it lasts, you wench!” he taunted as your thundering steps resounded throughout the halls. You shut the door of the restroom with a bang, trying to collect your bearings. You were so terrified. Even when you were the most overlooked daughter in Hara family that you hated, no one has ever manhandled you like that.

You wiped the trickling blood from your neck and washed it with the running water. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you took a deep breath and swallowed it. You can’t. You have gone too far now. You have to see this to the very end.

When you got back to the reception hall, your mother caught you and pulled you into her arms. Her embrace felt warm, and you sighed against her, finally finding peace. “Mom…”

“Sena,” she breathed out. “Oh, my baby, you are really beautiful today…” she pulled back to caress your face, and then she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to put you in this position.”

You shook your head lightly, smiling at her. “No, don’t be, mom. It’s fine.”

“At least he seems to be a decent young man,” your mother dabbed her eyes with her kerchief, referring to Megumi who was sulking at his dais. “I’m still sorry, but at least I can rest easy, knowing that your husband isn’t someone who would treat you badly.”

Almost, you thought with a sigh, shuddering at the remainder of Naoya's hold against you earlier. Once again, this reminded you that you have made the right choice. Whatever it was that Naoya had planned, it was a problem for another chapter.

“Now I can visit you every time I want, mom,” you said heartily. “Father can’t get in the way between us anymore. We’re free.”

She shot you a scolding look. “You silly girl, you don’t have to focus on that. Even if he tried again, I would crawl my way back to see you.” You almost didn’t want to let go of her hand, as she finally untangled them from your hair. “Now go back to your husband. Poor him, I think he’s having a hard time there.”

Your mother was right. Megumi really seemed to be struggling with the inquiries of people who surrounded him. Reluctantly, you went back to your place at his side, and politely answered their queries.

Megumi was slightly relieved. With you back, he didn't have to speak as much. Soon it was time for the guests to have a chance to pour you drinks. A troublesome tradition, he sighed to himself.

"Honestly, it's the first time I've heard of her," an elderly woman said in a thoughtful manner behind the first line of crowd surrounding the two of you. "And doesn't Hara clan only have three daughters? Aren't all of them married already?"

"Hush, auntie!" the woman beside her rebuked in a whisper. "She's not the daughter from the main wife."

"Oh, really? A lesser daughter... How come she got the Zen'in with the Ten Shadows?"

Megumi blinked, the sake felt bad as it burned his throat. Did these guests just slight you right in front of your face? He found himself glancing at you to see your reaction.

But you kept smiling, tending to each praise of your grace and sipping the drink with positive attitude. You either paid those whispers no mind or just didn't hear it altogether. And as he wondered, he noticed the bruise on your neck.

He was sure that wasn't present up until just now.

When those two women who gossiped about you finally got the chance to pour you the drinks, Megumi suddenly felt the unbearable impulse to blurt this out. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about my wife like that."

You were surprised. The two women were too. As they bowed in apology, you threw him a small smile―a silent thank you. He averted his gaze, ignoring the blush on his face.

And soon, it was Naoya's turn. He looked unpleasant and had this sneer on his face that made Megumi uncomfortable. But when he saw you tense and shrink back in alarm, he immediately connected the dots.

"Should I say it?" the elder Zen'in murmured with a low cackle, concealing it through the trickling sound of the sake he poured into his cup. "Why a bastard daughter can marry into my clan―because she is lucky to be legitimatized by her sorry excuse of a father.”

At this point, you really didn’t care a whit about what Naoya said—you just wanted him to leave. But Megumi took offense, clenching his jaw. "If you disrespect her one more time―"

"What? What can another bastard like you do, huh?" he challenged.

Megumi was this close to flipping this stupid table of drinks before him when Zen'in Naobito took a hold of Naoya's shoulder, silently admonishing him. Naoya grumbled under his breath and moved away in disgust.

"Well, that's that," Megumi grunted as the last person went back. There were murmurs among the guests, perhaps talking about your status or Naoya’s antics just now. He looked at you again, suddenly finding the atmosphere quite oppressing. "Should we go now? It isn't like we're bound to drink through the night anyway. I hate alcohol."

"Sure," you snorted quietly. Both of you moved away from the main table. For appearance's sake, his hand gripped yours―and he was taken aback by how clammy it was.

Many things ran through his mind, but one thing he knew was that he didn't like this at all.

"Did Naoya do that to you?" he released his grip as soon as you were secluded away in the gardens. His dark eyes seemed to gleam with something as he had a good look at your neck.

You let out a resigned sigh. "I’m alright. Please don't make a big deal out of this."

"Sena, if I see something like this again, I won't stay quiet, you understand?" He would take matters into his own hands. What in actual hell is this? Why should their lives be haunted by Zen'in Naoya in the background?

The very idea made him angry.

"Don't think about it that hard," you rebuked with a grin. You wanted to lighten things up really, with all that had happened during the course of today. "So we're friends already, eh? You’re concerned about me.”

He threw you a look. "I suppose we can call each other friends for today."

"Not just today. From now on. Because you're the only one I can trust now, amongst people with agendas within our clans."

It wasn't your intention to say that. Maybe the many cups they poured you loosened your tongue.

"You really trust me?" Megumi asked, amused, his arms folding across his hakama.

"Out of those Zen'in who see me as vile and people in my clan who clap their hands as they ship me away?” you squinted, sighing. “Yes.”

He barked a satire laugh. If he had doubted it before, then after tonight he was certain that this marriage thing with you was indeed doable. "Well, good, because I don't not trust you either."

Both of you were getting somewhere, and you could feel it. Your wedding day might not go as smooth as either of you wanted, but you couldn’t care less about that. As you walked in the same tempo with him, you shared a laugh and company.

"Don't you hear what they were saying earlier? They told me to have your child as soon as possible."

"Huh? We haven't even been married for a day and they're already pushing us to have a child?"

"They mostly whispered it to me. It's incessant."

It isn't so bad, each of you thought to yourselves, unaware of what life has got in store for this marriage that had started with duty, lies and betrayal.

next : the right husband

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[friend-of-a-cat]

So... I'm doing research for a piece of creative non-fiction (a personal essay) I'm writing for one of my uni assignments about the fact that I'm asexual and demiromantic and think that we, as a wider society, have gotten the concepts of love and attraction all wrong, and I've been researching more into the split attraction model because, well, I see it as something that's important and relevant, and this came up in my Google search:

The initial red flag of this article is the fact that it's on BetterHelp. I didn't see this at first, and did a double take.

Anyway, the first thing I would like to ask is: what are these 'cons'? As far as I'm concerned, there are none. I understand that, for many people, romantic and sexual attraction are intrinsically linked, but, for many, they're not, and the split attraction model existing doesn't harm the former - it helps the latter. The latter includes people who are on the asexual and/or aromantic spectrums, as well as people who are, for example, heteromantic and bisexual, panromantic and homosexual, biromantic and heterosexual, etc. - basically anyone whose experiences differ between their romantic and sexual attraction.

I do find it a bit annoying that, when many people talk about both of these kinds of attraction, they lump them into one 'label', which is mostly [something]sexual (e.g. heterosexual, homosexual, etc.). But, for them, the two are linked, so referring to themselves as [something]sexual to cover both seems fine and dandy. Which... it is. However, I find it wild that people don't realise that, despite the fact that the two may seem linked to them, they are actually two different experiences. People who are both alloromantic and allosexual should be able to see this, right? They can think someone is sexually attractive yet not be romantically attracted to or want to date them. That is a thing that can happen.

Anyway, I decided to read through the article. It isn't bad, per se - much of the information is useful, and it seemed to be quite positive. Until I got to the 'cons':

Now, I'm not really into the discourse surrounding the split attraction model - in fact, I didn't realise there was discourse surrounding it. This is because I tend to, either accidently or on purpose, avoid discourse in general. But... 'oversexualisation'? In what context? If anything, not using the split attraction model would be considered 'oversexualisation' (even though I don't think that that is, either - I honestly don't know why this word has been brought up here) due to the fact that many people focus on sexual attraction over any kind of attraction and use it to cover romantic attraction, too, when they talk about it. I genuinely have no idea what they are referring to here.

In regard to the second point: what? Attraction is complex. That's the whole thing. The split attraction model makes it less complex for many people. It allows people to figure out who they are and have the terminology to be able to voice it. Attraction is a spectrum and so is gender. Of course both of them are going to be complex. Society made both of them rigid in the first place, so breaking out of those rigidities is going to be confusing for everyone. The split attraction model helps people understand themselves, and I would like to think it helps them understand others. Everyone benefits.

I don't know if I can speak much on the third point, as I'm not familiar with the discourse, as I previously mentioned, and don't really know what it entails. Though, in saying this... what do they mean? When has asexuality - or aromanticism, for that matter - ever been prioritised over other queer identities? There's a severe lack of discussion and education surrounding both of them. That's just a fact. People who are asexual and/or aromantic are oftentimes even shunned by the wider queer community they are a part of. I don't really have much more to add on this point because I'm so confused by it. By the way, this article barely talks about aromanticism, despite the fact that it's an important part of this model, too.

The last point is just a rehash of the second point. If I was told about any of this stuff growing up, I would have realised I was ace and demiromantic from the start. Instead, I realised I was ace a few years ago after watching Jaiden Animations' video about the fact that she's aroace (I don't want to use the term 'coming out' here because, frankly, I hate it - I'll save that rant for another time). I only realised I was demiromantic in the past month after... realising that people getting romantic crushes on and/or falling in love with someone when they barely know them is actually a thing that happens and isn't fake. These two terms fit me best at the moment, and explain everything. If I had've known these terms as a teenager, that would have been great. The split attraction model helped me so much in breaking down myself and my identity, and offered me the foundation I needed to ask myself questions. Yeah, attraction and gender are confusing - I said it before, and I'll say it again. But why would you cast something so helpful aside? That will only hinder people - both those who are struggling with their own identity and those who are trying to understand the identities of others. Education surrounding the complexities and spectrums of attraction and gender are so important, and this model will help people teach other people about attraction.

I also read a bunch of hate comments, as one does whenever they go on Reddit or Twitter or literally any social media platform ever, regarding the split attraction model. This didn't surprise me. These specific people seem to hate this model because... well, I don't really know. They were mostly spewing aphobia. I don't think a single one had a constructive point. Also, most of the search results for 'split attraction model' on Google are actually critiques of it, or articles talking about critiques of it and being on the fence. Come on, people. Do better.

Anyway, the split attraction model is important. Education is important. Allowing people to figure out who they are and express it is important. This should all go without saying.

That is all.