#there isn't and there isn't going to be because the chosen one decided to course correct any radicalism away from itself

[petrenocka]

I genuinely feel like the world where My Hero Academia didn't betray everything it stood for with the resolution of the Hospital War ark and everything that followed would've been a noticeably better world.

Not numerically better by the simplistic virtue of having one more good work of fiction in it. That shit genuinely could've changed the hearts and minds on a significant scale I feel.

But it chose not to.

[theobservatory]

｡⁠☆I'm Baby｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

☆Tim drake x reader

☆Cw: Damian being a menace, crack/fluff

To be honest, Damian was only getting close to you to bother Drake. He didn't really have a reason for it either, but bothering is pseudo older brother is entertaining, fun even.

It's not tranquil, like painting. It's not rewarding, like training. It's not adrenaline filled, like patrol. No, it's just... Fun.

Damian can't even explain why it's fun either. There's just something about the look of utter anguish, irritation, that crosses Drake's face that just makes him smile.

It's an evil little thing, all sharp teeth and hard lines. Nothing like those big grins you see kids have in childish movies. No, he looks like a shark in fish infested waters. Like a wolf locked in a pen of sheep.

So imagine his surprise when you derail his plans by being likeable. You're clever, and kind, but not smothering like Grayson. He didn't start showing up at your window to actually get close to you, and yet here is, tucked into your side as he vents about school today.

The people at his school are utter imbeciles, and he only goes to appease his father. Not that he understands why his father sends him. He already has a friend his age, Jon! He's sure you'd be his friend too, if he asked.

... Even the thought of doing that is too humiliating to fathom.

He's sure you'd just look at him with that dumb smile that makes his chest feel tight, and you'd probably pet down his hair, and say something like "Of course we're friends! Why else would I let you crash on my couch after patrol?" Because you're good like that, and always give reasons why you do and feel things.

But he'd rather drop dead than be perceived as childish or immature. Asking someone to be your friend is playground chat, and Damian stopped going to a school with a playground this year so he's much too old for that. Instead he just rambles about how many times he's had to correct his teacher this year, because if he thinks the kids are stupid don't get him started on the adults.

You listen the whole way through, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He's practically squished to your side. He planted himself there as soon as he got through the lock on your front door, but you don't say anything about it, you never do. It's much more tolerable than Grayson's constant cooing.

"And do you know what the worst part is?" Damian huffs, a balled fist gripping your pants.

"What?"

"She tried to correct me on the Greek Pantheon, me! It's as if my chosen aunt isn't Princess Diana of Themscryia! Imbeciles, everyone of them!"

You nod solemnly, clearly understanding Damian's plight. This is why he comes to you, no one at that blasted manor gets it. They would try and correct him, teach him to be more understanding, but you just listen! You listen, and commiserate! Like any good sibling should.

"I used to have a teacher like that. It turned out no matter what I told him, no matter what evidence I presented, he just decided that I was a lost cause anyway." You roll your eyes, picking at the stitching of Damian's sleeve. He should probably stop you, but he can't even bring himself to give the gesture a glance of his attention. "I ended up transferring out of the class, my peace was not worth the credit. I just took it online instead."

"If only father were that understanding. I would take every class online if I could."

"What, there isn't a single thing you enjoy about school? When I was your age I only ever showed up for extracurriculars, but they managed to at least make it a little worth it for me."

Damian wants to say no, "My art and art teacher isn't deplorable." But that would be a lie.

"What're they-"

The lock of your farthest window clicks, interrupting you. Damian slips a blade out of the pocket of his school uniform, but doesn't bother moving. A measley intruder won't stand a chance against him, especially because they would be interrupting his you time.

A foot slides in through the open window. Black slacks, he can tell by the hemlines they're expensive. The shoes are glossy, but slightly scuffed, also clearly expensive.

Damian glares, he knows exactly who this is. The grip of his blade gets tighter.

"Hey babe." Drake greets, pulling his satchel in the window before closing it. "You'll never believe the day I had at work-"

Damian and Drake lock eyes. He can feel his eyes turn into giddy crescents as Tim's face falls into disbelief. Yes, this is the exact feeling he's been waiting for. He could revel in that disgusted expression he has.

"What's he doing here?" Drake sneered.

"Don't be rude."

"Wha- I'm not being rude. I just- baby, sweetheart, why the fuck is my little brother in your apartment?"

For his part, Damian just snuggles closer to you, causing you to squeeze him tighter. If it's even possible, he looks even more smug than he did before. All according to plan.

"I invited him. He likes to hangout after school sometimes." You smile, it's genuine, as if you're completely oblivious to why this would distress Tim. They both know you well enough to know you're having just as much fun fucking with your boyfriend as Damian is.

"You know each other? You do this regularly??"

"No thanks to you. I've only met your family once and it was in passing, Tim! What was I supposed to do, tell him to leave? He's just a baby!"

Under normal circumstances, Damian would grow irate at being called a baby. He is ten years old, in double digits, basically an adult! However, annoying Drake takes precedence right now.

"Yeah Drake, I'm just a baby." Damian says flatly. "I'm just a baby, and you're scaring me."

You gasp. "Timothy you're scaring my baby!"

"That demon is NOT a baby! Are you under mind control? Blink twice if you need help."

Your hand tugs Damian into your chest, and you plant a kiss on his forehead. His demonic smile wavers for a moment as a flush hits his cheeks, that same icky syrup-like feeling you tend to give him curling in his chest. It comes right back when he sees that absolute offended and affronted look on Drake's face.

This is the best day of his life.

"If you don't start being nice to this sweet baby angel right this second, I'll have to throw you out of my apartment. Sorry Tim, those are the rules."

"You just made that up, those- that's- those aren't the rules!"

Damian pulls out of your hold to sit up straight on the couch, re-pulling out his switchblade. It glints off the yellowish lighting in your apartment, the same glint in his wolfish grin.

"Please." He stands. "It would be an honor if you would allow me."

You pretend to think about it, a matching mischievous look on your face. "Hmm okay, but only because you asked so nicely.

"I'm sorry Tim, but I don't make the rules, I just follow them."

"I'm not sorry." Damian brags.

"Shut it, brat."

Tim begins to climb back out the window, huffing as his satchel gets stuck on the sill for the second time. His head pokes back in before he closes it, a glare, that would be terrifying if Damian was anyone else, on his face.

"This isn't over."

"I disagree."

The window slams shut, and Damian slots himself right back where he was before. Both of you have the evilist of giggles as you basket on the high of teasing Tim Drake.

Despite his shitty day at school, it's a good day, anyway.

You only played along bc Tim's been ignoring you for the sake of work, leaving his stabby little brother here to satiate your boredom. This is petty revenge.

Damian also becomes the biggest cock block in the world after this. You think it's funny, Tim not so much.

Also planning on writing a short follow up to this where Tim comes to you after patrol and needs reassurance.

｡⁠☆Requests open

[queenpiranhadon]

what are your thoughts on katsuki's reaction when he finds out his partner has the same spice tolerance as him...

A/N: Oh, anon don't worry I have MORE than just thoughts... I actually love this prompt so I'm gonna write it a little differently than usual :) Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader likes spicy food, second or third year-ish, fluff, pre-established relationship, standard partner nicknames are used - dummy, babe, baby, etc, reader is gn but is written with f!reader in mind, double dates but it's just silly goofy

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader, Mina Ashido x Ejiro Kirishima

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴡᴀꜱᴀʙɪ ─────•°•☁︎•°•────•

So from your wording, Bakugou finds out about your spice preferences at some point during your relationship, instead of before, which I don't think is as plausible because of his insane perception skills (he probably knows more about you than even you do before you guys even start dating- my man is a closeted nerd and you can't convince me otherwise). But if he did find out while you two were dating, the outcome would be hilarious.

Let's say you're in the UA dorms, whether you're in the hero course on not, you're just chilling in the kitchen waiting for your boyfriend to meet you downstairs. Class 1-A loves you a ton, and even though they tease you and Bakugou a lot, you both end up having a lot of Netflix and chill dates in the common room since the TV there has a shit ton of streaming services.

You put down your phone, sighing, and decide to be a little more productive instead- making your way to the common room to pick out a movie. It was tradition, between you, Katsuki, Kirishima and Mina to watch movies together every now and then as a double date- something Katsuki was adverse to but you knew he secretly enjoyed the chaos that ensued whenever the four of you were together- also realizing that if they weren't in his line of sight, they'd probably end up blowing up the dorms by accident anyways. He'd only said this once though, face turning bright red as you teasingly called him a mother hen.

Mina and Kirishima had started dating a few months ago (you and Katsuki had celebrated your 1 year anniversary two weeks prior to it ) and being the friend group you were, who could pass up an opportunity?. Kirishima and Katsuki very best friends, as were you and Mina, so it was a no-brainer that the four of you would have regular get togethers like this in the first place. You thought it was nice, seeing Katsuki interact with his friends as he relaxed, even if only a little, around his close friends.

You settle yourself down in the plush couch across from the TV screen, and feel the cushions dip as a new weight is added, seeing Mina Ashido plopping down next to you.

"Movie night!" she cheers, and she nudges you with her shoulder. "Some day we gotta ditch the boys and get through a movie marathon together- I swear Eji has the worst taste in movies, if I have to watch another Star Wa-"

"Hey! My taste isn't that bad!" Kirishima whines, coming up behind the both of you with Katsuki in tow. "Plus you keep asking to watch those K-dramas that get your mascara running."

Mina raises an eyebrow. "Eji, you cry more than I do during those."

Katsuki sighs and raises his hand in an attempt for peace. "Oi, shut yer mouths and go grab the pillows and blankets. Y/N and I will order food and pick out the movie."

Mina groans but relents, looking at you pleadingly. "Please chose a good movie - no ‘to be continued’s PLEASE"."

You snort, remembering how one time Kirishima had chosen Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which prompted the four of you to binge the entire MCU on a day without classes.

Scrolling through movies, you decide to choose a classic- the Matrix, something action packed enough to keep Kirishima (and Katsuki's) attention, and something with enough romance to keep Mina hooked.

As you navigate through the countless streaming services, Katsuki's voice pops up behind you.

"Oi, babe what do ya want to eat? Got some rolls dipped in wasabi for myself...I already know Shitty Hair's gonna ask for some chicken wings- an I got some tacos for Pinky cause I know she was whinin about cravin Mexican food earlier..."" He trails off, embarrassed when you grin knowingly in his direction.

You decide to be merciful though, shrugging and returning back to the TV. "I know very well that you're going to order from three different places just so all of us get what we want so I'll just share with you." you smile, and Bakugou's heart thumps softly from your thoughtfulness.

"Tch- whatever dummy. What do ya want in them- I know my rolls are pretty fuckin spicy - avocado, shrimp, cr-" He asks, but you cut his off with a bewildered look.

"What? Why wouldn't I get it with wasabi??" You ask dumbfounded. "That's like 85% of the flavor - plus it's kinda boring without it." you say, and your boyfriend's jaw drops open- as if you'd told him you were pregnant of something.

"Marry me."

You want to burst out in giggles, but stop when you see the deadass look on his face.

"Kats-"

"Jesus Christ baby, of all the shit ya hide from me, ya hide the most important one?!" He asks incredulously and that's when you start laughing.

"If ya told me this shit sooner I would've asked yer ass out the moment I met ya."

[moth-murdock]

No one knows (I wish she could)

My masterlist | Series masterlist

A/n: part two! Let's fucking go! Also, those images were chosen for a very specific reason that you will find out later :)

Genre: angst? Fluff?

Summary: being pregnant is supposed to be celebrated. But how are you supposed to tell your husband when he has such deep emotional wounds?

Warnings: telling your husband you're pregnant

Other tags: Curtis mentioned, max not much :(, confrontation yikes, I'm starting to Google stuff now so bear with me

Word count: 1.6k

You pocket the test and sneak over into your shared bedroom to hide it. After much deliberation, you decide to go back to the bathroom and hide it among your period things. You knew for sure that Frank wouldn't go nosing around in there, and it's not like you'd forget about it. You couldn't if you tried.

Slowly, and with shaking breath, you put your things back to how they were. Then, you felt like you could cry. All the worst-case scenarios were going through your head at once, and you felt like they would all come true and burn down the life you had built with Frank. You wash your face to will the tears away, heading back to the living room. He's still asleep. Good.

After a moment of thinking and a glance at the crooked clock on the wall, you turn the forgotten TV off.

"Honey... Come on..." You say softly as you nudge your husband

"You're gonna be achey tomorrow if you sleep on the couch." You reason, but you are met with a protesting groan from the man

"Not gonna be able t'sleep if I get up..." He murmurs, adjusting the pillow beneath his head

"And I can't sleep without you in the bed with me, sweetheart." You counter, to which he gives a few seconds of thought before getting up.

"Don't say I don't love you..." He grumbles as he stretches, his shirt riding up a bit to reveal his happy trail. You want to have a sinful thought, but that is quickly doused by the knowledge of what is currently hiding in your bathroom drawer. Thankfully, he's too sleepy to notice the worry on your face. 

You both make your way back to the bedroom, crawling into the soft sheets together. He's the big spoon tonight, pressing gentle, sleepy kisses to the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around you. You want to be comforted, but this just makes his hands end up on your stomach. Instinctively, you tense for a second. But you don't want him to know something's wrong, so you force yourself to relax. You damn near shit yourself when you're pulled out of your thoughts by his voice, rough with sleep.

"G'night, sweetheart."

"Night, baby"

Baby

The next morning, you take another test. To be sure. Because there's no way, right? I mean, you take your pills on time every day. No matter what. Of course, birth control isn't always effective... But the odds are so slim, there's no way. Right?

Two pink lines.

FUCK

It takes 2 days before you feel like you're actually going to die unless you tell someone. So you call the people you know are close to Frank. You pick up your phone, dialing Curtis's number. There's background noise, like he's probably cooking dinner

"Hello?"

"Curtis! Hi!"

"What did he do this time?" The man chuckles

"actually... I uh... I need your advice on something."

"Alright, what is it?"

"... Well... I uh... I'm pregnant. And I don't know how to tell Frank, and I'm scared of how he'll react."

You hear the click of a stove being turned off and the scrape of a pan being moved off the burner.

"Well... Before anything else, congratulations."

Oh boy.

"... Thank you..."

"I know you know about Maria and the kids. But I need more context."

"Like?..."

"Was this planned? Unplanned? Have the two of you talked about kids before? How did he react to that? All that."

"Oh, um... Unplanned. And I've tried to bring up kids before... He avoids it every time..."

Every time you tried to hint at kids with Frank, you were shut down. A video of a baby in a onesie? He said "cute" and nothing more. Asking to look around the infant section of the store? He asked if your sister was pregnant. You straight up asked him what he thought about kids as you walked past a park one day, and he said "they're alright. Pretty loud."

"Okay... So... Unplanned, and he's been avoiding talking about kids..." Curtis repeats

"Yeah..." You sigh

"Well... I'll tell you what I do know. I know Maria's pregnancy also wasn't planned. But damn it if he didn't love those kids more than anything."

"Yeah, I thought about that too, but I don't know if he'll be the same about me. He didn't have so many... Issues... When Maria was pregnant."

"Good point..."

There's a few more moments of silence before he speaks again.

"The best I can do is this. Tell him, and if he doesn't take it well, call me. I'll try to talk to him."

"Thank you, Curtis."

"No problem. Congrats again." He says before hanging up, after which you put your phone away with a sigh.

You pretty much repeat this process with Dinah, David, and even Matt. You needed all the opinions you could get. And they all said something along the lines of what Curtis said. Frank loved his previous children, and he loves you. But also in case anything goes wrong they would all beat the shit out of him together.

You know you only have so much time before you can no longer hide it. If you did your math right, you got pregnant about two weeks before your period. And given that morning sickness starts at around five weeks, you don't have very long to think about what you want to do and how to do it. 

What you know for sure is that you don't want to get rid of it. But having a baby would affect Frank as well, so he should at least get to put in his opinion. That still means you have to tell him.

It could potentially blow up in your face, yes, but it doesn't seem like Frank would realistically be angry or leave you for it. Hell, when he found out Maria was pregnant, the first thing he did was put a ring on her finger. Their marriage was a good one, from what Curtis and Frank himself have told you. So this can't go too horribly wrong, right?

You take some time to consider your options before you finally come to a decision. You're going to tell Frank. But now you figure out how. You've seen a few pregnancy reveals before, so you have an idea of what you could do that Frank would like. Hopefully, if he likes it enough, he won't blow up.

We need to talk when you come home you text.

Okay. 👍🏻

Despite the situation, that manages to get a small laugh out of you. That seemed to be his response to just about everything.

As you wait for Frank to get home, you decide to pick up some pizza from Lombardi's. You figure that if he's happy, it's celebratory. If he's upset, it's a consolation. You check your phone to see if he's on his way home yet, and he's about 15 minutes out. Fuck.

In an attempt to not go insane, you go to the bathroom to take one more test, just in case. After the longest ten minutes of your life, you are greeted by two pink lines. Double fuck.

You let yourself spiral until you hear Frank's truck pull into the driveway, at which point you go to the dining table. Frank walks in and hangs up his jacket, smirking at the pizza on the table

"Lombardi's and a talk? I hope we're celebratin'" He chuckles in that low voice of his, crossing the room to give you a kiss.

"I hope so too..." You sigh into the kiss, your grip tightening around the positive test in your hands

"You hope so?" He asks, pulling away and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

"Frank... I..." You start, trying to avoid the lump that forms in your throat.

Frank, lord bless him, just waits. He has this look when he's listening, so aggressive and yet so soft at the same time.

"What I wanted to talk to you about... Is... It's..." You struggle, trying to speak around the lump in your throat.

And Frank, he just listens. He listens in a way that you know he really is. He has that look on his face, so aggressive and yet so soft. He meets your eyes, and that's all it takes for you to break. Because you don't want to lose him. You don't want to lose everything you have with him.

Frank sees the fat tears brimming on your waterline and immediately wraps his arms around you so tenderly and with such concern that it just makes you cry even more.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? Why're you cryin'?"

You can't answer, your nose already so full that you almost can't breathe. When he notices that, he stops trying to get you to talk. He lets you cry it out, your tears rolling off his flannel.

Once your sniffles die down, you gather the strength to speak.

"I just... I love you so much... And I don't want to lose you..."

"I ain't goin' nowhere... Why would you lose me?" He chuckles softly as he cups your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs

"Because... I don't... know how you'll take it..." You hiccup between breaths

"Take what, sweetheart?"

You finally bring up your hands, showing him the positive pregnancy test

"I'm... I'm pregnant, Frank."

[nozo-muu]

OUT OF REACH

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x Male Reader, Ian Gallagher x Male Reader (both are separate, no proships up in this bitch)

Best friend’s brother trope and a little bit of jealous best friend. Not an established relationship.  

Summary: Lip and you get caught cuddling by Ian when he comes back from being out.

Cw: NSFW, Mentions of sex, Oral (Reader receiving), Use of the f slur (censored), Swearing, (let me know if there is more)

Author’s note: This is a follow-up to my last fic. I changed the narrator's voice because I realized too late that I wrote that one in the third person, not the second. Let me know what you prefer and if you like me using my OC as the male lead instead of a male reader.

Again, this is inspired by my Oc and scenarios of my Dr. 

"You only call me on the weekends, you only love me when we're freaking"

(I literally have a song for most of the scenarios so yeah...)

The door flung open, which startled you both. The room was dark and you both were lying together, with Lip’s head on your chest, and shirtless, which wasn’t a good look in front of your best friend Ian, especially for Lip.

“YOU HAVE TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” 

Lip immediately shot up, trying to act like he wasn't just cuddling you, which didn’t accomplish anything.  

“Really? With this shithead? You couldn't have chosen someone that wasn't from my family?” Ian exclaimed. 

He had a point… Why the fuck would you decide to sleep with the brother of one of your bestest friends? Yeah, he was hot as fuck, but that wasn't an excuse. With your looks and charm, you could have pulled anyone else if you wanted to. And making out in the Gallagher house, the house without privacy? Really? Not your brightest moment, that's for sure.

“We weren’t doing anything, I swear” Lip added, trying to ease the tension, obviously skipping over your little shower fun.

“Yeah, we were just chilling.”

“Shirtless and without pants, might I add” Ian retorted. 

Touché. 

“Homies chill together like this all the time, it’s no big deal.” Now why the hell would you say that? You know no one does that. 

Ian snorts, “Yeah right…”

He wasn't really mad at you, to be honest, he found it almost funny how his straggot pussy-wipped of a brother had ended up sleeping with his best friend. Food for thought, that was for sure. 

“I’m gonna go for a smoke.” Lip said, trying to evade the vicinity. 

Ian turns to him. 

“You could have at least told me to not come home for a while, so as to not walk in on your little…fun.” 

Lip rolls his eyes at him, sliding past him and almost rolling down the stairs by how badly he wanted to get out of that room. 

Ian turns back to you. You were still lying there, in your boxers, almost frozen by the absurdity of the situation. His eyes roamed your body, looking you up and down. He couldn’t deny it, you looked amazing like that. 

“My brother? Really?” Ian said, sighing.

“Look, I don't know. Honestly, I don’t understand how this happened.” Of course you knew, really well. But you weren’t about to tell Ian any of it. “We just got caught up in the heat of the moment…” False, once again. 

“Honestly, I don’t care, I’m just surprised by him. It turns out the asshole also likes cock.” He sat down on the bed, glancing at you. “Although it’s true that yours isn't half bad.”

You throw a pillow at his face. 

“For fucks sake, Ian.”

“What? You can fuck my brother but I can’t joke about when we did it?”

“I didn’t fuck him! Nor did he fuck me! WE. DIDN’T. DO. ANYTHING.”

He eyes you up and down, not quite convinced by your story and trying to ignore his growing erection. Seeing you barely clothed really did turn him on.

“Fuck it”, he thought to himself, “it’s not like we haven’t before”. 

He scooted over a little, placing his hand on your naked thigh. 

You glance at him with a questioning look.

“That means you’re quite pent up then…”

“You can’t be serious.” You say while looking at him, bewildered.

“Oh, I am.” He shifts in front of you, now on his knees. “May I?”

You roll your eyes at him, but ultimately oblige, blushing a little. 

“Fine.” 

With that green light, he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs and over your boxers. Oh, how he loved the scent of your cologne, of your body, of you.

As he continued, still caressing your thigh with one hand, the other having already traveled to your torso, he could feel your member growing. 

Your hands went down to his short hair, gently brushing your fingers through it, which sent a shiver down his spine. 

He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, along with his boxers, just enough so that he could start stroking himself while he focused on you. 

The precum had already started showing through your boxers, which was enough of a cue for Ian to tug at the hem to take them off, revealing your member. 

Gosh, how he loved it. Granted, it wasn’t as big as his, but something about yours mesmerized him. And the sounds you made, those grunts of pleasure and your breathless curses… Gosh, he went feral when he heard those. 

He moved his attention back to your thighs while slowly leaving kisses closer and closer to the shaft. 

“Ian…” You whispered breathless. 

He knew what that meant, he knew you wanted it. He loved having that effect on people, especially on you. 

He started sucking at the base, slowly going up the length. He kept going up and down, licking and leaving little pecs on your member. He went up one final time, this time taking you into his mouth, still stroking himself in the process. He was enjoying this…

His tongue swirled around your head periodically, making you squirm in pleasure. Your hands were still on his hair, caressing his head while he sucked you off. 

He kept bobbing his head up and down until you both were approaching climax.

“Ian… I’m close” you breathed out, looking down. 

He was stroking himself faster and faster now, being almost there himself. He grunted in acknowledgment, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. 

He kept sucking until he felt it in his mouth… The sensation immediately making him cum on his hand. 

He got up, grabbed a tissue and wiped his hand. The bastard was smirking. 

“Happy? How’s that for an apology?” You asked.

“Apology accepted, but again, I wasn’t mad.” He said, smiling. 

Of course, the guy only wanted to cause a scene. 

“I should go talk to Lip.” 

“Maybe.” 

Outside, Lip was smoking his second cigarette since he had left the room. He was thinking, just like he always was, but right now, he was thinking of you. 

It wasn't a crush, how could it be? Lip had always been the pussy fucker of the family. How could he have fallen for the goody two shoes of the neighborhood?

Granted, you were handsome, tall, smart, and a sweetheart. But come on, you were his brother's best friend. You were younger than him. He couldn't possibly… It was just a fwb kinda thing, or his hormones… 

Engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't hear the front door open.

“Hey…” You approach him, sitting next to him on the steps, “wanna talk about what just happened? Just so you know, Ian is not mad.”

Lip glances at you, taking another puff of the cigarette and handing it to you. You take a puff and he sighs. 

You place a hand on his shoulder. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just that ever since that night… Things between us feel different, I feel different. It’s like everything I knew about myself is crumbling down.”

You smile at him, knowing what that feels like.

“You know I’m always here for you, Lip.”

He glances at you. 

“Can you kiss me?”

“What?”

“Kiss me. I want you to kiss me without the need to hook up after.”

Oh! That was a new one. Never in your life would you have thought that THE Lip Gallagher would ask you for a kiss without sex, drugs, or alcohol being in the mix. 

“Sure.”

He turned now towards you fully. Cupping your face as you approached his, eyes immediately closing shut. 

The contact of your soft lips sent sparks throughout his whole body, his hands reaching for your waist. He kissed back, almost desperately, while you ran your fingers through his blonde hair. When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. 

“Satisfied?” You ask softly.

“Very.”

[shorthaltsjester]

obsessed with the fact that bell's hells won that fight explicitly because of their reliance on the gods. imogen and laudna both vocally saying 'thank you matron' at the beginnings of that combat as they use new skills or spells they've refreshed, orym wielding his sword, braius wielding his divine power, the entire party instilled with a hero's feast prepared by a cleric of the wildmother, imogen using power granted by the arch heart to bring down predathos -- an entity that has been described as welcoming her home, offering a womb she has longed to return to, her as its kin -- in imagery evoking the moment where the gods too decided to turn their backs on their home when faced with the monstrosity they were tied to, that they'd help bring about (something something, the arch heart gave mortals magic and imogen gave predathos its vessel). and the fact that bell's hells has slowly grown more reliant on the idea that predathos does not hunger for mortals -- something they in fact scoffed at when it came from liliana and ludinus' mouths -- predathos took several of them in his maw and tried to consume them.

viewing the story as one of a group of people predominantly blinded to the reality of their situations by the fog of their traumatized feelings -- as i've chosen to do for the sake of my sanity listening to them go on and on about gods that never gave them a lick in the same breath that they complain that the gods have too much power -- it is so extremely poetic that orym cut down ludinus with a sword blessed by the wild mother only for bell's hells to retread the path ludinus set up for himself. it is extremely ironic for a group of people who have implicitly raised complaints about the inherent manipulation that comes with the god's existence to come up with a plan that is explicit manipulation, demanding the gods become mortal or die [which to be clear, extremely interesting plan with interesting consequences that would be compelling to see! absolutely dogshit reasoning skills and moral assessment. but it is continually ASTOUNDING to me that a campaign that gets treated by some as the height of critical role's sociopolitical philosophical exploration features so many PCs who struggle (and not in the fruitful, developmental way but in the head-in-hands, can this student talk to the prof during office hours so I don't have to feel the second hand embarrassment of them making it obvious they haven't ever attended a previous lecture or done the class readings way) with ideas found in any first year philosophy course].

and to be clear this is not me devaluing the role of bell's hells in actually fighting the fight -- but all they've done is the same thing the gods were already doing, keeping predathos sealed, except now its in a volatile-at-best mortal who is on borrowed time re: being lost once again to its power. the only suggestion the hells have that this might be a justified and right course of action is the support of two gods -- one who has proven themself to be okay with the idea of death until it actually arrives before and the other one who is the only being on record who actually chose to be a deity -- out of a much larger pantheon, and their personal inclinations to agree with the ideology of a man who they have claimed to ardently disagree with but it turns out that was just because of his methods, I guess. scattershotting catalysts for change and hoping that change results in a Better World just. on its own (almost like. idk. fate) that you haven't even suggested practical (I'd even take theoretical ones atp) methods to achieve beyond Get Rid of a bunch of beings who are involved in actually extreme amounts of metaphysical and magical infrastructure isn't actually a course of action, its a course of chaos, and that is in fact worse than things staying the way they are if 'the way things are' that you keep referring to has only been shown to, currently, be that you and your friends feel sad and a little miffed that the gods you haven't offered anything to are only willing to do things for you when you serve them. unlike you, a group notorious for the way you do things for people you don't know without asking anything in return (this is sarcasm, if that wasn't clear).

anyway, I will continue to be frustrated by the lack of grounding for either (a) bell's hells having actually incisive and contextualized criticisms of the gods (either their own or from the actual mouths of the 'little guys' they are allegedly fighting for) or (b) more engagement with the fact that bell's hells as a party are not interested in making the morally right choice, they are at Best looking for a morally neutral choice. that said, if I ignore the actual story c3 has portrayed, the last few episodes have been a great wrap-up to a story about how singleminded trauma can make you and how that can lead you to place where there's no longer any Good choices to make, only potentially satisfying ones, where the question of who to satisfy takes the reigns over what is best.

[homunculus-argument]

The ancient Romans didn't really care that much about distinguishing legends from historical records, a cool story is a cool story regardless of how much truth there is to it. Anyway, this one guy, named Gaius Mucius Cordus, later given the cognomen Scaevola - "left-handed", because ancient Romans weren't all that familiar with steel, and "balls of steel" was not an available option. Anyway the story goes that as a young soldier, he sneaked into an enemy' camp to assassinate their king. The attempt failed and he was captured. Looking death in the eye, he figured that the best course of action would be to survive by sheer audacity.

So he looked the king he just failed to assassinate in the eyes, told him that yeah I came here to kill you, and you can kill me now but you better get just as lucky every single time, because there's like 300 guys beside me who volunteered for this mission. And then he stuck his entire right arm into a pyre that was within reach, standing perfectly still in place while letting his hand burn, solidly keeping eye contact with the Etruscan king the entire time, just as a way of going "this is what I am capable of doing. This is what I can and will do to myself just to flex on you. The fuck do you think you could do that would harm me."

And the king was sufficiently freaked out by this and decided to just go alright, fair enough, you win this one, by all means please do fuck off, seriously just get the fuck out of my camp. So Mucius was freed and allowed to return to Rome, alive and unharmed if one does not count the collateral damage of one sword arm. And the Etruscan king came to the conclusion that whatever the fuck the Romans have going on, he wants nothing to do with that, and sent ambassadors to Rome to negotiate peace.

Anyway, that's also vaguely how I feel every time I see a tumblr user whose screen name is something like "autistic-faggot". I'm gay myself and have nothing but respect for people on the spectrum, but if all I know about this person is that this isn't just what they're braced to be called, but what the have specifically chosen to name themselves, and how they prefer to be addressed, you can't tell them shit that would even make them blink.

[mahowaga]

OPEN ARMS | G.S.

SUMMARY: chased by killers, you're torn between love, survival and the impossible ordeal of letting go.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x gn!reader CONTAINS: angst (reader is also a sorcerer in this au!) NOW PLAYING: open arms (just sza) by sza WC: 2.1k WARNINGS: not proofread!

Great, you think. Another day, another migraine.

And this time, it's three of them. Your head feels like it's about to explode.

You scale the fence, gripping the wire and hooking your feet through the gaps, and look over the wall at the three men huddled together on the other side. They are discussing something, and every two seconds or so the biggest one (who is wearing a red bowtie) nods and murmurs, “Sounds good.”

You have no doubt that they are contract killers hired by the Sorcerer Association. (You're not exactly their favorite jujutsu sorcerer, and they've made it glaringly obvious with the way they've plastered your face everywhere and put a bounty on your head. Tch, all because they're not big fans of your cursed technique. If you remember correctly, they'd called it "the harbinger of ruin". A bit of an overreaction, you think.)

Your to-be murderers are clad in razor sharp suits and ties, a pair of dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of their nose, a revolver in their hand. It's cute how they dress themselves up as triplets.

You raise your eyes to the sky as if to beg the gods for a sliver of their patience and wonder if the Sorcerer Association will ever leave you be.

The killer with the red bowtie pulls a piece of paper out from the pocket inside his jacket and squints at it. He reads out your full name, then looks to his colleagues with his brow furrowed. "Ain't that the kid no one’s been able to catch yet?”

One of the others has a teal Band-Aid (fancy) slapped onto the side of his neck. Blood stains the edges of it, turning it a sickly and splotchy green. It makes you wonder why he had even bothered to slap one on knowing that the wound would leak out anyways. The guy grunts, lifting his shoulders, and says, “We’ll get 'em. They specifically entrusted us with this mission. We’ll bring the kid's head back for them.”

The three men chuckle and slap each other on the back. It's almost comical. You cringe, feeling bad.

You know very well by now that the Sorcerer Association always tells the contract killers whom they hire that they've been chosen specifically for this mission. (If it isn't already common knowledge, the mission is to kill you. Probably in the most painful way possible. An eye for an eye and all that.)

Tch. No one has been able to kill you yet, and you don't exactly plan on letting these three fools outsmart you either. Your streak needs to remain intact. That and, more importantly, your life.

If they are truly that good, they should’ve already noticed that the only thing separating them from you at the moment is a chain-linked fence and a wall. The fact that they haven't disappoints you greatly.

You let go of the fence and land on the ground, the gravel crunching beneath your feet.

You freeze, knowing they heard you. You need to think quick, plan your next steps within the next ten seconds.

“Someone’s here,” one of the guys say, and they begin running towards the wall.

You've already backed away into the shadows of the buildings, but when you hear them begin to climb the fence, you take it as your cue to start running.

You raise your eyebrows when you see him. Your gut churns, because you're not ready to see him. It's too soon, too dangerous, too risky - too painful.

You are taking refuge in a library that you've broken into. You have to give them credit – those killers are relentless. They’ve been chasing you for a whole week without rest, and even you have to admit that you're running out of energy and ideas. The library is a last resort - it's prodigious, drenched in darkness, and lined with bookshelves as tall as the domed ceiling. The perfect place to lay low.

And of course now is the time he decides to make an appearance.

While hiding behind a bookshelf and sinking lower and lower to the ground with each gunshot you suddenly hear a deafening whoosh, one that you know for a fact isn't from those revolvers your killers carry around, and it's followed by a blinding white light. You don't risk looking around the corner to see what's happening, but you do hear punches being thrown, punches connecting, bones cracking, men grunting, men cursing and then three gunshots in tandem. A finale that ends with a bang. Literally.

You realize that you are holding onto your arms and shaking. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself.

Someone's gone and killed the people after you. But who? Why? Are they coming for you next?

Your mind is reeling. There's nothing useful in there were you to be cut open and examined. Nothing but worries and fear and adrenaline begging you to do something rash. To step out of your hiding place and confront the assassin - or your savior.

You almost do it, too, but then-

“Missed me?” He rounds the corner and smiles – in that Gojo Satoru way where his blue eyes gleam like the ocean during a summer's day, instantly warming you to the core like a cup of hot chocolate on a winter’s day.

You stumble to your feet quickly, embarrassed that he's witnessed you exhibiting fear. (In all the years you've known him, he's never seen you afraid. Never seen you vulnerable like this.)

He holds his hands out to steady you and his arms seem to be the only semblance of consistency in your life at the moment. Strong and unbreakable, figuratively speaking, unlike your currently wavering will to survive this entire ordeal and stop the Sorcerer Association from coming after you.

“Woah, where have you been?” you ask, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. You touch your fingers to your forehead, which you have only just realized is bleeding. You aren't quite sure when you got injured.

He raises an eyebrow. “Where have I been?” he scoffs, folding his arms against his chest. “Last I checked you were the one who vanished into thin air.”

You're kind of upset that he’s taken his hands away from you. You feel the absence of his warmth almost immediately.

You spread your hands. “Yeah, five months ago! I expected you to move on.”

He exhales sharply and runs a hand through his snow-white hair. It still looks as soft as ever, and he still has never told you his hair care routine.

You sigh and dust your clothes off, gauging his reaction. You're not sure you can handle what's about to come.

“Well, it was a rough five months for me," he says, cocking his head, regarding you with that achingly gently gaze of his. "I tried locating you but you just kept moving from place to place. I finally latched onto your signature when you stopped here, so I took my chances." He shrugs, as if he hasn't just turned your world completely upside down.

You're silent for a moment, trying to process his words, but your head is working slower than your ears, creating a backlog of things to be made sense of. Then-

“You looked for me?” Your voice cracks slightly, and you try to cover it up by coughing. (This fails because you end up hacking with the dust lingering in the air from the earlier shootout.)

Satoru sees through it, like he always does, and tilts his head, smiling.

“'Course I looked for you,” he says. “I wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.”

A stray piece of scaffolding falls from the ceiling, startling you both. You realize you've moved closer to Satoru a little too late. (This is what adrenaline does to a person, it delays your critical thinking.) Now you're almost touching noses with him. If you raise your chin, you could seal the deal.

“What the hell,” you mutter under your breath and wrap your arms around his neck. You're not thinking straight, and you know it, but you're not letting this opportunity go without a fight. His hands snake across your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

You missed this. You didn't even know how much you missed this, how much you yearned for him in the five months you spent apart. In the five months after you decided to run.

For a while you just look at each other, Satoru's gaze occasionally slipping down to your lips, followed by him running his tongue over his own, making you bite yours.

Your heart is trying to escape the confines of your ribcage. You'd let it run amok if you didn't want this with him right now.

You don't have to be a detective to see the tension between you both. It's as sharp as a blade, and as taut as a rubber band stretched to it's limit - ready to snap.

You're anxious to kiss him, but you know damn well he wants to. You can't lie - it would change everything, but you're not sure you're opposed to the idea of him being yours.

You know that he wants to kiss you because, well, the last time you were with him he'd told you he wanted to build a life with you, his eyes earnest as they met yours, his hands warm around yours, and you had blindly obliged, needy for someone who cared about you. Someone who saw you for you. Someone who would protect you. Someone who loved-

It was after the killers started coming for you when you realized you could never have a life with anyone unless you wanted to risk their deaths.

Love? Love isn't an option for a fugitive. A target.

With that upsetting thought you pull away from him roughly; from his security, from the life he promises you'll have with him - from everything.

Satoru's furrowed brows are too much for you to face right now. You can't bear seeing his heart break a second time, knowing it's at your hands yet again.

But he has to understand.

He says your name, reaching for your hand. “You know that I can protect you. You don’t have to worry. We just let our guard down last time. I won’t let it happen again.”

You turn away from him, breathing heavily, trying to reign in your emotions. “How can you guarantee that?” you whisper shakily.

When there is no answer for a few seconds you swallow the lump in your throat, knowing that there really is no way that he can guarantee your survival. If his only reason is that he is the strongest, well- even the strongest can only handle so much.

It was always doomed between the two of you, you realize.

It hurts. It feels like someone's run a white-hot poker right through your gut. It feels like someone's reached into your chest and ripped your heart out. It's devastating. It's heart wrenching, because it is true.

Tears threaten to fall. Your vision blurs. Every cell in your body leans towards him, crying for him, reaching out for him.

It's true. You love him. It's a truth you've never truly let yourself believe, because of how impossible the rest of it seemed. And now, looking at him, having to face the way the blue of his eyes shatter like stained glass, the way his hands ball into fists at his sides, the way his breathing becomes heavy, like he can't even do it without his chest hurting - it kills you.

Gojo Satoru. He had listened to you when you'd rambled about your entire life whilst lying beneath the starry night sky. He'd held your hand the day after the failed mission, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, telling you that he would always take care of you. He’d been with you through thick and thin, ever since you were kids, and had stuck by your side through it all. Hell, he’d even been assigned with the task of killing you, and he’d retaliated instead. You should’ve known back then that he was in danger, but his offer to run away and live a life away from all this, together, had been so much more promising and entrancing to you. It had blinded you.

Now, however, you know that the both of you can never be anything more than mere acquaintances - probably even less than that. You are a death threat to him, and he doesn't deserve to die. Not because of you.

“That’s what I thought,” you say bluntly, coldly, even though your breath hitches. Your voice cuts through the silence, and you see him stiffen.

His gaze darkens. Your heart clenches.

Knowing Satoru the way you do, you know that he won't let you go just like that. He will fight, tooth and nail, like he has done for everything in his life.

You aren't sure he'll come out victorious this time, but, like him, you stubbornly hope despite it all.

NOTE: hello! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed this one! i had to bring in the angst because i am allergic to happiness, i'm sorry :( oh no :(

[2-marigold-2]

Terrence Suave lore woww

So my take on the guy:

My headcannons

I think that Terrence, while he was still just a regular toppat, used to be very reckless and jumping into action guy, skilled with using guns especially, crazy ass who loved the thrill of dancing with life and death and eliminating his opponents while other toppats would go ahead with the plan. As you may imagine, these traits carried on to when he eventually became the leader, and unfortunately being reckless and thinking only about the thrill of the fight, isn't exactly what a good leader should have.

Which could make for a good backstory for him. I imagine that on one heist he would land in a situation in which him and Sir Wilford IV were trying to bust their way into some bank, or a museum, and the moment guards showed up, Terrence was quick to jump into action, however as he was caught up in the fight he didn't notice the moment Sir Wilford IV was captured. It turned out there were more guards than they thought there would be, and Terrence wasn't able to fight them all off, so to save himself he fled the scene.

The clan was devastated by the news of course, Sir Wilford IV has been one of the greatest leaders they've had in their history, it's hard to find a replacement for someone so great. That's where Terrence realized he could use this to his advantage. He told the clan that Sir Wilford IV has chosen him as the next leader, and toppats believed him (not everyone 100% believed him but without Sir Wilford IV the clan was in shambles, so it's better to just believe that maybe what Terrence is saying is true, it's not like they know better).

So out of respect of Sir Wilford's IV supposed last wish, they make Terrence the leader. Terrence has been known as one of the most dangerous and skilled fighters in the clan at the time, but that doesn't really equal that he'd be a good leader.

For Terrence, being the leader was essentially just the fact that he could do whatever he wants, and get a bit more from the treasure than the toppats. Which again, not a good thing to have as your leader. He was also just really ignorant to what the clan needed, or to what was effective (such as his signature move being that he liked to "make an entrance" during every heist, he didn't like the more effective methods such as sneaking in, he would deem them as boring)

So, the toppats decided that maybe he could still be a good leader if they gave him someone who could lead him in the better direction and help with the plans. Reginald has been going against Terrence's plans on many heists, and it would usually turn out good for the clan because he was good at what Terrence wasn't, so the clan suggested that maybe he could be Terrence's right hand man.

Yeah figure out how that went...

Terrence is the type of a guy who's really independent and doesn't like others criticizing him or his plans, so Reginald out of all things was just annoyance to him at most.

While Terrence would put up this facade of him being so self confident and great, he hated being compared to other leaders because it would make him feel like he's bad at what he's doing (which. he was, but he didn't like hearing it from others). He hated to admit it but he really missed the Sir Wilford IV era, and he constantly felt like people hate him for not being the kind of leader Wilford was, which would make him more and more paranoid for his life towards the end of his reign.

SO UH YEAH LONG POST SORRY....

But it's just fun to characterize this guy, he's still terrible to others on some level but he's not like 100% evil, he's just very self centered and when given the opportunity of being the leader - he takes it, even if he's not built for it, and he knows it but decides to ignore it and pretend like he knows what he's doing by using the same tactics as when fighting, which is not thinking ahead and just busting his way in violently. He's greedy, he wants money and power, and to be remembered by the clan but fails miserably and soon gets the clan to turn on him instead.

He's got some people out there who he could call friends, and used to get along with Sir Wilford IV pretty well (who he misses sometimes, and asks for advice even though he's long gone). And honestly, he could turn out to be just a bit of a self centered guy who no one really minds, and who could fulfill his role as a distraction, or a skilled fighter, if it wasn't for the fact that he was so certain of being the leader leading to everyone hating him for his ignorance and seeing all his flaws as something that puts all of the clan in danger.

yeah . I might do more with this concept, I think it's fun, does anyone hear me

[prokopetz]

So, you've mentioned before that TTRPGs always have an expected "mode of play", that is, the basic concept from which the gameplay loop is derived. I admit I have little experience with this kind of thing, but I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the mode of play of Lasers and Feelings. Like, what's the unifying thread between Lasers and Feelings, Radical Catgirl Anarchy, and Lily is Girls With The Ability? Or between L&F and something like Speeding Bullets, for that matter? Is it just that they're all rules-light shitposts? Or is it based on, like, the tension between the two different ends of a dichotomy?

One-page games can be tricky in this respect because they just don't have the bandwidth to explicitly state many of their assumptions. They necessarily depend on the players (and the GM, if present) bringing the "correct" set of assumptions to the table regarding how the game ought to be played.

Still, there's enough there to draw certain conclusions. For example, in a typical Lasers & Feelings hack, rolling the dice gives a pass-or-fail outcome (with optional complication) for a discrete physical, mental, or social task. This frames a session of play as a sort of narrative obstacle course: the story consists of overcoming a series of well-defined obstacles in order to arrive at a particular goal. That might seem like a fairly banal observation, because that's how a lot of tabletop RPGs frame a session of play, but we need to make that explicit to contextualise the next step.

That next stop, of course, being the approaches.

One of the baseline assumptions of any tabletop RPG is that you're going to use it to tell the kinds of stories about which the rules have something to say – indeed, a tabletop RPG has to assume this, because if you're not telling the kind of story about which the rules have something to say, you're not playing the game!

To that end, a Lasers & Feelings hack is usually going to give you a pair of approaches to roll against, each consisting of a set of ways of conceptualising the obstacle in front of you. I'm not using the term "conceptualising" just to be fancy here; in Lasers & Feelings, the GM (if present) describes the obstacles, but it's on the player, not the GM, to decide "this is the kind of obstacle which can be overcome with [insert approach]", and nobody gets to tell them they're wrong.

Thus, a Lasers & Feelings hack assumes that the story of your game is going to consist of a series of obstacles (see above) which can usefully be conceptualised using at least one of the game's two approaches. A game where your approaches are "the power of friendship" and "the power of unimaginable violence", for example, probably isn't one that you'd want to use to play out a scenario inspired by Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, because those approaches aren't useful ways of conceptualising the kinds of obstacles such a story is likely to present – and if you used it anyway, the story would rapidly stop being a Pride and Prejudice pastiche.

All that in mind, it might be more accurate to state that Lasers & Feelings as a framework presents meta-expectations; the framework provides a set of mechanisms for a particular hack's chosen approaches to direct play, but you have to look at what that hack's chosen approaches actually are to pin down what that direction is.

[gin-juice-tonic]

Hello. It's me again. I'm sure you've realized by now what this type of introduction to a post is leading into. I'm going to bring up another page in the bill book. This entry is going to be less about "proving" anything, but rather it's just something I'd like to discuss. (Also just a warning, this one ends up a bit long due to how many photos are included!)

As I have said before. I had many many thoughts, and I am liable to talk about them until they're all talked out. I want to focus on a single page again (Or I guess, a single double page).

Sorry for the kinda small image here, but don't worry. I'll point out the part I want to talk about.

What I find strange about these pages in particular, aside from the fact that it starts to become written like some sort of noir novel and that Bill has chosen to speak like a femme-fatale, is the new idea it suggests to us:

Bill at some point told Ford he was from another dimension.

I say "at some point" because Ford doesn't react to the idea like this is new information here. Why do I find that strange? Well, for one thing, there's never anything that would indicate Ford knew this pre-portal.

To start, we know that Bill introduces himself to Ford as "a Muse"

Notice the way Ford speaks about him. "From a higher plane, divine, otherworldly". He makes some guesses on the second page (spirit, alien, dream, etc), but nothing to indicate they've discussed the whole other-dimension thing yet. Of course, this is still early, so let's skip further ahead.

Here's where we start talking about other dimensions.

Bill has told his "weirdness dimension" lie to Ford, but there's no implication that he himself is from this dimension. And not to mention, this dimension hasn't been destroyed, so naturally it cannot be the one he talks about in the Bill Book pages.

Regardless, Bill is still being referred to as a divine thing, unknowable and even possibly not real. Safe to say he isn't inter-dimensional yet, so let's continue.

(this section has been edited from its original wording)

Here Fiddleford and his idiosyncrasies enter the fray, and Ford debates telling him. Fiddleford is aware they're building a portal to another dimension, so it would not be that far of a stretch in that vein for Ford to also explain that Bill himself is from one. But Ford's attitude toward the situation veers towards the less scientific. Ford still considers Bill to be something divine, and is worried Fiddleford would think black magic is happening.

Worrying that Fiddleford would think he's gone mad is one thing, but the emphasis on black magic and fiddlefords superstitions strike me as odd.

I understand there are likely several varying reasons why Ford wouldn't want to tell Fiddleford about Bill, even if Ford DID know he was from a different dimension, however:

If Ford had something to suggest Bill's essence was more scientific in nature, I.E. him being from another dimension himself, I think he would've put that into consideration in that when deciding whether to reveal him to Fiddleford, or at the very least would've given up the emphasis on his superstitious nature.

I'm not trying to say he would've actually fully revealed it to Fiddleford if this were the case, but I think the thought process around the concept of doing so would be different.

.

We're closing in on the portal test now. Ford refers to him here as a "non corporeal entity". He is non corporeal so long as he exists only in the astral plane... but is that what Ford is talking about? Or does he believe Bill has only ever existed in the mindscape? Does he know yet? I don't think this page actually includes much of an answer, I just figured it should be included.

The next-next page does have Ford cheekily refer to him as "imaginary" though...

Fairly soon after this, the portal incident and the betrayal happens. Could it be possible that somewhere within these pages, Bill spilt his home dimension backstory? I'm still inclined to think not.

These questions have no definitive answer, but I am led to wonder:

1) Bill's whole dynamic with Ford is that of a "Muse" inspiring intelligent minds throughout history, wouldn't the reveal of him being from another dimension call this dynamic into question?

2) If Bill is something from another dimension, wouldn't asking Ford to build a portal to a dimension totally-not-at-all-related-to-him become suspicious? Would Ford not question his motives at that point?

(A later edit: As has been pointed out in the reblogs, some of what I have discussed thus far fails to take into account the mental state Ford could be in due to Bill's abuse/manipulations. Expecting perfect logic and reasoning from him like the two questions above are asking for may not be fair. I am leaving them in this post so the aforementioned reblogs continue to make sense, but again, how his prolonged abuse factors into his logic and decision-making should be taken into consideration.)

.

.

I have just a few more post-portal pages to show to continue my long winded discussion with as well.

The pages about Exwhylia read a bit weirdly, admittedly. The first page Ford states he thought this was Bill's birthplace, the second page he states he believes Bill came from somewhere similar but was mysteriously destroyed.

If Ford thought this 2-D dimension had been reduced to an atom before he got there, how could he have planned to go? And I should hardly call being destroyed by a monster a "mysterious" method of destroying. Whatever the explanation for the way these are written is, I don't think they read like Bill has ever spoken to Ford about his home dimension.

Additionally, he mentions his "quest to defeat Bill" is what led him here, which I feel implies he learned of this place after being portaled.

I wish I had a good closer for this mini-essay, but the questions I asked above the Exwhylia section were originally supposed to be it. I don't believe Bill had told Ford about his dimension. That's the end of the sentence.

MAJOR ADDENDUM:

I can't believe I missed this (I can believe it) but.. In the book of Bill, Ford refers to Bill as "extradimensional" after their very first meeting!

Pinpointing the answer to my timeline question supposedly to this exact moment. In my opinion, if you combine this with everything I've mentioned above, no part of this idea from the book of bill makes any sense at all. You might remember at the beginning of this post, Ford guesses at what type of creature Bill is... two years after this last page here was supposed to have been written.

Additionally, if he had known there was an "extradimensional" creature in gravity falls at this point in time, I should hardly think it would've taken him two whole years after that to think of the idea that the Falls' weirdness may come from out of our dimension! (Not to mention in J3 he tells us the idea was told to him directly from Bill. Two years elapsed between these conversations? Knowing Ford, not likely. Again, even if Bill somehow did avoid telling him that whole time, I think Ford very well could've figured it out on his own by then.)

[eymie]

COME HERE, DRESSED IN BLACK NOW !

masterlist

pairing: politian!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: smut, degradation, dirty talk, oral (m. receiving and f. receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, tummy bulge, cream pie, choking

summary: coriolanus keeps you on a tight leash but when you act out he needs to put you in your place.

a/n: this is literally the first thing i ever wrote on this account but never finished. when i take my time to actually write well😧😧😧😧 it’s so mf long sorry it just got lore (like 4000 words)

Coriolanus had chosen you. You were the one with the ring on your finger. The one with his initials around your neck. You were his.

That didn’t prevent him from being cold and distant. Locked up in his office during the and into the night occasionally. Breakfast and dinner he sat across from you with his eyes scanning the newspaper.

You weren’t his fiancée, you were his pawn. Someone for him to show off, someone to carry his heirs.

In public, he’d wrap his arm around your waist, tugging you tight to his side. You didn’t know if it was to show you were a happy couple or territorial.

Maybe he didn’t love you, or even like you. But, nonetheless, you belonged to him. The abomination it would be to his reputation to have his fiancée acting out. For you to act like a whore in public. So he kept you on a tight leash.

Most the time.

Tonight was your engagement party. He let you plan an extravagant gala, whatever you wanted he got you. You chose the theme, the music, the food. Of course, he chose the people. Running for president and such requires the right people at your events.

And tonight, you got to choose your own gown. It was black and tight, to go along with your theme. You chose black and silver, knowing you had the perfect heels.

Coriolanus doesn’t share a bedroom with you, he claims it’s inappropriate considering you two aren’t married yet. But that didn’t stop him from slipping his hand under your skirt two weeks ago. You and Coriolanus haven’t gone the full way in weeks, that was your goal for tonight.

When Coriolanus decided he wanted to fuck you, it was to release his frustrations not yours. He fucked you because he needed it. You never really came, it was your problem not his. Your fingers never helped.

He said once before that it doesn't count if he isn't making love to you, and he wasn't.

Living with him for two months, you’ve picked up a few things. You know what makes him itch, what makes him needy. You know damn well that he would’ve stand for a brat as fiancée, but you knew he wouldn’t leave you.

You just wanted his attention, for him to really need you. Not a stress fuck, not a pity kiss. You wanted him to crave you. You knew he was possessive, he never hid that side of him. You knew he was a jealous man, that one he wouldn't willingly admit. You knew exactly what strings to pull to have him trail right after you.

He had technically paid for this dress, it was tight and hugged your body in all the places you needed. Long enough to be considered modern, neckline low enough to be considered slutty. The necklace with his initial "C" hanging around your neck, just above your cleavage. You wore sheer black shawl around your arms to cover up if needed be.

You heard heavy footsteps down the hall, an assertive knock on the door to your bedroom. You tug down your neckline slightly, padding over to the door. You turned the knob, pulling open the door to see Coriolanus. His blond curls now slicked neatly, instead of a red suit he wore plain black.

Coriolanus leaned against the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he observed you getting ready. The engagement part loomed, and in his stoic demeanor, there was a hint of the complexities that lay beneath.

Catching his eye as you adjusted her gown. "Yes?" You questioned, sensing the tension in his demeanor. The one-word exchange hung in the air.

"Guests will be arriving soon, we'll need to be greeting them together." He stated matter-of-factly, his voice was cold, emotionless. He was so perfect, in the sense of his posture and the way he carried himself. His eyes bore into yours, avoiding looking at your body.

A quiet "Mhm" escaping your lips, acknowledging him.

Coriolanus eyes flickered down to the swell of your breasts over your neckline. His initial decorating your chest on a pendant. His fingers pulling at your straps, adjusting your dress.

"You have a reputation; don't taint it." He murmured, then pulling his hand away from your gown. You look up at him with furrowed brows. He bit back any more remarks before dismissing himself. The weight of those words lingered, a stern reminder to uphold the image he deemed crucial in their shared world.

You close the door as he leaves, locking it. You walk back over the the mirror, confused with your emotions. Did he even want you? You looked in the mirror, a large diamond decorating your finger, his necklace hanging from your neck.

You fix up your hair, touch up your makeup and slid on your heels. They certainly gave you a few inches, something Coriolanus secretly enjoyed. He was still taller than you, enough for you to look up at him even in heels.

Your heels clicked against the marble floors as you made your way down the stairs. Coriolanus was making sure everything was properly set up as you'd like. Your hand slid down the railing, careful to keep your balance. You looked into the large opulent room, decorated just like how you had imagined. You felt a cool hand on your waist, spinning to see Coriolanus.

"Coryo," You slightly pull away. You watched as his eyes traveling down your body, admiring you.

"Coriolanus tonight, I don't want any of those silly nicknames in front of my peers." He explains, you nodding along feeling slightly embarrassed. Knowing you were barely an exception to use his nickname.

As the first guests began to arrive, a hum of anticipation filled the air. Coriolanus was at his peak of campaigning for presidency. This was the night to socialize with colleagues, his fellow peers. To win presidency.

Your friends were here, other wives of other politicians. Tigris was invited by you, despite Coriolanus' concerns. Which you never understood and he'd never tell you why.

Coriolanus hadn't paid attention to you since the first guest arrived, chatting with other wealthy men. You sat at a table engaging in mindless banter with the other housewives. You watch Coriolanus from across the room, he smiled and nodded, laughing along with jokes you knew he didn't care for.

This was supposed to be your night, and he was viewing this as a business opportunity?

You stood up from your chair, your heels clicking as you walked across the large room in attempt to find a server with champagne. You felt an hand grasp your shoulder, you turn around expecting the face of your dear fiancé. Instead a man that you knew worked alongside him, fairly handsome but not like Coriolanus.

"Mrs. Snow?" He smiles, greeting you with a hug. You looked behind him, Coriolanus still engaging in business matters. You look back at the man, somewhat eye level.

"Not quite yet," You giggle, showing your engagement ring. You weren't going to be his wife for a few more months at least. Not until he won his votes.

"I see, he better lock you in before another man comes by to steal you. Beautiful woman you are." The man laughs, you fake a smile in return. Muttering a thank you, giggling at the things he said. You acted wine drunk knowing you'd yet to consume any alcohol. "Coriolanus is a lucky man."

"That he is," You nod, fingers rubbing at the initial around your neck. The man softly grabbed your hand, pulling it away to see the necklace that hung over your chest. His eyes slightly skimming your breasts.

"A gift I assume?" He raises a brow, letting go of the necklace. His eyes skimmed your body, eyes that you wish belonged to Coriolanus. Yet, another man was in front of you instead.

"Yes, it is." You tell the man, nodding along to whatever he spewed out of his mouth. You laughed at his jokes knowing they weren't remotely funny. He snuck in comments about your appearance and how Coriolanus isn't deserving of your beauty. You simply laughed or nodded, looking back every now or then to see if Coriolanus had noticed.

You were too busy engaging in borderline inappropriate conversations with a random man too notice the jealous eye of your fiancé. His glare burning into your skin from ten feet away.

Engaged in a brief exchange, the man and you exchanged a playful banter and subtle glances, an unexpected flirtation unfolding amidst the lively atmosphere of the engagement party.

Excusing yourself from the flirtatious encounter, you gracefully departed to fix up your makeup. The brief interlude offered a moment of solitude to gather thoughts and make subtle adjustments. You adjusted the necklace that bore his initial. Fingers traced the letter delicately.

Emerging from the bathroom, Coriolanus swiftly found you in the midst of the lively engagement party. Without a word, he decisively grabbed your wrist, his touch conveying a complex blend of urgency and emotion.

Unable to contain his rising frustration, Coriolanus discreetly pulled you away from the buzzing crowd, finding a quieter corridor outside the opulent ballroom.

"Cory-- Coriolanus, you're hurting me." You tried pulling your arm from his grip, his grip unrelenting. If any thing he grabbed your arm harder. "Please."

The tension was palpable as he confronted you, "What was that back there? Flaunting your charms with my business partners? This is not the image we need."

You met his gaze defiantly, "I was playing the game, Coriolanus. Networking is about connections, you know it as much as I do."

His grip tightened subtly, "There's a line between networking and crossing boundaries. You risk our reputation and my patience with such antics."

Their hushed argument unfolded in the dimly lit corridor, a class of personal wills against a backdrop of Capitol politics.

"Who do you think you are?" He spat, his cold gaze that bore into yours. Yours that pleaded for an ounce of his attention that you silently begged for and craved. His eyes ablaze with frustration and distain.

"What--" The retort caught you off guard, and you stammered.

"Flirting with other men, men I work with at that." His voice got louder, echoing in the halls.

Your response was immediate but defensive. "I didn--"

He cut you off sharply, "Don't talk. I have a reputation to upkeep and you walked around like a dog in heat. Look at you. Your breasts practically spilling right out of that dress, thinking I wouldn't notice? How do you expect me to marry you when all you are is a unworthy slut?"

"How else am I supposed to get your attention?" You demanded, frustration evident in your voice. "You ignore me all the time."

He scoffed, "When do I ignore you?"

"Breakfast, dinner, we sleep in separate beds." You retorted. your words laden a mix of hurt and exasperation.

Coriolanus remained indifferent, "Don't expect me to see you as anything other than a business proposition." The coldness in his tone reflected the harsh reality of being in love with Coriolanus Snow.

You scoffed, a laugh laced in your voice. "Then why are you jealous?"

Coriolanus' demeanor remained composed, but a flicker of irritation cross his face. "Jealous of what? You?"

You gestured towards yourself, the fabric of your gown catching the ambient light. "Look at you."

His response was a calculated blend of dismissal and condescension. "Your lucky I don't teach you your place."

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up at him. "My place?"

"Under me." His proximity increased, a subtle threat in his hushed tone. A pregnant paused lingered, the air charged with unsaid sentiments, before he sought clarity. You were turning on your heel back to the party. "Where are you going?"

"My party." You said with unwavering authority.

His challenge echoed, "My room, as soon as your party is over. Don't think to defy it." He asserted, the words resonating in the rich tapestry of Capitol politics. "And fix your lipstick." He added, his demand punctuating the intricacies of control and appearance in their tumultuous engagement.

You quickly ran back off into the bathroom. The soft glow of vanity lights highlighted the subtle imperfections on your face. With a deep breath, you delicately traced the edge of your lips with a tissue attempting to salvage the remnants of your carefully applied lipstick. Embarrassed enough that you had just fought with your fiancé with smeared lipstick.

As the night wore on, the opulent party unfolded in a crescendo of laughter, music and discreet conversations within the grandeur dining hall. Time seemed to stretch, each moment etching its own narrative against the backdrop of celebration. You got antsy by the second, assertive glances between you and Coriolanus throughout the rest of the night.

As the night progressed, the energy in the room began to shift. Guests gradually bid their farewells, and the once lively dance floor saw fewer couples swaying to the music. The atmosphere transformed, signaling the inevitable conclusion of the extravagant affair.

After the last guest bid their farewell, the once bustling corridors of the Capitol estate fell into a hushed stillness. In the wake of the elaborate celebration, you moved through the halls with a determined grace, your footsteps echoing in the quiet.

The dimly lit corridor leading to Coriolanus' bedroom felt like a clandestine pathway into a realm of secrecy. The rich tapestries and plush carpets absorbed the sound, adding an air of intimacy to the silence that enveloped the grand estate.

Your heartbeat quickened as you approached the closed door, the polished wood bearing silent witness to the unspoken tensions of the night.

With a hesitant hand, you reached for the doorknob, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of you skin. As the door creaked open, revealing the private sanctum of Coriolanus, the complexities of their relations in the air of the night.

"Coriolanus--" You whispered into the dim room. You listened to the patter of water against a shower floor. Light emitting from the crack from under the polished door to his private bathroom.

You stood there momentarily, a mix of nerves and yet a feel of need. The soft hum of the shower created a subtle backdrop, underscoring the clandestine nature of their relationship. You sat on the edge of his, your heels falling to the ground at the end of the bed.

As Coriolanus stepped out of the shower, the air was heavy with lingering warmth and the faint scent of soap and the cologne that had been trapped in the room just hours prior. Your lips parted as droplets of water glistened on his skin as he emerged. His gaze met yours, a silence settling between them.

Even though Coriolanus had summoned you, his demeanor remained unchanged as he emerged from the bathroom, his gaze piercing through yours. "I asked you here, didn't I?"

"I wanted to apologiz--" You said, the vulnerability in her words hanging in the air. Coriolanus' gaze, still edged with a hint of distain, bore into her.

Coriolanus' lips curled into a sneer as he delivered a cutting blow. "Apologizing won't erase the fact that you behaved like a slut at our engagement party," He spat, the harshness of his words echoing in the ornate bedroom.

"M'not a slut," Your words held a determined edge, refusal to admit the way his words made your thighs clench.

Despite the verbal exchange, a surprising surge of arousal pulsed through you. Your eyes, previously aflame with defiance, now carried a subtle glint of desire.

With a cruel glint in his eyes, Coriolanus seized the opportunity to assert dominance.

"You're nothing more than a pawn in this game, a desperate attempt at securing my status," He sneered, his words dripping with degradation. Your facade of defiance faltered, replaced by a momentary vulnerability. The plush surroundings seemed to close in as he continued, "You thought you could manipulate me with your feeble attempts at seduction? Pathetic."

As Coriolanus closed the distance, his proximity became suffocating, his presence an imposing force. His gaze bore into yours.

The air thickened with tension. In a surprising turn, Coriolanus abruptly seized you by the chin, his actions a mixture of dominance and an unexpected shift in dynamics. His lips crashed onto yours, a forceful kiss that bordered on the line between punishment and desire.

As your lips met, the kiss became a collision of conflicting desires. Coriolanus's grip on your chin tightened, asserting dominance even in this intimate act. His teeth clashing again yours, kissing you with passion and hunger.

The kiss deepened, the hunger for control and passion intertwining in a complex dance. Coriolanus's grip on your chin loosened slightly, his fingers threading into your hair as if staking a claim. His other hand going to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek. The intensity of the kiss became a ravenous exchange, each probing movement a manifestation of unspoken desires.

Breaking the kiss with a gleam in his eyes, Coriolanus's voice resonated a lingering sense of control. "You wanted my attention; you have it,"

His words hung in the air. As he spoke, Coriolanus maintained a calculating gaze, savoring the vulnerability beneath her desire for attention.

Their intimate connection, a collision of hunger and control, lingered in the room, leaving the boundaries between dominance and submission increasingly blurred. The air seemed to crackle with the unspoken, a potent mix of power and desire entwined in the complex web they wove together.

Your defiant gaze met his, and with a surprising admission, he declared, "You think I don't notice you? I'm obsessed with you."

The revelation hung in the air, a subtle shift in the power dynamics of their engagement. The lines between dominance and surrender blurred further.

"You are?" You questioned, a mix of surprise and uncertainty lacing your tone. How could he be obsessed with you? He couldn't even look at you during dinner.

As the revelation settled between them, you took a step back, your gaze wary yet intrigued. In response, Coriolanus, with a predatory confidence, closed the distance by stepping forward, his presence magnetic. "You're the one with my ring, our possession goes both ways, and don't think I don't know that."

You furrowed your brows, looking into his once cold expressionless eyes. Now filled with need and passion. Your lips parted, water droplets decorating his skin.

"What do you mean?" You asked, a mix of curiosity and confusion. Needing answers for this mind trip he was taking you on.

Coriolanus, standing his ground, met her gaze with a cryptic smile. "Our possession of each other isn't one-sided. Your ring on my finger is as much a symbol of my claim as it is yours. Don't underestimate the reciprocity in our entanglement," He explained, his words carrying a blend of assertion and intrigue.

The bedroom, now a silent witness, seemed to echo the breathing between them. A wry smile played on Coriolanus's lips as he acknowledged, "You'd have my head if I so much as looked at another woman."

The acknowledgment hung in the air, a testament to the fragile balance of power and possessiveness in their engagement.

Your response held a mix of conviction and playfulness, "I would."

The air in the room seemed to thicken with the unspoken consequences, a tacit understanding that their engagement carried a weight of possessiveness and potential retribution. Coriolanus, with a hunger fueled by possession and desire, closed the remaining distance. Your lips met in a hungry kiss, a collision of fervor and dominance.

The lines between power, obsession, and desire blurred further. His wet bare skin rubbing into the fabric of your dress. His hand at the back of your head pulling you into the kiss further. His tongue pushing past your lips, dominating the kiss.

"I feel bad," You admitted, pulling away from the kiss.

"Then apologize," Coriolanus responded, his tone demanding. His jaw was clenched, staring back down into your eyes. He tilted your head up to looking down at you, his obsession and possessiveness bleeding from his stare.

His lips parted as you kneeled down in front of him. A pool of arousal coating your panties. Staring back up at him as your delicately pull off the towel around his waist. You awed at the way his hardness slapped against his stomach.

"Go on, apologize." He ordered, voice laced with need. You felt his gaze burning against you as you nodded. You slowly traced his cock with your finger, a breathy moan leaving his soft lips. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking him.

His jealousy and possession relieving his body, you were the one on your knees for him. No other man could take that from him.

He tilted his head back as your hot tongue slid across the tip of his cock. Experimentally licking off the precum before running it under the tip. Your hand still stroking his length, looking up at him for a reaction. The way his lips parted encouraging you to run your tongue along his length, "More."

You took his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you took his cock deeper into your mouth. You slid your free hand under your dress, between your legs.

Coriolanus' voice laced with mockery. "Not a slut, huh? Look at your taking my cock in your mouth."

He thrusted his hips, cock bullying the back of your throat. You gagged as he slammed into the back of his throat. Saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth.

"Mouth so full you can't even speak." He mocked, pulling the hair out of your face. A sense of accomplishment bubbling in him as he watched your eyes roll back, bubbles of spit spilling down your chin. "I think I like you better this way."

Your nails scratched at his thighs, taking the cock that he pounded into your throat. Tears staining your cheeks, his thumbing coming to wipe them away. Smearing them down your flushed cheeks.

"Fuck-- That's it." A moan rippling from his throat, echoing into the room. His hand pushed your face flush against his pelvic bone.

The way your hot tongue slid under the protruding vein under his cock making him gasp. His cock slid in and out of your warm mouth with ease, abusing your throat.

He bit back his moans, narrowing his eyes down at your. Your eyes were clenched shut avoiding his gaze. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging you off his cock.

"Get on the bed." He ordered, an ache in his voice. You gasped for air, voice raspy from the abuse. You nodded, climbing your way onto the bed. His hands pinned you onto the mattress, tugging at the straps of your dress. "Take off this fucking dress."

His demand made your thighs clench, an ache between your legs you needed him to cure. You helped pull down the straps, his large hands tugging the dress off your body. Your breasts spilled from the dress, bouncing as he freed them.

Coriolanus' breath hitches, his eyes glued to the sight of your bare body. His fingers run lightly over your nipples before cupping one in his palm. He leans down to capture your nipple between his teeth. His free slowly sliding you panties down your legs revealing your slick cunt.

"This all for me?" He teases, looking up at you from your breasts. His fingers sliding through your wet folds. You nodded, chest rising and falling in desperation and anticipation.

"Yes-- yes, all yours." You nodded eagerly, silently begging for him to touch you where you needed it. He leaned down, pressing wet kissed into your collarbone, teeth graving the pendent that hung from your neck. His thumb sliding to your clit, gasping slightly at the sensation.

He looked up at you, a teasing glint in his eyes. His thumb rubbing your clit in frustratingly slow circles. "Look at you, wet enough for me to take you now."

"Please--"

He cut you off immediately, "No, I'm taking my time with you."

You gasp as his middle finger slipped in. A soft moan leaving your lips as he slowly slid his finger out and back in. You rolled your hips, begging for more. His fingers curling to brush your g-spot.

"Oh god--" Coriolanus cuts you off with a searing kiss, hungry and passionate. Kissing you with his whole body, tongue sliding against yours.

He slipped another finger inside your drooling entrance, his palm rubbing against his clit. The sound of your lips colliding and fingers invading your slick filling the room. He kissed along your jaw, down your neck. His lips dragging down your body, slowly dragging closer to where you needed him most.

Your eyes widen, watching him crawl between yours legs. His tongue replacing his fingers. "Coriolanus--"

He moaned into your gushing cunt, sliding his cunt along your drooling entrance. His lips wrapped around your clit, teeth crazing it. He pulled your thighs apart were his strong arms as you writhed under his body.

"Ohh-- Coryo." His mouth sucking and exploring your slick folds as you whined out for him. Your body writhing under his firm grip. Tongue exploring your wet cunt. "I'm gonna cum-- please."

He pulled from in between your thighs, his fingers pushing back inside you again. Your slick covered his mouth, reflecting in the light. "Cum for me."

His fingers curl inside you, thrusting back inside you with force. Your voice cracks as you moan his name, hips struggling against his grip as you reach your peak. Your cum coating his long thick fingers. His fingers pull you through your orgasm, your voice begging him to wait.

Coriolanus' mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and lapping at your clit as his fingers continue to thrust in and out of you. You gasp, your body trembling with the force of the pleasure building within you again.

Your fingers thread in his hair, attempting to pull him off of your aching cunt. His mouth closes over your sensitive nub once more as his fingers begin to move faster inside of you. His hand gripping your thigh as he takes what he wants.

His fingers curl into a 'C' shape, begging you to cum around them just once more time. You writhe under him in overstimulation, hips trying to drag themselves away from him.

You cry out as your juices coat his fingers once again, tears streaming down your cheeks in overstimulation but Coriolanus didn't care.

"N-need your cock..." You breathe out as he pulls himself from between your thighs. You push his hair out of his face, your slick coating the bottom half of his face. His lips were swollen and wet, breathing heavy as he crawled back up your body.

His cock presses against your entrance as Coriolanus leans back down to brush his lips against yours. His lips interlocking with yours, juices smearing against your lips. His tongue intrudes your mouth, your taste invading your mouth. You moan into the kiss, nails digging into his shoulders.

“I want you.”

“You have me.” Coriolanus mumbled against your lips, teeth grazing your jaw line. He pulled your thighs around his waist, cock pressing against your entrance. “You gonna take me?”

You nodded, eagerly.

He pressed his lips against yours to swallow any of your moans as his tip stretched past your entrance. Your nails clawing at his skin, trying your hardest to adjust to the stretch.

Inch by inch, his power took over you. He possessed your body and soul. His cock breached the sacred part of you that only he had access to.

Your nails left crescent shaped indents into his soft pale skin, earning a groan from in return. The stretch burned, no matter how aggressively he had taken you before, the stretch was always there.

“Coriolanus—“ You gasp as he bottoms out, trying to move your hips for friction.

“You can say it, it’s just us.” He mumbles into your flushed skin, his hands digging into your hips. His breathing was heavy and sharp, begging for you to ask him to move.

You were quick to correct yourself, “Coryo.”

You felt a weird sense of care, him nuzzling into your neck, patiently waiting. Coriolanus was an aggressive, impatient, frustrated man. He pulled away from your neck, he pinned you with his gaze. Looking down at you with vulnerability and need.

You whisper, barely loud enough. “Coryo, move please.”

You felt him pull out slightly, pushing back in, a moan escaping your lips. He felt himself falter, a gentleness slipping through. In response he thrusted back in harder, punishing.

His hands pushing your knees to your chest, bending you in half. Your eyes rolled back at the new position, his cock reaching deeper inside of you. You looked down to watch as his cock slid in and out of you, slamming back in with force.

“Too—“ You moan, unable to get your words out. You close your eyes, hearing a laugh above you.

“Too much?” He questioned, you nod in response. In return he speeds up his thrusts, bullying your insides. “Better?”

You gasp, moaning out incoherent sentences. Your nails scratch deep red marks into his snow white skin. Decorating his usual pure appearance.

His voice demanding as he seizes your chin, tilting you to look into his eyes. “Look at me.”

Your jaw falls open, silent moans all that comes out. The loud slapping of skin filling the opulent room. Your body engulfed in his plush bedding.

“Look away and I stop.”

Your eyes widen, wrapping your legs around his torso. Pleas leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

“D-don’t— Coryo, don’t stop.” You beg, your cunt practically sucking him back in. You scratch at his skin, pulling him closer to you. The wire inside you slowly pulling tighter.

“Then look me in the eyes while I fuck you.” He orders, his cock bullying your inside. You nod, mouth open to let out your needy moans.

His hand wrapped around throat, slightly adding enough pressure to make your cunt squeeze around him. A groan leaving his lips as you arch your back, cunt squeezing him tight.

“You like that?” He whispers, pressing harder against your throat. The way his long fingers squeezed around your neck, your mouth opening to let out a sultry moan. “Such a slut you’d let me choke you.”

”For you,” You squeaked out, a moan following just after. He panted, holding back his own moans not willing to submit. His hand slowly releasing you, in return you gasp for air. He pushes your legs further into your chest, finger tips bruising your skin.

He disobeyed his own demand, closing his eyes breaking your eye contact. His thrusts were unfaltering, balls slapping against your ass.

A low moan escaping his parted lips, squeezing your legs trying to hold back his own pleasure. He lets go, hand travelling down to your clit. His thumb rubbed your sensitive nub causing you to cry out his name.

His other hand pushed down on the bulge that protruded from your stomach. You gasp in return, a throaty moan following just after it. You cry out as you cum around his relentless cock unannounced, something you were sure he’d punish you for later.

He squinted, stilling rubbing your clit as he continuously fucked you through your orgasm. Your body writhed under his as your sensitivity increased.

“You want my cum?” He asked, fucking into you deeper than before. You opened your mouth but no words came out, only your moans. “What? Have I fucked you silent?”

You nodded, taking his cock further. Your back arched off the bed, sweaty chest pressing into his. His hands travelled up to your nipples, pinching them in between his fingers.

“Look at you, all cock drunk practically begging for more.” He taunts, ignoring his own impending orgasm. He wanted you claimed, full of his seed.

Your cunt clenched around him, relishing in the deep moan he let out in response. An unexpected whimper following at he tried to hide with a groan.

His hot breath fanned against your neck, hiding his face as the wire inside of him snapped. His seed filling your needy cunt. He panted into your neck, still grinding his cock against you.

“Coryo—“ Your voice was raspy, he hummed against your skin. His hands rubbed your sweat coated skin, soothing you from your overwhelming sensitivity.

“Yes?”

“Do you love me?”

"Why do you think I stay away from you, ignore you?" Coriolanus questioned, his words carrying a weight of contemplation.

Your response carried a mixture of frustration and vulnerability, "I don't know, Coriolanus. You keep me at arm's length, and I can't decipher whether it's indifference, strategy, or something else entirely."

You were still short of breath, legs wrapped around his torso keeping him skin to skin with yours.

Coriolanus, breaking the tense silence, confessed, "I'm obsessed with you."

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"IS THERE SOMETHING I CAN HELP YOU WITH?"

Another story with Sergei 🖤

I hope you like it! 😌🤍

Sergei watches as Dimitri takes another glass of whiskey while he sketches an amused smile. It's his birthday, and of course he's not going to let his bad relationship with his father ruin their evening. He should tell him to stop drinking, but Dima was already a grown man, so he knew when to stop.

The place he had chosen to celebrate his birthday was an elegant place, a restaurant with live music where he usually sings several times accompanied by the piano.

Sergei takes a long drink from his glass of vodka and looks around at the people, until he finds her.

He has been observing him all night, he doesn't know if it's because he had caught his attention, or because it was strange to see someone like him there.

The truth is that the hunter felt out of place in that kind of place. He preferred to be in a burger joint, whose health guarantees were questionable, but instead he was there. It was his brother's birthday, and if he wanted to celebrate it there it would be for a reason.

The girl held his gaze as she brought her lips closer to her glass to take a sip of the drink. Sergei didn't blink, his eyes locked firmly on hers. There was something familiar about her. No, familiar isn't the word he would use, more like special, something that made him unable to look away.

"Fuck, get a room," Dimitri laughed at his side watching the exchange of glances between his brother and the stranger.

Sergei looked away from her to smile half-heartedly at the birthday boy.

-You've had too much to drink, Dima - she said, taking the glass with the remaining alcohol away from him - I'll take you home

-It's okay, I can go alone - he said, standing up unsteadily-

-Dimitri… - Sergei murmured, holding him by the elbow so he wouldn't fall, he made a gesture with his hand-

-I'm fine, brother - he nodded his head in the direction of the girl - go talk to her

-Do you know her? - she asked, he shrugged his shoulders-

-Maybe so - a silly smile appeared on his lips - or maybe not

-It's very funny, let me take you home - she smiled, taking his jacket-

-No way, you stay. You have better things to do than take care of a drunk like me - he muttered - the driver will take me home

-Do you trust him?

-No, but our father hired him - he shook his head - and you know how he handles things when he wants to protect his investments

Sergei nodded and walked him to the door.

-Send me a message when you get home - he ordered -

-I will - he assured - thanks for spending the day with me - he added - I had no one else to call

Sergei felt his heart sink when he heard Dimitri say something so sad and deep. He put his hand on his shoulder, and made him look at him intently.

-I'm your brother, Dima - he whispered - I'll always be here for you if you need me - he assured her - don't hesitate to call me any other day to chat for a while - he gestured towards the place - I love this place

-It's not true

-Yes it is

-No - he said laughing - you're just saying that to make me feel better

-Maybe yes, or maybe not - Sergei replied imitating his phrase from before - see you later, little brother

-Goodbye - he said leaving the place -

Sergei went out and saw him get into the car. Then he turned the corner disappearing from her sight.

It was then that he re-entered the restaurant. He slowly approached the bar where she was sitting until he was next to her.

-I've seen how you were watching me - he said looking at her out of the corner - Is there something I can help you with?

A smile appeared on her red painted lips, before she turned towards him.

-Don't worry hunter, I'm not here for you -she whispered flirtatiously-

-Is that so? -he questioned- And why are you here?

-Can't a girl have a drink at the first fancy restaurant she sees?

-This isn't the first fancy restaurant you've seen- he repeated- on this same sidewalk there are three other more luxurious establishments. However, you decided to come here -she put her hands on her knees- I want to know why

She took a quick sip of her drink. Sergei could see how the vein in her neck was throbbing rapidly. She was nervous, although she hid it very well, he was able to see it due to his skills.

-I need your help - she confessed, he smiled triumphantly - don't make me regret coming

-Чем я могу помочь тебе, дорогая? (How can I help you, darling?) - he asked in his native language -

-Мне нужно, чтобы ты нашел мне кого-нибудь (I need you to find someone for me) - she answered in the same language, he smiled -

-You speak Russian - he observed, looking at her carefully - tell me, who are you looking for?

-Mikhail Savalenko - she answered - is a…

-I know who he is - she interrupted him delicately - a trafficker of weapons, animals and everything that could be of benefit to his pocket. The worst of the worst - he murmured, looking at her firmly, his eyes shining in an amber tone - What do you want me to do with him?

-Hunt him - she answered decisively - that's what you do, isn't it?

He watched her a few moments with a thoughtful expression.

-To finish off a criminal like him and therefore his entire network will cost you dearly - he warned-

-Money is not a problem - he assured her - I will pay you 600,000 now and another 600,000 when we finish the job

-Excuse me, we? - he questioned looking at her with wide eyes - you are not coming, honey. I work alone

-Not in this case - she retorted - if you want the money, you will do exactly what I tell you to do

-I am not good at following orders - he sketched a half-smile - it is not my style

-Do you want the money or not? - she asked, and for the first time the hunter was speechless- I thought so- she murmured, bending down to pick up a black sports bag that was under her feet, she gave it to him and when she opened it she saw that it was full of bills- you don't have to count them, I wouldn't lie to you- she said- besides I wouldn't like to get on your list like that

-Do you want to get on my list? - he asked, and the way he asked it made a shiver run through her body-

She smiled, finishing her drink

-It's possible- she added-

-For that I need to know your name- he murmured in a low voice-

-Vanya Ivanof- he introduced himself-

He took a leather-covered notebook out of his pants pocket and wrote his name with the help of a pen in a special place, separate from the names of his next victims. He also wrote the name of the drug dealer so he would have it written down.

-Done –he announced putting it away again- nice doing business with you –he said- I just have one more question –he promised- I know there's something you're not telling me –he whispered- I won't pressure you to do it, but earlier when you looked at me, you showed your real eyes –he smiled- a beautiful red, by the way

-Shit –he growled looking to both sides nervously- What if someone else saw it?

-They haven't seen it –he assured-

-How do you know?

-Because I'm like you –he whispered holding her gaze- your eyes… -he murmured thinking out loud- What…?

-Robin –Vanya intervened- And you?

-Lion –he said while watching her- wait –he frowned- Does that mean that…?

-Yes I can fly, no I don't eat worms, I can hear and see things that are miles away –he interrupted, shook his head- sorry, it's the custom. People always ask me the same questions.

-It's okay, he reassured her, but I was going to ask how does flying work? Do you get wings or…?

-I turn into a robin, -he confessed, turning the same color as the bird- Shit, how embarrassing, it sounded better in my head.

-Don't be embarrassed, I've never heard of anyone being able to do that before, he replied, reassuring her. I wish I could turn into a lion, or any animal, he admitted, making her smile more relaxed.-When do we start?

-Tomorrow at eight at the Preacher polygon, he said, we'll go after that bastard.

-Okay, boss, you're the one in charge, he smiled.-Let's hunt that son of a bitch.

[kooldewd123]

The scene of the Animorphs voting whether or not to make David one of them might be one of the best character moments in the entire series. You can read into everyone's actions in this scene so well.

Marco sees "the bright, clear line." David hasn't seen any of them yet. He doesn't know anything. Just giving him up to the Yeerks is incredibly cruel, but it's the safest option. At the same time, how much of this is just his personal feelings? He's the only one who dissents on the basis of personality. He doesn't really like the way David acts, but is that enough reason for concern or is he just writing him off because he can't stand being around him?

Cassie is eager to go for it. She had just taken a massively risky leap of faith with Aftran, and it had actually paid off. And if trusting a Yeerk could lead to good things, surely trusting a human would turn out even better. She's already seeing the big picture: maybe David is the first of many. Maybe they could extend their force even more and give themselves the opportunity to make a bigger difference.

Rachel starts out against it. Despite their frequent disagreements, she and Marco both share that ruthless streak and often end up on the same side of heavy decisions as a result. She's the first to agree with Marco about giving David up, and the first to voice against making him an Animorph. But Cassie's argument sways her over. Cassie is probably just thinking that more people equals more power, but Rachel frames it by saying that more people means they can afford to take bigger risks (something that Marco can't help but agree with). Cassie is thinking optimistically, but Rachel sees it from a warrior's perspective.

Tobias is for it, and of course he is. David is just like Tobias was back then: no real family, no real home, and effectively a stranger to the rest of the group. He can't give up on David. He needs to have faith that things will work out, the same way they did for him (in a way). There's literally no other choice, as far as he sees it. He says Jake should make the ultimate call but clearly doesn't actually believe that, seeing as how when Jake replies that they need to put it up to a vote, Tobias immediately votes in favor of making him an Animorph.

Ax in particular is fascinating to me here because he's the one who actually suggests making David an Animorph in the first place. At the start of the series, breaking the law of Seerow's Kindness and sharing Andalite technology with humans, let alone a complete stranger, would have been completely unthinkable to him. But now he's seen just how fallible Andalites can be. He's begun to doubt the pillars of his society, and has thrown his lot in with the humans instead. He makes a very human suggestion here. It's something you'd expect Cassie or Tobias to come up with, not Ax. When the vote actually comes around, however, he votes against it. Like Rachel, he views it from a military perspective, but comes to the opposite conclusion. More Animorphs would be good to add to their ranks, but he's been in an army before and this ain't exactly one of those. A seventh member isn't enough of an added benefit, and putting a stranger in the role is too much of a wild card when they're about to undertake such an important mission.

We don't know what Jake is thinking. He never provides an opinion, only stating the facts of the situation and prodding the others for their votes. He's presumably freaking out inside, but trying to keep a calm demeanor in the face of the biggest decision they've had to make up to this point. Any weakness at this pivotal moment could skew everything, so he has to remain as neutral as possible until he can properly collect his thoughts. He's the last of the group to make his vote, and he really doesn't end up making one in the end. David wakes up, sees them, and Jake decides to bring him into the group. If David hadn't woken up there, what would Jake have chosen: Safe but cruel, or risky but optimistic? We never get to find out what was going through his mind at that exact moment, only in the aftermath.

And of course, this is all underscored by the dramatic irony of what this will eventually lead to. The group decides against inaction, but by their actions, they will commit a horror upon David arguably just as bad as the Yeerks would have. Would it have been better to leave him behind and be haunted by what they didn't do, or to have tried to save him and be haunted by what they did do?

[my-drama-heart2406]

People don't talk enough about the fact that Violet Bridgerton is infact the strongest, most confident, the baddest bitch of the whole ton.

Yes, people might argue the baddest bitch is lady Danbury or the queen. But lady Danbury lives alone in her mansion with no children or husband to worry about, the simple arrival of her brother irritated her. And in 'Queen Charlotte' we saw so very clearly what a mess the queens personal life and family is.

Then there's Violet Bridgerton.

Three seasons we saw the queen, the literal queen of the country, try to set up the Bridgerton siblings with individuals of her liking. Daphne with Prince Friedrich, Edwina with Anthony, and now, Francesca with lord Samadani. And all three times Violet told her children to make their own choice. To not rush their decision, but to take their time to know the person. That if they like the person the queen has chosen for them, then all is good, but if they don't then it's only right that they reject them, because even if it's the queen who has decided on this match, it is them who has to spend their whole lives with that person. And that she would support their decision wholly, provided that it is the one which is right for them.

If queen Charlotte had chosen a match between any other individuals, them and their parents would be dancing with joy, simply because the queen had shown interest in them. There wouldn't even be a question about choice. The queen has chosen for you, no other choice remains.

Then there's Violet Bridgerton who actively pushed Daphne and Anthony against the queens chosen prospects. Of course they were too stupid to listen to her, but that's not her fault.

I love that scene in season 3 when Violet comes into the dark room with Francesca playing the piano. Obviously, she was going to ask her all the proper questions, "what happened?", "why did you want to leave so abruptly?", "what did the lord kilmartin give you?". She starts, "Francesca?..." And then she sees Francesca's face, and... stops.

Violet spends the whole season wanting only that her daughter find someone who makes her happy and that she doesn't settle for anyone who's simply 'good enough'. And then she sees her daughter smiling ear to ear, gleeful, because John Sterling had 'the music rearranged exactly as she imagined it '. In all the three times this man had met her daughter he had understood her well enough to do something that made her so happy. And Violet doesn't ask anything, doesn't say anything. Violet simply smiles. Happy that her daughter found someone who cared for her this way.

While the other members of the ton sit, stand and dance according to the queen's whims, Violet had no qualms about displeasing the queen, not once, not twice, but THRICE now.

If that isn't the baddest bitch, I don't know who is.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve and Newbie are still nervous around each other, but for different reasons now.

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You're talking to your brother-in-law, Foggy, about the video you took of August's attack on Sweetie.

"Oh yeah, no worries about the video getting out. Matt and I are professionals, after all," Foggy reassures you. "But when the client is ready, we'll have some follow up questions and whatnot. Get ourselves ready for you to leak it."

"Thanks so much, Foggy!" you reply. "I owe you big for this one."

"Keep in mind, we will have to have some kind of answer for why you and your friends didn't call the police."

"I think a genuine answer would be that we were so fraught with worry for her that we could only think about getting the her the hell out of there?"

"That's a good one, so long as you do some careful editing of the punch. That guy in the video is huge and people won't doubt he was in charge of the situation at that point."

"Yeah, he's really impressive," you giggle.

Foggy pauses. "Is he the guy you've been seeing?"

"Yeah," you smile.

"Well I'm glad you're with someone who can keep you safe," he chuckles.

"Thanks, Foggy! Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get ready for our date tonight!"

"Have fun!"

The dress was so much more revealing than you were used to and it still wasn't even as showy as the one Ms. Scarlet wore in the movie. You could've gone for Mrs. White's whole getup but you were feeling needy for some attention from Steve.

You loved that he was a gentleman, you really did! But it's been a few months and it hasn't gone past some making out in the car. It encouraged that little voice telling you you're not pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn't find you attractive, and doesn't want to see more. Considering how often you ended up shivering like a leaf, maybe you weren't actually ready for more and he was picking up on that? No, that little voice insists. It's because he finds you disgusting. Letting out a small groan you finish getting ready for the date.

The local theater had finally gotten the rights to show Clue! It was one of the movies both you and Steve absolutely loved. To make things more fun, the theater promised only one of the original endings, chosen at random! It was such an occasion the two of you decided to dress up for it. Easier for him, of course. He just needed a blue suit, a red tie and some glasses and he made for a very handsome Mr. Green.

Again, you adjust the cleavage of your dress, making sure you're not actually showing too much. The bright, shiny necklace essentially enhanced your cleavage. Probably the point. Kudos to the costume designers, you think.

There's a text from Steve saying he's at your apartment building. The temptation to chicken out is strong, but you trust Steve and you've been looking forward to this!

Okay, let's do this.

Steve stood outside his car, eagerly waiting for you. He wasn't used to wearing a suit and tie let alone glasses but he was happy to join you in dressing up for the movie. Hell, the fact that you still wanted to keep seeing him made him giddy, and nervous. He was so scared of being a disappointment.

He desperately wants to make you happy. You're a sweetheart who's never once expected him to be cool and confident like a man of his size apparently should be. You welcomed his dorkiness and dumb sense of humor. He was never "not enough" or "too old fashioned" or any of the other things his past dates have complained about. He knows he shouldn't be so scared that he's going to ruin everything but he just can't help it.

He's certain you've expected him to go further than kissing, to ask if he can join you in your apartment, in your bed. But he hasn't had much experience and what he's experienced hasn't been great. He wants to dote on you, to give you everything, but he's scared it'll be a deal-breaker if he isn't amazing in the bedroom.

His thoughts grind to a halt when he sees you in the Miss Scarlet dress. He goes slack-jaw for a second before catching himself. As you approach he feels his heart in his throat from how stunning you look.

Your smile falters as Steve keeps staring. "Do I look okay?"

"You, you look stunning," Steve breathes. Heat rushes to your cheeks as he kisses the back of your hand before opening the car door for you.

"Thank you."

Steve has to put all of his attention into driving. Every time he looks at you his heart flutters and he's scared of being distracted and crashing the vehicle. He's never dated someone who'd be willing to dress up for a movie like this. He can't help but be amazed at you.

His silence has you second guessing every decision about tonight. Sure he was complimentary, but what if he was covering for how ugly he thought you looked? For a second you'd thought his shock was because you looked good. You feel silly about that now. Clearly he's disgusted and is just being polite.

Steve pulls into the parking lot for the theater. As soon as the car is stopped you unbuckle and step out. Steve frowns; you always wait for him to get the door for you.

"Is everything okay?" he asks as he joins you.

"Yeah, just...just...really excited for this," you smile weakly.

"Please don't do this," Steve says, his eyes going full sad puppy. "Something is wrong."

Your heart melts at his facial expression. And he is right.

"I was...I'm...relationships aren't my strong suit. I'm very much a newbie when it comes to romance," you explain. "So I'm worried I'm doing something wrong."

"I don't have much experience with them either," Steve admits. "But why would you think you were doing something wrong?"

"I mean...this is going to sound dumb, but...aren't we supposed to um, have had sex by now?"

Steve's cheeks turn pink as he struggles to find the right words. It takes a few tries, each moment filling you with dread that he was about to confess.

"I'm not...I just...I'm scared," Steve finally gets out. "I'm scared of disappointing you."

"You are scared of disappointing me?"

"Yes! You're gorgeous inside and out. An angel who is currently looking like the most tempting devil! I've had relationships before where there were...expectations that I would somehow be great at sex, even though I have so little experience."

"I thought you despised how I looked."

His eyes widen and he's quick to reassure you. "No, no, no. I meant it when I said you look gorgeous."

"You couldn't even look at me in the car."

"Because I'd end up crashing the car because I couldn't look away."

"You...you mean that?"

"Yes. I will swear on my knees if you want."

That gets you chuckling. "No need for that. I'm sorry I'm such an insecure mess."

"I'm not much better off," Steve chuckles. "But...if you want...after the movie we can...if you're ready..."

"Do you think you're ready?"

"I...I don't know."

"Then, how about, after the movie, we go out for dinner and dance? See how things go from there?"

Steve's face brightens, "that sounds perfect."

"Just, please, if it's not too much trouble, tell me I'm pretty?"

"Pretty? You're gorgeous," Steve smiles and brings you in for a kiss.

The rest of the night is spent sharing laughter, smiles, and even a dance at the diner you went to. Steve kisses you goodnight, reminding you that you're the prettiest woman he's ever met. You return his kiss and tell him he's handsomest man you've ever seen.

For the first time since you started dating, it doesn't hurt you that Steve isn't coming up to your apartment. You've both had a fair amount of emotional vulnerability tonight, but it also led to both of you feeling much more comfortable with each other. Maybe there was something to being honest and going at your pace.

Next

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63