#this is like barely half of what I've written too so I've got to figure out how to tack on the rest as the tumblr draft function

[age-of-moonknight]

Helloo

If im not bothering you too much, may I ask what you know about the cia?

I know it may not be a question related to moon knight, or maybe it could be, but im kinda interested to know the basics at least and you seem to know a lot about it

Btw, i absolutely adore your blog

Hello!!! :D I'm so glad that you enjoy this blog and thanks for stopping by! Although, well,,,,hm,,,maybe it's just my rabid paranoia sinking its claws even deeper into me, but this is one of the more interesting asks I've gotten for this blog, that's for sure. 😅 For perhaps some context, I think anon might be referencing this post I made, gosh, close to two years ago now, where I got....maybe a little too excited talking about the history of the CIA and what Marc's time with The Company could mean for his character hahaha Accordingly, a full rundown on the agency's history, not to mention its many, many facets, is probably a bit outside the purview of this blog, but this is then a good time to state that if anyone ever wants to talk about anything and everything besides Moon Knight, my dms are always open and I'm happy to chat! However,,,I also have an affliction where I am an incorrigible pedant who jumps at the chance to write essays on things that interest me (and intelligence interests me very, very much, unfortunately). As such, while all my instincts are telling me this is absolutely glowing bait on a hook, if anyone wants to read a rambling wall of text about that agency Marc spent some time with, that will be waiting for you under the cut. Again, disclaimer, I'm just some person on the internet and thus can't really be considered a credible source on much of anything (except maybe how many times Moon Knight has teamed up with the Punisher hahaha). All the following info could easily be gathered from OSINT sources (and we're talking, like, Wikipedia, although this gave me the chance to pull out one of my favorite textbooks, Intelligence: From Secrets to Policy by Mark Lowenthal (vol. 7). If you're the textbook reading-type and interested in the topic, I'd suggest giving it a shot, particularly chapters 2 and 3 for the CIA and the U.S.' broader intelligence community). I tried to keep this incredibly surface level, as these are all topics that you could write monographs on, so if you want more sources/context, just hit me up! This also got,,,,unreasonably long (I didn't even know tumblr HAD a point where it would stop autosaving, but apparently trying to list all of the CIA's crimes against humanity will get you there), so I ended up having to split this across multiple posts.

Conception I discussed it in my previous post, but I'll give a brief rundown on how the Central Intelligence Agency came to be. So, the United States had intelligence organs pre-World War II, but they would typically only be spun up for however long a conflict lasted and then all of their assets would be reintegrated back into the military, da? But then with the end of WWII ushering in the atomic age and nuclear deterrence pushing out conventional conflict in favor of an espionage-fueled Cold War, the U.S. government deemed it prudent to have a permanent intelligence gathering service. There was just one hiccup, the question of what to do with the U.S.' WWII-era intelligence service, the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Under the leadership of the very descriptively nicknamed Brigadier/Major General William "Wild Bill" Donovan, OSS officers had been running around conducting sabotage and espionage operations throughout Europe and Asia, doing wild things like working with an underground intelligence network of European Catholic priests and coordinating with the 20 July plot/Operation Valkyrie assassination attempt on Hitler. They were the very definition of irregular, British officials accused them of "playing cowboys," and the U.S.' massive post-war military organization was loathe to have to find some way to force OSS officers into the military's necessary uniformity, so in 1947, after a couple years of bureaucratic shuffling, the OSS apparatus got pasted onto this new intelligence agency that was so far,,,rather bookish and the CIA as we know it was born. This divide, between the incredibly Ivy League analysts and the more martial remnants of the OSS that got folded in was a contributor to the two major branches of the CIA (and their infamous intra-agency rivalry), so this perhaps a good segue into the CIA's different internal departments, its "directorates."

There are the two ogs, the Directorate of Operations and the Directorate of Analysis, and then the newer Directorates of Digital Innovation, Support, plus Science & Technology. (Note: this is as the agency stands now; there have been some fluctuations in structure and naming conventions over the years).

The Directorate of Operations (DO) needs little introduction, as it's the legacy of the OSS and what most people think of when they hear the word "espionage," the kind of work one individual once described to me as "fast cars, nice suits, and unlimited spending" (hope he's still out there and doing well). They're your politically deniable boots on the ground collecting HUMINT (human intelligence such as handling contacts and the like) and executing covert actions. It contains the ultimate sharp point of the spear, the Special Activity Center (SAC) with its Political Action Group (PAG), which spreads black propaganda, influences elections, and conducts other psychological operations, and the Covert Action Group (CAG), which draws operators from the military's special forces programs to form their own direct action, counter-intel/counter-terror, unconventional warfare, paramilitary group (they have a very diverse set of martial skills). Naturally, most recipients of the U.S. intelligence community's highest honors, the Intelligence Star and Distinguished Intelligence Cross are from the SAC. Most of the stars on the CIA HQ's Wall of Honor, which memorializes officers who died in service of the CIA, represent SAC officers too, however.

The Directorate of Analysis (DA), in contrast, doesn't get enough love, despite making up nearly half of the CIA for decades. Whereas the DO mainly collects the intelligence through various means, the DA has the people who take the raw intel and try to turn it into something digestible for policy makers (whether that means just translating the intel into basic English or proposing whole, wide-sweeping policy strategies has varied across the agency's history depending on its professionalism and the degree of government oversight at the time). They get so overshadowed despite being a key part of the intelligence cycle, it's almost not funny hahaha (I kid you not, the official CIA website not only has a "kids" section with an online coloring book that depicts the various directorates as heroes, but it even went so far as to depict the DO with a rather dashing hat and cape,,,,while they gave the representation of the DA glasses and a briefcase, I weep hahaha). However, if you've ever heard a stereotype of the CIA actually being made up of a bunch of incredibly Ivy League, smart but cliquey, uncomfortably cold (both in manner and strategy) eggheads, that would be because of the DA. That's a very disparaging stereotype,,,,but it got its start from somewhere. It's still the CIA after all, and there have been times in the institution's history where the only thing to distract the DA from its intra-agency pissing contest with the more domineering DO was to shield the CIA from any sort of external government or other agency encroachment on the CIA's "purview."

Probably the next most established division would be the Directorate of Science & Technology (DST). Whereas the DO is predominantly HUMINT and the DA works closest with policy makers, the DST is the one expanding the CIA's technological capacity to deal with CBRN threats (chemical, biological, radiological, nuclear), and collect SIGINT (signals intelligence over radio waves and the like), IMINT (image intelligence as from satellites), and GEOINT (geological intelligence monitoring seismographs to, for example, detect if a nation is doing underground nuclear tests). Intel collection is only as good as the tools used and naturally intelligence agencies all around the world are constantly trying to leapfrog each other in capabilities, circumvention, and denial (preventing adversarial interest's collection efforts, that is).

Similarly, the most recent division is the Directorate of Digital Innovation (DDI), which is similar to the DST, but the DDI is focused almost entirely on cyberwarfare/espionage. They also seem to be doing a lot with OSINT ("open-source" intelligence, AKA any information you can access without a security clearance). OSINT used to be a bit of a joke in the intelligence community ("so, it's just what you read in the paper this morning??? That puts it one step above LAVINT: intelligence collected by overhearing conversations in the lavatory"), but with the explosion of information made available by the modern internet landscape and social media, you can go far with OSINT. (If you too salivate over the potential OSINT, maybe checkout Bellingcat if you haven't already)

Lastly but not least, there's the Directorate of Support, who are all the people who keep The Company running smoothly, managing logistics, comms, security at CIA sites, and overseeing officer training.

So yeah, I've alluded to the DA's and DO's rivalry, so maybe I should talk about inter- and intra-agency competition and the hot water those things have got the CIA in over the years. Maintaining an effective intelligence community is a tricky thing, particularly in a nation trying its best to be democratic and at least nominally respect human rights. You want officers to be able to collect intelligence, but you can't let them have so much free rein they rough up the nation's own citizens with impunity (as that's a bad look and can lead to civilian push back that could not only hurt the regime but handicap intelligence gathering in the future) and you definitely don't want an intelligence agency getting so much power it feels like it can start dictating a nation's policy instead of just advising on it. (Plus, the absolute nightmare scenario of an agency that's gone completely off the rails and no longer bothers much with consulting on politics at all, but just operates completely independently). Thus, to prevent the intelligence community from getting too big for its own good, a little competition, a little checks-and-balances from within the intelligence community can be beneficial. The drive by one intel group to outperform another (and consequently get more recognition/funding/etc.) can lead to a mutual improvement of the products that end up on a policy maker's desk. Having said that, I hope I explained it in such a way where you might see the issue with the CIA being the U.S.' singular, domineering force in the federal intelligence community for decades. The DA and DO had their marked cultural divide, but the CIA had very little competition from other agencies and, for example, had their ultimate weapon: the President's Daily (intel) Brief. The CIA, due to its vast capabilities, for years had the privilege of providing the president with (what the CIA deemed to be) the most important intel topics of the day. Accordingly, particularly during the Cold War before government oversight of the CIA really kicked up, this allowed the CIA to sway the government towards some at best politically questionable and more critically ethically deplorable policy choices.

Yeah, having gotten this far, I don't think I've made it clear that, for as much as I am fascinated by and spent,,,,a lot of resources studying subjects such as intelligence and terrorism, I am fully cognizant and never quite cease to be outraged by the injustice that permeates those fields. The CIA for sure, with its vast resources and the outsized role the United States played in meddling in international affairs during the Cold War and on, is a chief and, now, well-documented offender. I'm sure CIA intelligence collection and guidance has prevented many attacks we'll never know about, but you can't talk about the CIA without discussing the actions that directly resulted in thousands dead. Let's go over some of their greatest hits, shall we? (And that takes me so long I have to put it in a whole other post).

[whimsyfinny]

Fix Your Attitude

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) is just like an other woman trying to function in this fucked up world - and she's starts her day with coffee. At least that was always the plan until Dean interfered.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, slightly Dom! Dean, and if you squint there's maybe possessive/jealous Dean

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 4470

A/N: So this is technically my first ever one shot! Woop! I've written this as part of my competition from a few weeks back, and this is for the wonderful winner @spookyysinsanity ! Hope you enjoyyy.

“Seriously, Dean? What the actual fuck!?��� The audacity of the older Winchester brother had me throwing my hands up in frustration, my irritable tone bouncing off the walls in the kitchen and landing on ears that couldn’t possibly care any less.

“Should’ve got here sooner, sweetheart. You know how it is; first come first serve,” he tauntingly raised his coffee mug to my dishevelled figure standing over the empty coffee pot. The lack of caffeinated bean-water had brought a panic-sweat to my temples, knowing all too well how things would pan out if I didn’t get what I needed.

“How many cups have you had?”

“What?” He blinked frustratingly slowly - he knew what I’d asked.

“Jerk - I said ‘how many cups have you had’?”

“Hmmm…” he tapped his finger against the side of the mug, lips pursing over feigned thoughts.

“DEAN.”

“Maybe… three?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly - although the nonchalant bubble popped when a sly smirk slipped through the cracks. My mouth opened and closed a few times, words forming and disappearing too rapidly through my mind to even make it past my lips as desperation sizzled into rage.

“You DICK!”

“Hey don’t yell at me - just make another pot,” he held his hands up defensively.

My eyes flitted over to the empty tin on the side - an empty tin left tauntingly in plain sight.

“You know damn well I can’t do that! We’re out of coffee, totally out. Zilch. Nothing. Empty.”

“Well,” he lifted his mug to his lips, “not totally empty.”

“What do you- oh…OH,” I felt my razor sharp glare zero in on the mug at his lips - there had to be at least half a cup in there with how little he had to tilt it up before taking a gulp. I took a step forward and jabbed my finger towards the prize.

“Give me that.”

He offered me nothing but raised eyebrows and a loud slurp.

“Dean.”

Again, silence only echoed back, however my frustration towards him started to buzz in my head as he slowly lowered the mug to unveil a slap-worthy grin.

“DEAN.”

He gently placed the mug on the table and turned to me, large arms crossing over his broad chest as he settled in his chair, thighs spreading wide for comfort.

“Wow, I thought I was grouchy in the mornings before coffee but damn, sweetheart you’re really claiming first place with that one.”

I took a step closer, my eyes practically burning a hole in the cup next to him on the table. His grin widened as he noticed me stalking forwards, like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. However my prey was incredibly suspecting and, in all honesty, not really prey at all. My bare feet padded quietly towards him, each tentative step raising more suspicion in Dean as my desperation for caffeine became all-consuming and my honed hunting skills became sloppy. I gave myself away when I tore my gaze from the mug and glanced over at Dean, catching his amused smirk and playful eyes before I lunged forward, hands grasping at air where the liquid-treasure should have been. Spinning on my heel after almost colliding with the table I turned to face Dean, now standing a few steps behind me with one hand wrapped around the ceramic and the other dipping lazily into the pocket of his jeans.

“Come on darlin’ you’re better than that.”

“Fuck you.”

A low whistle floated in the air between us before he tutted at me, shaking his head slowly.

“So mean.”

“Says you!”

“Hey I got here first - I'm the victim here. You're the one trying to rob me.”

“Don't play that game - you are not the victim here. All of your bullshit has been calculated,” I narrowed my eyes up at him as he traced his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Maybe it has been. Not much you can do about it now though is there?” His eyes glinted like the tricksters before he took another gulp of his coffee. I could feel my palms growing sweaty in apprehension, knowing all too well that the coffee level was dropping inside that cup.

Time to try a different approach. Something more… tactical.

“You know…” I pulled a lock of hair between my fingers, twirling it around, “you're my favourite Winchester.”

I paused and he raised his eyebrows, suspecting yet silently urging for more.

“Sam is just so nice and tall but…” I quietly stepped towards him, inwardly cheering when he made no attempt to move away.

“But?”

“But I mean look at you, so ruggedly handsome… and with that authentic ‘tough guy’ personality to make all the ladies swoon. And don't even get me started on these broad shoulders and big arms of yours…” I padded around him, tracing a single finger delicately up one arm, over the back of his shoulders and down the other arm. I almost missed the small shiver that ghosted over his skin and raised the hairs on his exposed forearms.

“Oh, so you like what you see?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice subtly dropping to a deeper tone.

I chewed my bottom lip slightly before stopping in front of him, a hair's breadth away. From here I could smell the masculine scent of his cologne - the same one I'd only ever known him to wear - and the subtle, intoxicating scent of leather and gunpowder. Combined, those three items were the very essence of Dean, the warmth of it all clinging to his clothes and practically seeping from his pores. I couldn't stop myself from taking a deep breath and letting the hypnotic scent travel straight to my brain. He’d always smelt divine, but I was never going to give him the satisfactory access to that information.

Upon tilting my head up to lock eyes with him, I could feel his coffee-scented breath fan over my face, the smell of what I wanted most almost making my mouth water. I couldn't let myself become enveloped in the addictive haze around him - I needed to remember what I was here for without letting myself become distracted.

Evergreen eyes flitted between mine, unsure of my next move. But the more I looked into them, the more dilated his pupils became. I couldn't help but grin a little to myself, relishing in his reaction.

“Come on Dean, just hand over the coffee. I know deep down that you really want to…”

He hummed, the sound a little gravelly as it emanated from his chest.

“You see sweetheart,” he smirked a little as he gripped the mug, lifting it to his lips. The action immediately caused me to take an urgent step forwards, a part of me truly believing that he would drain the cup right there and then. He must've seen the panic jolt through me as he released a small, breathy laugh.

“I see what?”

“You see… I don't think it's coffee that you need to stop being such a bitch in the morning.”

My eyes immediately narrowed towards him at his choice of words. He can make it so easy to look past his good looks when he acts like such an ass.

“What the actual fuck does that mean?”

“Oh I think you know what it means.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“If you want.”

“Go to- wait what?” I felt my heart leap in my chest, my mind unsure if I wanted to have heard him correctly.

His smirk spread across his face as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his mossy green gaze dragging over my figure as though I were totally naked.

“You heard me,” he took a step forward, his boots heavy on the hard kitchen floor. My cheeks burned, and I wasn't sure if it was from whatever scandalous thoughts of him I'd pushed to the back of my mind that I never intended to humour, or the rage bubbling to the surface at the sheer audacity from him, thinking I'd just accept this sort of shitty attitude.

“You’re crazy if you think that I’d let you in my pants,” the bewilderment in my voice was evident, and so was the growing frustration. This conversation had taken a wild turn and it’s safe to say that I didn’t like the direction it was headed. It was a rocky path of buried desires and a cocky male ego - a male ego that somehow knew what buttons to press to get my temper sizzling.

“Oh but sweetheart I could make it so good…” his voice was like caramel, becoming harder to ignore as he took another step forward, backing me into the table. I swallowed the almost nervous lump that had started to form in my throat, my heart rate quickening with every second he looked at me with those darkening eyes.

“And why would you want to do that?” I did well at hiding the slight nervous wobble in my voice. He chuckled slightly before breaking eye contact and looking down at his boots, thinking for a moment before shooting his eyes back to me, his intense gaze burning into mine.

“Because for once, I’d love to see that smart mouth of yours moan my name.”

I couldn’t stop that small gasp that escaped between my parted lips at his sudden bold statement, and that small gasp seemed to be all that it took to invite Dean in. In one fluid movement he drained the remainder of the coffee into his mouth and took a final step forward, closing the gap between us and wrapped a single strong arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body. His other hand quickly discarded the mug before grasping my face, his thumb pushing into my cheek and urging me to open my mouth. Before I was able to conjure a single thought he’d pulled my mouth to his, his plush lips covering mine before transferring that mouthful of coffee over to me. My eyes widened at the sudden appearance of warm liquid gliding over my tongue, the flavour of coffee, sweetened with sugar, would have soothed my senses if it wasn’t for the way it was administered. I hurriedly swallowed it down, not caring for the trickle that escaped the corner of my lips, now more preoccupied with Dean Winchesters mouth pressing onto mine. He allowed one… two… three heated kisses before pulling away, leaving me gasping and gripping the edge of the table for dear life. As he pulled away, he released his grip on my jaw, spotting the trickle of coffee and catching the droplets with his thumb. I didn’t intend to dwell on the action too much, at least not until he pushed his coffee-coated thumb past my lips and into my mouth, pressing lightly on my tongue. Still taken aback by the kiss, I stared up at him dumbly, my mind simultaneously racing whilst emptying itself of all logical thoughts. On instinct, I licked the coffee from his thumb, hearing a gruff hum of approval from him.

“Look at you - quiet for once.”

Before I could retaliate to his comment he pulled his thumb from my mouth and grasped my jaw again, a little softer this time as he guided my face to his. His lips grazed mine as he spoke.

“Have you finished acting like a bitch?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure? Because I think I should fuck you on this table here - just to be sure.”

The involuntary shiver that shimmied down my spine gave my innermost thoughts away when Dean noticed it; another smirk gracing his lips as he pulled himself between my knees and grasped under my thighs to lift me onto the table. I hissed slightly as the cold surface bit at my bare rear, the oversized Metallica t-shirt doing nothing to shield me as it rode up on my hips. There was a short moment, like a breath taken and held as we paused to look at each other. His eyes darkened like a forest at dusk, piercing into my own before studying my lips. I found myself doing the same to him, watching how his gaze darted up and down, frantic to find a focal point on my face whilst his lips parted, tongue poking out to wet them. We shared each other's hot coffee-scented breath, my heartbeat starting to echo in my ears as my blood began to run hot at the thought of him taking me right here on this table. He chewed slightly on his bottom lip, the fantasies of my own prurient mind running rampant at what that mouth was capable of doing to me. What I undeniably wanted it to do to me. Before another thought appeared he hastily leaned in and planted a searing kiss on my neck, his stubble tickling my ear whilst one large, strong hand planted itself just below my shoulder blades; his whole arm crushing me against him. Everything he did made me want to purr. His lips exceeded expectations as he kissed red-hot paths up and down my neck; my skin prickling when he pressed his lips below my ear and jaw, pulling pathetic whimpers from my lungs. He kneaded the silky-soft flesh of my thigh with his other hand, eventually causing me to gently hook my legs around him to ease the desperate need to writhe at his every touch.

“Dean…” his name left my lips as an airy gasp when the hand on my thigh travelled up, his thumb hooking under the waistband of my panties.

“What happened to that big, tough girl persona? Can’t really take it huh?” His taunting words went straight to my brain when he spoke them with his lips pressed right to my ear.

“Fuck, Dean… I hate you.”

He chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek before uttering over my lips:

“Of course you do, sweetheart.”

As his sentence ceased as his mouth claimed mine, muffling the moan bubbling in my throat as his tongue pushed against my own. I reached one hand up to tug on his hair, dragging my nails across his scalp when the strands at the base of his skull were too short to grasp. He groaned into the kiss, lips moving faster at the sensation of my fingertips. His broad chest became a resting spot for my other hand, the taught muscle flexing beneath soft skin as I glided my delicate fingers up to clutch his shoulder. It was like being in a trance; the only thing I was capable of thinking about was him. Dean. The strength of his hand on my back contrasting the tenderness of the one on my thigh. The heat of his mouth, his tongue on mine, consuming my gasps and ragged breaths. His devouring reduced me to naught but lustful putty in his arms, especially when an assured hand slid from my hip to my ribs and a gentle thumb smoothed over the softness of the underside of my breast. The feather-light touch caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin, the warmth of his palm doing nothing to soothe them away. When a groan passed my lips at his actions, he gripped tighter, my legs instinctively pulling him closer. This time it was Dean that groaned, as pulling him towards me had pressed the ever-growing bulge in his jeans against the soft cotton of my panties. The sensation was electric, igniting the fiery ache between my legs as my thighs twitched when he didn't pull away - instead pushing himself against me harder. I sucked in a breath where I could, his lips refusing to leave mine, even to let me breathe. He was hungry. Animalistic. Dominating. I don't know what I'd been imagining when I was alone in my room in the depths of night, but this… this was something I'd never fantasised about. How commanding he was, how he pulled me in with stern words and an air of authority. Gone was the boyish charm and playful pickup lines - this was something that could easily suck me in and pull me under. He could drown me in sharp comments and tantalising games.

And I would let him.

“Look at you, twitching like a virgin,” he pulled away enough to huskily speak against the corner of my mouth. I moaned slightly, biting my lip when his thumb moved from the underside of my breast to my nipple, delicately toying with the perky skin.

“Who's to say I'm not?” My voice was more breathy than I'd anticipated, my head lolling back when he started to trail kisses down my neck again. My comment pulled a laugh from his chest, the sound almost cutting through the sexual haze.

“Oh darlin’, don't think I don't know about your motel room escapades - I was always in the room next to yours,” he finally pulled back slightly to look at me, the cool air flooding between us in his absence. As my eyes met his, my heart hammered in my chest at the raw blackness of his irises - pupils blown wide with hot arousal and leaving no soft greens in sight. I could feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment, realisation creeping in. Dean took it all in with a grin on his lips.

“That's right sweetheart - I heard it all. Every little noise you made when those jerk-offs touched you. When they tried to make you feel good,” his smile faltered slightly before he leaned in a little closer, “but you know, I never heard any of them make you cum. I only ever heard you finish when they were gone and you were all alone.”

He pressed more of those red-hot kisses just below my jaw, the hand on my breast descending, trailing a path down the soft skin of my abdomen before disappearing down the front of my panties. A moan tore from my throat when he slid his skilled fingers through my folds to gather my pooling wetness, his hum of approval ringing in my ears when my mind emptied at his fingers tracing circles around my clit. My grip on him was vice-like, whimpers already tumbling off my tongue.

“You know (Y/n), you should've just come to me. You should've told those useless bastards to fuck off and let me do everything you needed me to do,” his breath was hot against my neck as he spoke, and he finished his sentence off by finally pressing a rough finger against my clit. I whined like a bitch in heat as he went around and around and around, making me clench around nothing and crave him in his entirety.

“I would've done this to you every night - made you forget everything but my name.”

“Dean…”

“Thas’right sweetheart. Never would've left you unsatisfied.”

“Please, Dean… please… I need you to fuck me,” my words were desperate and I could tell he relished in that, suddenly plunging two thick digits inside me without so much as a word. My hands flew to his back, nails digging into broad muscle as I leaned into him, burying my flushed face into his neck and breathing in his intoxicating scent. He curled his fingers up and pushed against the pleasure-cushion inside me, knowing exactly what to look for and what to do with it. My legs tightened even more around him as I was unable to stop the euphoric twitches jolting through my limbs. He removed his hand that was pressed below my shoulder blades and lifted it to my hair, unclipping the claw-grip to let the unruliness tumble out. He practically chucked the plastic clip to the table before threading his fingers through my hair, grasping close to my scalp before tugging my head back to make me look at him.

“Now that you've dropped your attitude and asked nicely, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk.”

He pressed his fingers inside me one final time, drawing another pathetic whimper from my lips before pulling his fingers out and lifting them to his lips. I watched, mouth agape and breaths ragged as he licked my slick from his digits, savouring the taste of me with a satisfied groan.

“That’s the best shit I’ve ever tasted,” his deep, gravelly tone had me reaching desperately for his belt buckle as Dean claimed my mouth again, his own eagerness starting to show. As I finished unzipping his jeans I pushed them down his hips just enough to dip my hand into his boxers and pull his cock free. A deep moan pushed its way into my mouth as I curled my fingers around his length, his size already intimidating as his cock rested hot and heavy in my palm. I wasted no time on gripping him tight, starting gentle motions going up and down again, and again, and again, causing Dean to move both hands to my thighs - his grip on me threatening to leave bruises. I dragged my thumb over his tip, urging a blissful shudder to surge through him as I smeared the gathering precum up and down his length. His lips never once left mine. I could feel him becoming breathless as I slowly increased the speed of my hand, so I caught his bottom lip between my teeth as a means to pull away for a moment. As I breathed in his contented groan, I pulled back slightly further to get a look at his face.

“Dean… Dean please - I need you inside me-”

“Stop fucking around then and c’mere.”

I squeaked a little at his harsh tone, unable to stop the next words from tumbling out.

“Yessir.”

I watched his brows knit together and his eyes almost roll before he dropped his head to my neck, grabbing the underside of my thighs and dragging me right to the edge of the table. With one hand he grabbed his cock and used it to move my underwear to one side before lining up and sinking in. The lascivious moans that spilled from our lips were almost harmonious, Dean pushing in to the hilt and forcing me to wrap one arm around his neck and the other to prop me up behind me - both stopping me from losing my balance under Deans intensity. Dean looked as though he was getting lost in a sexual haze as he crushed me against him again with one arm, having the decency to remain still for a few moments so I could adjust to his size as he eye-wateringly stretched out my insides - the sensation almost burning.

“Jesus- fuck-” his breath was slightly strained as he groaned into my neck, “now I’m mad that you decided to fuck lonely jerk-offs instead of me - with a pussy like this- shit- I would’ve been crawling back for more.”

He started to move slowly, pulling out gently before slipping back in - easing me into it with sexual expertise.

“Oh fuck- Dean- you don’t mean that-”

“(Y/n) you’d have to shoot me to stop me - you feel too fucking good.”

He started to up the tension - dropping every ounce of softness as he lost control of that part of him. He fucked the same way that he hunted monsters: raw, skilful and always in control - my mind racing with the knowledge of how dangerous this man actually was. He was Dean fucking Winchester, and here he was - fucking me over the breakfast table whilst I wore nothing but a band t-shirt. As he pounded into me and the intensity grew I was unable to stop the lewd noises tumbling from my lips. Such lewd noises however seemed to spur Dean on, the power of his thighs and hips inching the heavy wooden table across the floor.

“How are you still so fucking tight-” his words were almost slurred, his sexually inebriated mind seemingly becoming obsessed.

“Shit- Dean, I’m getting close already,” my eyes squeezed shut as I began to feel that familiar knot in the depths of my core. With every thrust he dragged over every over-sensitive nerve ending, unravelling me quicker than I’d even been unravelled before.

“Oh yeah? You wanna cum?”

I nodded my head vigorously, loose strands of hair falling around my face as tears started to well in my eyes. Dean glanced down at me without so much as a stutter in his hips, a slight grin playing on his lips even in a moment like this.

“Tears?”

“Fuck-fuck- you Dean, it's not my f-fault you're the first one to fuck me properly- oh God-”

“Well I'm glad it was me sweetheart,” he tried to keep up the slightly playful tone but I could see in his eyes that he was on the brink as well. Without another word he moved one hand to push lightly on my lower belly, his thumb dipping down to rub soft circles over that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasped at the contact, Dean taking the opportunity to plant uncharacteristically soft kisses on my parted lips before whispering:

“I need you to cum for me - I need you to let go. I've got you darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The circles drawn with his thumb increased in speed and as did the pounding of his hips against mine.

“Dean- Dean please-”

I could feel him winding that knot tighter, and tighter, and tighter; lifting the euphoria coursing through my veins to its highest peak before the white-hot heat of orgasmic bliss erupted inside me. Wave after wave after wave of pleasure cascaded down, drowning me in the most earth shattering climax I'd ever experienced. I could feel myself tightening repeatedly around Dean, his thrusts becoming frantic before his own release rolled through him.

“Oh Fuck- (Y/n)-”

His guttural groan into the crook of my neck sent a shiver down my spine and goosebumps across my skin, the sound of him cumming making me clench even tighter around him.

“You squeeze me any tighter darlin’ and you're gonna kill me,”

“I-I’m not- I mean- I'm sorry?”

He groaned again when I twitched slightly, this time he pulled back to look me in the eye, taking note of the drying tear-tracks and smudged mascara.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah, I'm good,” I huffed out a deep, contented sigh, "I am so, so good.”

He grinned, the assertiveness from earlier seeming to dissipate and the good ‘ol Dean was returning.

“Best you've ever had?” His green eyes twinkled mischievously.

I playfully slapped his shoulder, not impacting the smirk on his lips whatsoever.

“Easy there cowboy - if your ego gets any bigger there'll be no living with you.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

I chewed on my bottom lip slightly, making him wait a little for the answer before I replied with a grin of my own.

“Yeah, definitely the best I've ever had.”

————————————————————

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200

[yandereshingeki]

The Antithesis of Decay

made for @ficsforgaza’s Kinktober!

⬑ please check them out! ⬏

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x afab!reader

Content Warnings: Stuckage, fingering, dub/noncon, no gendered pronouns, but reader is described to have bigger hips than their waist (no big specifications though). meant to take place between s3 & 4

Summary: An escape through the alleyway ends in a terrifying run-in with a wanted villain.

Managed to write this entirely in a single day 😵‍💫 it gave me a headache doing it that fast but thank god i got it done! It was a lot longer than I intended (stuckage is hard to keep short akhsheja & i originally wanted to go full smut but then wrote too much) and was a little bit difficult to navigate cause I don’t think about shiggy in a sexual way BUT !! I DID IT!

This is also the first time I'm posting something I've written in present tense, I'm just trying to experiment and figure out how I like to write lol

Shiggy lovers i hope this is adequate!!

Another crash. Another roar. Another Nomu.

You're in the thick of it, beside a building, half-destroyed, and another one completely toppled to the ground. There's screaming and panic, citizens running in every which way to escape the crossfire. Another building is about to collapse, and the monsters take no hesitation in using it as leverage to fight.

There are other heroes here, maybe three, or even more now if there were any on patrol nearby; it isn't clear through the fog of dirt and smoke. It isn't enough though. None of you had the strength or stamina to fight against the group of Nomus that appeared. Especially not by yourselves, even if you barely outnumbered them. The rubble is building. The ground is practically shaking under their destructive hands. They have the absolute advantage.

  Your quirk isn't built for such a fight, even as a pro, and your combat skills would prove useless against those monsters. You're meant to be more of a support hero than anything, someone usually waiting on the sidelines to rush in and heal the defending heroes in fights. The limits of your restorative quirk meant it was wise to steer clear from the heart of the battle and avoid being hurt, so the best course of action would be to run. Run and find backup. That's the most you can do for now; the most you can try to save what remains of that small city sector.

You choose your path quickly, remaining observant of the chaos around you. Cracked asphalt and concrete, dust flying everywhere from the destruction, debris from the second half-collapsed building scattered everywhere. The Nomus remain distracted by the other heroes, so despite the obstacles, there's a clear path to the closest alleyway. From there, if you can just reach the other side of the buildings and escape harm's way, you'll be safe to make the call.

You can make it, you believe — as long as you're fast. Confident, you take off, bound for the crack between two untouched office buildings nearby, the spring in your costume's boots allowing you to move more efficiently. With such quick speed, you nearly run face-first into the wall, entering it at an angle that's easy to correct with a simple push off against the brick. From there, the path is a straight shot to the other side, only separated by a feeble chain link fence. There's a hole that looks just big enough for you to crawl through at the bottom of it, the wire pried upward to create a gap. You can make it, you repeat in your head. The coast is clear, you can make it.

  Stumbling to a stop in front of the mesh barrier, you drop to your knees as quickly as your body will allow, planting yourself onto your stomach afterward. The opening is much smaller up close, but it's nothing you can't army-crawl your way through. Your costume was made to be dirtied and protect you in the heat of conflict, so having it scrape across the rocky ground while you drag your way under the fence isn't an issue. Its durability was the least of your problems — until now, that is..

  The elastic fabric snags on the wire once you squeeze your head and arms through the hole. Time is sensitive, you don’t have any to waste on something trivial like this. You try to reach back to untangle it, only to find the wire completely stabbed through. 

  With a heavy sigh and adrenaline crawling in your veins at the delay, you manage to move back a sizable distance before you try again, but it’s useless. The ends of the wires are sharp and stab into your suit with ease, holding you back. You needed to try something else, you needed to be fast.

  Before you can attempt to force your way through the hole, a voice arises behind you. Raspy and hoarse, you don’t even realize he's there until he speaks.

  “Oh, look at what we have here. A hero, is it?”

  His approach is slow, and you only hear his footsteps once he's standing over you. Your entire body goes stiff, your blood running cold as you curve your spine back to look at him.

  "Shigaraki," you whisper, terrified, under your breath. 

  "Oh, you know me already? How nice, I suppose we can skip the introductions then." 

  You can hear your breath hitch in your throat when he speaks and feel his presence as he looms right behind you, bending at the knees to crouch down over your legs.

  "I've seen you on TV," he starts, and you hold back a scream when you feel four rough fingers gently touch the back of your thigh, "You've got quite the impressive quirk, you know. Restoration quirks are hard to come by. And yours…"

  He pauses again, glides them up to where your hip and femur jointed together, and relishes in the way you shiver before he continues, "It's the exact opposite of mine. I guess you can only restore organic things, sure, but — it does make me wonder."

  You're hardly listening to his little ramble, your heartbeat drumming too loud in your ears to process anything — but then, your head goes blank when you feel all five of his fingers cup around your hip. Panic sets in fast, and you find yourself writhing before you can think, trying to force your way through the fence. The metal wires only dig into your skin, causing even more pain as you realize you're hips are too big to fit, and you wouldn't have made it anyway.

  Tomura only chuckles lightly at your reaction, watching the bottom half of your hero suit disintegrate into dust. You don't even realize it until you're already crying, and a cold breeze hits your face and bottom half. His hand is on you. Touching you. Feeling you, and yet.

  You don't feel any pain. His touch is simply normal against your skin. His palm is surprisingly warm, but dry. And you don't disintegrate. You don't disintegrate.

  Tomura laughs again at wide eyes and gaping mouth as if you should have expected his quirk to cancel out with yours. He slides his palm across your bottom, down to the back of your thigh again to caress it up and down slowly. Carefully. His touch lingers far longer than you're comfortable with.

  "Your quirk activates automatically when it's your own body, right? I wonder how long I can keep doing this for, then." He speaks so casually, acting like you weren't trapped and half-bare under him.

  "I've always wanted to be able to touch someone like this again. No gloves, no barriers. Just skin. When I saw you on the news and heard about your quirk, I thought you were perfect. Aside from that pesky hero stuff, that is," he frowned slightly behind the hand on his face, moving his own to grip at the fat of your ass, "You have no idea how frustrating it is to be unable to touch something without it falling apart."

  You let out a loud squeak, feeling his weight on the back of your knees when he sits on them, squeezing and kneading your flesh in his hand. There are tears in your eyes, and you struggle to twist around to look back at him, where he sits proudly like a king on his throne. Seeing such a widely known villain — being face to face, but being stuck and having him touch you like this. It felt humiliating. Humiliating to who you were as a person and a hero. You felt sick to your stomach.

  He frowns a little at the pathetic look you give him, only tightening his hold more, "Come on, don't look like that. I haven't done anything yet."

  As he speaks, he slides another hand underneath you and pulls your hips up slightly, your spine beginning to ache at how it was strained. You can only shake as you watch him, the hand that was gripping your ass moving to slide a single finger down the center of your underwear, sending a large jolt up your spine.

  In an instant, you look forward again, covering your mouth to hold back any noise you'd almost let out. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of making a sound, let it be cries or anything. So you force yourself to silence, even as tears roll down your face.

  Tomura only grins, running the finger up and down the fabric a few more times just to feel you jolt before hooking around the lining to pull it off to the side, stuffing it between your thigh and outer labia to keep you exposed. You clench up at the cold air, another shudder roving through your body as Tomura holds back a chuckle.

  Without another thought or word, he immediately dives in, his two fingers sliding between your folds, feeling whatever you can offer him before moving down to the bud below. You shiver, but are otherwise completely frozen as he does this, not even knowing half of what to do to retaliate.

  "Not too wet yet, I see. That's ok, I can fix that." He says, beginning to prod around for that extra sensitive spot he knew you wouldn't resist. A lightbulb goes off in his head when you jolt suddenly, your hips shaking extra whenever he squishes or pokes at it. With a grin plastered under that embalmed hand, he starts to move his fingers around in slow, gentle circles.

  The coarseness of his fingers doesn't help the sensation they bring on, that feeling of soft ecstasy pulsing through your body slowly like a drum. You hold back your sounds, at least, only your breathing growing heavy as he watches you clench around nothing. 

  It isn't enough for him. He needs more than this, he needs you prepared, and that wouldn’t come from just a few measly touches. 

  His fingers move faster, gaining enough friction that he has you audibly gasping, slick already building up just below. It doesn't take as long as expected, like your body is reacting on primal need. It almost makes him wonder — maybe you're getting off to the position he has you in, even if you don't realize it.

  He gives you a few more minutes of soft touching, allowing a good amount of wetness to accumulate between your shaking thighs before moving his fingers up. He gathers your natural lube on his digits, humming as he slathers it all over your pussy to make it nice and glossy before dipping them back in, finally allowing them to take the plunge.

  As if you weren't already amply humiliated, the way his fingers toy with you before pressing in is distracting enough that he manages to draw a squeak out of you the second he dives in.

  "Ohh, give me more of that. Don't be shy." He says, sliding his digits out slowly, licking his lips at how slick they are before shoving them back in.

  His fingers are so long, soaking knuckle-deep inside of you and reaching parts that your own couldn't. You would rather die at his hands now than ever admit it to anyone, but god, it feels good.

  He's already moving them so fast, curling them all around like he's searching for something. It felt too good to be touched by someone like that. You haven't slept with another person for over a year, so it's like a new foreign feeling and an old friend all at once. You can't stop yourself. Your brain grows foggier with each drag of his fingers, like he's scratching an itch you couldn’t by yourself. You couldn't hold it back anymore.

  You let out a quiet, croaked moan, covering your face with your hands to hide how embarrassing it is to indulge in something so crude with someone like him.

  A wretched smile immediately dawns on Tomura's face, and he moves his hand even faster, trying to milk more sounds out of you before he moves on. He wants you to make more noise, to hear how good a disgusting villain like him is making a great hero like you feel.

  From there, the sounds just spilled out. He’s surprisingly quick to find the smooth spot inside of you, pumping over it repeatedly until you’re a wriggling, gasping mess. The coil inside of you is winding up tight, growing ready to burst at almost any second. 

  It's so degrading, being face down in the concrete while a villain is digging his fingers so deep into you. But you weren’t thinking about that anymore. Your mind is too focused on how good it feels rubbing against your walls, the friction driving you crazy with how fast it builds up.

  Then, like electricity in your veins, it comes crashing through your body all at once. The pleasure, the ecstasy. Your body practically vibrates against his hand, an unforgiving orgasm ripping through your entire system until you’re panting like a dog, still pulsing around him as he slowly removes his fingers and wipes them on your thigh.

  As you return from your high, the quiet chuckling unnerves you. And then you feel sick to your stomach again. You’re still recovering, but you’ve come to your senses enough to look behind you.

  The sight you see has bile rising in your throat. He’s already grabbed onto you again, unzipping his pants with one hand while he speaks.

  “So, what do you think your little hero friends would think if you had sex with a villain?”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

[kagakuoniryu]

Alastor x reader I've written randomly to vent about a shitty situation I'm currently living

Summary : a new guest you knew from your past life arrive at the hotel, she was that one person who bullied you throigh high school, but she mooks too angelic to be guilty

Code : E/n (ennemy/name)

Tags : fem reader, etablished relationship, angst for the most part, there will maybe be a part 2, mentions of bullying, reader is TRAUMATIZED, english is not my first language, may have some inaccuracy about the show since I'm just projecting, and of course probably ooc characters

It wasn't a bad day, at least not in a place like hell, it was even quite nice, charlie was babbling about a new team bonding activity as usual, and it was nice being with your friends, until around 2 pm...when a new guest arrived...

Oh you remembered her...from high school, so pretty, so popular, she was you best friends ! You should have been overjoyed to see her down here !

Well...not exactly, because she wasn't your best friend anymore, you hardly bear to be in the same room as her, of anger, from your history and how your friendship ended...but also of fear and dread...

You were both teens back then, you and eager to have many friends ! You had your own group of friends, and she was a separate individual, spending her time with her boyfriend often, that's okay by you, you were happy for her, and when that boy left her you welcomed her with open arms ! You became best friend soon, even inseparable ! You heard her badmouth you to your friend group from time to time, but she told you it was okay, it was "to know who was fake" then, one by one, your friends ghosted you, but you had her, she was there at least, making new friends, each time you introduced her they left soon enough, you thought that maybe you were the problem and stopped trying, your best friend was there after all

Until a boy came along, love at first sight for you, he had everything ! He had so much...your best friend wanted him too...and with that, she had him, when you called her out she called you an homewrecker and a toxic friend getting in the way of her relationship, that ended badly and an argument followed, while you stayed on the down low, she texted your few friends left, and any new friends you managed to make telling them how awful you were, so you ended up closing your media althogether, moving away, and never hearing about her ever again

And there she was, she didn't really looked different from her time on her, a round face and blond hair, she didn't looked like she fitted in hell, but you you were different, your body jointed like a doll, mocking your life as the puppet of those who wanted to play you, but if not your appearance, your personnality changed, you were more confident, your boyfriend was a powerful overlord too ! No, not boyfriend, he proposed a month ago after all, he was your fiancee now, and you had friends, through thick and thin, you knew they wouldn't buy into her lie at least !

Having an hard time to breath you sucked it up, maybe she wouldn't recognize you ?

Wrong

How wrong

"Hello ! Welcome to the hazbin hotel ! Guys this is our new guest !" Charlie started with her usually cheerfulness

"Hi everyone ! My name is E/n, I barely arrived in hell ! And I figured that if I could, I would want to be redeemed ! After all everyone deserves second chances !" The girl said back

Her voice hasn't changed, neither her tone, that fake nice tone you used to hear every day, here, one again in flesh and blood, not through a phone, not through class, but..here...

Breathing harder than ever, you only went back to reality when husk called out to you

"Hey ? You seem weird, like you've seen some ghost ?" His tone nonchalant as always showed half concerns, but for him, it was a lot

"A glass, of whiskey, or vodka, whatever you got, strongest you got please"

"Wowowo...alright, that's not your type to drink, what's up...?"

"I-I...I know this girl...she...listens, I can't be in her presence sober, I knew her from where I was alive...we had...some bad conflict...she did some awful things to me, and I got bad issues after that...I said some mean things to her too, we were kids, but since then I'm scared I'll lose all my friends again !"

Husk just nodded at my whispered rant, trying to calm myself, I didn't even insisted on a glass and went straight to my own room since alastor and I didn't shared one yet, not before marriage he said

Later that day, angel vaggie and charlie passed by my room, concerned by my absence, I told them everything, how I ended up abandonning the notion of making friends when I was alive, the calls, the insults, they looked at me with compassion, charlie said she believes that she could have changed, and even if I doubted it, I wanted to believes it

Alastor arrived to spend some quality time with me, dancing on old jazz music far from my time, reading a book, basking in silence with each others

After a while, I thought I could talk about E/n with him, he was my fiancee after all ?

"Al ?" I started, unsure

"Yes my dear ?"

"You know about that new guest at the hotel ?"

"Ah yes, what a cultivated lady, quite entertaining, she was really into songs from the 1980s not my style at all, we had a long discussion about music genres, she's actually quite against modern technology and that picture show"

"Oh...so...you like her company ?"

"She is not insufferable if that's your question"

Finally you decided against your first idea, perhaps she had changed in the end ? Perhaps a new friendship was possible ? With healthy fondation, you could get your bestfriend back !

Wrong again

You revealed her the next day who you were, well, used to be, what linked the two of you back in the living realms, for others, nothing changed, but for you it was subtle, for exemple she never interrupted anyone, but when it came to you each time your mouth opened she would cut you out

She was such a charmer too, a quality you envied her, her audience was captivated, and soon even alastor was her aquaintance, he presented her rosie of course ! Just like he did for charlie !

And just like he did for you...

Rosie found her delightful, and from your tea parties at 3 with her and alastor, became 4, adding E/n

A comment about your appearance back in high school, an embarassing moment you had, a silly crush, every single detail of your life was used to mock you, even your crush on a video game character

Soon you always found excuses to avoid going to the tea party, and spend most of our time outside of the hotel, feeling akward in her presence

You tried talking about it to charlie or maybe vaggie, to no avail, they said how nice E/n was and how much progress she was making, if they weren't saying you sounded silly thinking that in these 3 weeks she took your place, you still felt like it...

And it all confirmed when, after a whole day of searching for everyone, they finally came back to the hotel from shopping...without you

"Finally you're here toots ! We tried searching for ya before going but you weren't anywhere !" Angel started, holding many bags in each arms

"What do you mean ? I was in my room all day ?"

"Wait you weren't out ? E/n told us she saw you leave ?"

"Oh I'm sorry my eyes deceived me...next time I'll still check your room !" As everyone looked sorry I couldn't help but see it, even for a second...

She smirked...

Of course she did, she never changed

This started becoming common occurence, either the others left you behind, or you could leave the entire day without them noticing, and at some point, angel, husk and sir pentious started to distance themselves from you

"Hey angel, hum...you wanna hang out...? Go to a club, or drink with husk, just spend some time betweens pal ?"

"Sorry sweet cheeks, but we're partying with E/n tonight and...she doesn't feel comfortable around you..."

"Wha ? Angel what are you talking about ?"

"She told us about it, about the two of you, hos jealous and manipulative you were, you even tried to make her dump her boyfriend, that wasn't cool of you, I don't want to take side on this, but if I hang out with one of you, I'd rather not force her to be with the other for both your sanities"

"Oh...ok"

That's all you could have mustered, because what was there to muster, you were in hell, all the proof you used to have were on your previous phone in the living realm, but even if angel and the other favored her, mayne your fiancee could understand your side ?

Gently you knocked on alastor's hotel room as he called you to come in, he was currently eating his dinner, a...fresh venison...but you shook your head lightly, taking a sit across the table

"Al, can I vent to you for a bit...?"

"What is it my dear ? But please, spare me your story with E/n, as much as I love a good gossip, the young lady did you a favor by never taking vengance in the living realm, I wouldn't want the two of you to get in troubles once again"

"Al, please it's serious, she's telling lies about le ! And you believes her ? I'm your fiancee ! She's in hell as well !"

"And so are you, and so am I, I am not interested in knowing the why who is were, but I admit your little querrel is...quite entertaining !"

"So your fiancee see her ex bully...and all you think about is entertainment ?"

"Well, ma chère (my dear) as far as we are all concerned, without proof, both of you could be the liar, it's about, who's able to convince the public, just like on a stage"

Alastor's half sadistic smile didn't amused you, you just sighed, getting up, wamking slowly toward the exit of his room, if even your own fiancee, the man you loved refused to believes you, who would ?

You couldn't see alastor's curious expression as you left, he just wanted to prolounge the fun and not outright gives you the solution, but seeing you give up almost made him that for once he screwed up badly

[ominous-feychild]

✦ MY WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION ✦

Hey! I've been here for a while and I've somehow amassed a shocking amount of followers and mutuals, so I figured it's finally time for me to force one of these out for you guys!

(And you know... a masterpost... when I get around to it. 😅😭)

About me:

✦ Barlowe (she/her)

✦ In my early 20s

✦ A writer of 10 years ✦ working on novels for 6 of 10!

✦ Less dedicated to—but still interested in!—drawing, animation, photography, and cinematography

✦ AuDHD and a grey lesbian (aka I'm leaning asexual) ✦ (my writing may or may not be a special interest)

✦ I have a whole bunch of other neurodivergencies besides AuDHD but I don't think y'all want me to get into all of them, haha. ✦ oh, and I say "haha" a lot. I apologize in advance.

✦ I think I'm hilarious and make jokes constantly

✦ I use a lot of emojis and tone tags to help convey tone. Please forgive me if it's annoying, it's to cope with my inability to communicate. /lh /hj

Masterlists:

✦ General ✦ Worldbuilding ✦ Sun and Shadow ✦ The Arcane Rifts ✦ Rising From the Ashes

(will be added eventually)

My Obsessions:

✦ Fantasy, horror, mystery, action, and exploration of realistic characters' reactions to the things they go through.

✦ Fairy tales, mythology, and folklore

✦ "Ye Olde History" and language

✦ DIVERSITY!!!

✦ Explorations of "evil-coded" characters and abilities--aka, not just showing them as evil. Show them as people (for characters) and tools (for abilities)!

✦ Traumatizing my characters just like I've been

✦ Traumatizing my characters in ways I haven't been!

✦ Learning!!!

✦ Talking way too much about the things I like to the point that I need to make a whole separate post to share it so it doesn't clutter my intro post... oh, hey, why is this linked?

✦ THE AESTHETIC!!!!

My Aesthetics:

Those who've been following me for a bit probably know that I adore "the aesthetic" and try to make my posts look nice... even if there's no real reason to besides that it gives me a little serotonin. Here's my favorite aesthetics!

✦ Starry; night sky ✦ Dawn / dusk ✦ Sunrise / sunset

✦ Nature! ✦ Forestry ✦ Cottagecore ✦ Rustic ✦ Ocean

✦ Literally all of them, please and thank you

My Writing:

✎ Sun and Shadow

Everything goes wrong for Freya Ula when she leaves her simple life as a fisherwoman to get engaged overseas. Her ship gets wrecked, she finds out her dad's been hiding secrets from her for her whole life, and, oh, she gets framed for a terrorist attack. Wait, WHAT!? After the city's greatest detective is attacked and disappears before she could consult with him, Frey has to enlist the help of his kid and her would-be fiancée to find out who framed her and clear her name. If only Crow was half as good a detective their dad was supposed to be.

Main characters: Freya, Crow, Daleira

✦ Urban-esque high fantasy ✦ purposely very tropey in places ✦ however, as always, I love throwing in curveballs. Wonder what's played straight and what I'm going to emotionally destroy you with. Definitely won't be Crow.

✦ Slow-burn romance between Frey and Crow ✦ immediate interest between Frey / Daleira ✦ oh, look, it's a love triangle? ✦ JOKE'S ON YOU, IT'LL ACTUALLY BE POLY ✦ it's just... going to take a while.

✦ Lesbians, lesbians everywhere ✦ though Crow is actually genderfluid and uses they/them for the first book ✦ despite barely having anything written I've already plotted a bit of book 2 ✦ I desperately need help.

✦ Unsurprisingly is a detective mystery with action mixed in ✦ I'm not typically a romance writer, I excel in action fantasy ✦ please have mercy on my soul

✦ Lots of magic, it's high fantasy + victorian aesthetic ✦ (aka "gaslamp fantasy" if you've heard of it) ✦ Frey's got sun-themed magic ✦ gasp, I know ✦ Crow's got shadow magic ✦ wonder why this sounds familiar ✦ Daleira's got, hm, well it's also shadowy! ✦ spoilers 😘

✦ About to be updated en-masse for a writing contest!!!

✎ The Arcane Rifts

Ghosts of past tragedies haunt the town of Kavo after decades of neglect. Fantastical creatures desiring nothing but fear and destruction hide in invisible tears in reality. Gangs and the police are at constant war with one another, there's a shapeshifting monster running amok, and the mayor's assistant suddenly wants a disabled orphan kicked to the streets. A year ago, Gene was discovered in the forest on the outskirts of town, half dead, amnesiac, and unable to even speak the local language. As he had nowhere to go, he was brought to the orphanage of Kavo for a place to stay. Now Caspar, the assistant of the mayor and the man who funds the orphanage, wants him kicked out. When Gene's left to the cold, cruel streets of Kavo on his own, he has to navigate through a town ravaged by decades of neglect and intrigue. Has the corruption truly been purged from the government? Why are godly forces active in Kavo, a small town in a backwater country? And most importantly--will Gene survive?

Main Characters: Gene, Tazin, Mislav, Ludmila, Rada ❧ Gene and Tazin for book 1 ❧ the other 3 start being MCs books 2 and 3 ❧ I guess Nikolai is also a MC tho

❧ Industrial-era rustic high fantasy ❧ mixes fantasy, action, horror, and mystery! ❧ oh helloooooo "ominous feychild" origin? ❧ very strong folkloric and traditional fantasy inspo ❧ except I mean "traditional fantasy" as in ❧ "we don't understand this magic stuff but we're used to it" ❧ not "travel the world adventures!"

❧ VERY involved story with strong themes of discrimination, poverty, exploitation, trauma, and the recovery from trauma ❧ each main and secondary character is one flavor of discriminated against or another in-universe ❧ obviously I try to write it respectfully, but you can't really write bigots being bigots "respectfully"

❧ Has two "main plots" going on simultaneously; technically three ❧ I periodically give the reader updated "character guides" ❧ like they get more recent plot info added kinda like a red-string board to keep you, the audience, up-to-date with info you might've otherwise missed ❧ I think it's really cool and people seem to enjoy it ❧ I know it seems like a lot but please give it a chance

❧ I've literally plotted out pretty much the entirety of the first and second books, and know most of how book 3 will go, yet there's very little out for the current version of the story ❧ part of that is because I'm paused on the 3rd draft

❧ There's lots of timeskips throughout the first two books, but they're mostly to age up the protagonists! Gene, the MC, starts the series at 7. I promise it's not a kid's story though.

❧ The "secondary MC", Nikolai, is the police chief investigating magical stuff going on at the same time. They tie in with the main story involving Gene, though won't appear to for a long while.

❧ The "golden child" series I love more than SaS; however it's on hiatus because I promised people to work on SaS first and SaS is more popular as a romance-focused story. :/ ❧ I would never be salty about that.

Taglist:

For everything: @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue

For Worldbuilding: @paeliae-occasionally @pluppsauthor @thelovelymachinery

For the Existentials: N/A

For the Avatars: @thelovelymachinery

For Sun and Shadow: @mysticstarlightduck @paeliae-occasionally

For the Arcane Rifts: @paeliae-occasionally

For Rising From the Ashes: N/A

For the Storm Avatars: N/A

For the Order Avatars: @thelovelymachinery

For the Magic Avatars: N/A

For the Fire Avatars: N/A

For the Water Avatars: N/A

To be tagged in tag games: @honeybewrites @aalinaaaaaa

Ask and ye shall be added

Divider by @cafekitsune

[dior-roses]

obsession, auston matthews

ꨄ︎ pairing: stepbro!auston matthews x reader

ꨄ︎ summary: he's a man obsessed, his mind replays any and every interaction he's had the honor to have with you. because let's face it, in his mind, you are more than just his step-sister, you are a goddess in his eyes. and who is he to not steal something for his earnings?

ꨄ︎ requested: yes/no

ꨄ︎ warnings: obsessive behavior, kind of dark(?), mentions of smut (like barely any, in my eyes), stepcest (do not condone, in fact, am highly against it), auston's lowkey got a god complex, a hint of reader being innocent, implied age gap (reader is 18!)

ꨄ︎ author's note: it's been so long since i've written anything and im so insecure in this so please love it! (give me validation). a self indulgent auston blurb (?) that came to mind when i saw this slutty little edit of him. please forgive me for any grammar mistakes to typos, for i wrote this while i was saying hello to my friend mary jane. much love to every one of you who decides to read this mess of a story, and shall we meet again!🤍

he should've felt disgusted with himself. his skin should be crawling with his current demeanor. the hairs in the back of his neck should be standing up straight when the idea briefed over his mind during the excruciating quiet family dinner that your parents force you guys to have nightly.

but he wasn't.

in fact, he was quite proud of himself, with how far he's gotten into this 'plan' of his. here he was, in the midst of the day while you were at school, attending your one out of only three classes you had to attend your senior year, standing in the middle of your bedroom.

he had taken the afternoon off, canceling his strength training, his excuse being that he was sick. along with his place of employment he texted you, the one thing that had been occupying his mind ever since he laid eyes on you. your parents having you guys meet, thus starting his obsession.

to their shock, neither of you were angry when your father announced that they had eloped. both of you sat across from the newly weds in a low light restaurant, with pristine christmas ornaments hanging from the ceiling. a little annoyed, maybe; at least you were. you never got the chance to ask him how he felt about the whole ordeal. but from what you could see, he was perfectly contempt with the major life change.

he shifts in your room, walking backwards until the back of his calfs hit the edge of you bed, causing him to plop down harshly with an anticipated huff. your pure vanilla sent traveled to his nostrils, and himself becoming encapsulated with only you. his hands laid stoic along the tops of his thighs, even though he wanted nothing more than to palm himself through his pants. he was already half hard, just by your scent.

his eyes lingered to your nightstand, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips at just how perfectly girly it was. a picture of you laughing with your friends in your camp counselor shirt from the past summer, your forgotten airpods, which he thought about how irritated you were when you figured that out, a small pout on your lips. god, he wanted nothing more than to feel yours against his.

he would be happy if it was just on his cheek, as a thankful gesture.

as he admired your dimples through the glass of the picture frame, he could help but let curiosity get the best of him. that's how he got here in the first place, right? his eyes trailed down to the drawer that was painted a darker color than the rest of the dresser, to perfectly match the rest of your room.

he hoped one day he could see if your room truly matched you– light perfectly balanced with dark. he already knew the light part was too good to be true, with your big eyes that light up at the sight of him, but only enough that he would notice. the way you blush if he gets too close to you, not that he creeps you out or anything, but the fact that it was a man besides your dad that was this close to you. even if it was your step brother.

you didn't know why you felt this way around auston, you didn't know what made him different from any other boy you thought was pretty. bust auston was so, so, pretty that you couldn't help but redirect your eyes to your shoes when he caught your burning gaze. your skin burned from what seemed like hour from when he would place his hands on your waist to 'move you out of the way'. and it had only grown with time, with how nice he is to you and the names he calls you that he doesn't seem to do with anyone else. 'princess', 'baby', or even 'doll' when he's showing you how to swing a golf club, on those rare, rare, days when he could finally persuade you to come with him to the country club just down the street. he even bought you your own little golf girl outfit, all baby pink and white, to perfectly match the picture of you he has implemented into his mind.

and you had thought you were going to look ridiculous, and you did, until you saw the way he looked at you as you walked down stairs where he was waiting for you. a certain glint was in his eyes the entire day, and you couldn't help but squirm in the passengers seat as he was driving. trying to descreetly press your thighs together to at least try to ease the pressure and throbbing that was happening down there. you didn't know what caused the throbbing but it was so strange and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but sniffle lightly, suppressing a whine at how uncomfortable you felt. but you didn't completely hate it. especially not when auston was right next to you, his large frame blocking the street lights that passed by through his window, his side profile creating the perfect tattoo of a shadow on your face, one that you didn't want to go away.

of course he had noticed his little girl writhing around in the passenger seat of his car. her soft thighs pressing against each other, all supple and smooth from imperfections. he needed to be suffocated by them, the image he wanted to die from was your shaking body from all the pleasure he was causing you, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as he sucked you clit in between his full lips.

he had completely forgotten he was in heaven, (your room), when he felt the pulse from his balls that he was about the cum, all from the thoughts of your innocence and his hand that found his hard on cock through his sweatpants. he didn't want to do that yet, not without the one thing that caused him to be here in the first place.

the most obvious place would be the dresser, so he head towards that area of your room, placed right next to your closet. and surprise, surprise! the top drawer just happened to be your underwear drawer. all filed with pale colored bras and panties, not that they were old, but because those were the colors you loved; all muted and quiet, instead of vibrant and loud. you was shocked you had some lace and he would've gone for those, but that's not what he was going for.

his mind craved something less out there and more reserved. something that he had seen tossed in the washer with his colored laundry load, a pair of your painted that were red with white little hearts scattered across the cotton material. a throaty groan came from his as he felt his cock twitch, being retrained by the boxers and pants he wore.

he could only imagine your ass being perfect covered in white little hearts, or even getting a glimpse of them as you sit down next to him on the couch in the living room after a long day at school. your school uniform only urging on his obsession– a short little navy blue pleaded skirt with thigh high socks, and the cutest little best he had ever seen. the way the thick knitted wool spread across the curves of your breasts.

god, he was nothing but a man obsessed.

[that-was-a-bit-stupid-of-you]

ttpd review: thoughts (and prayers)

cuz wtf was that. (also providing my two cents that no one gives a shit about)

Is the promotion in the room with us?

Not going to lie, this part pissed me off. As a post evermore release swiftie, the first album release I got was midnights. And while the promotion for midnights wasn't astoundingly genius, the track list release (midnights mayhem with me) was smart. Everyday, there would be chaos all over social media of taylor taking out a number and releasing the track name. The excitement over YOYOK was to die for. But after reaching peak fame, girlie just decided shit wasn't necessary anymore. Absolutely no promotion for ttpd, except a few lyrics that provided no context (or excitement) whatsoever. That, and the very non subtle "hinting" of some big reveal of what went down between her and joe, by making some playlists, that not only ruined the perspective of many of her fans and the relationship they had with her previous songs, but ALSO. THE ALBUM HAD BARELY ANYTHING ABOUT JOE. (Not that i personally care about what happened, but it was so unnecessary to center the ONLY promotion done around someone who was barely a part of the album). Swifties went on the internet to harass joe alwyn (and his female coworkers) who might as well be called a special mention on a matty healy album. Why even do all that then? We will never know.

Confusion?

taylor released 31 songs, and while a double album theory coming true would be a dream come true for any swiftie, it just... wasn't. Out of 31 songs, barely 10 stood out. Some of it just didn't make sense, in any way. "Why is this on the album?" "This sounds like a midnights vault track." "No issues, maybe this is just a skip. I'll listen to the next. Oh wait nvm. Um." Like girl what. It just feels like a giant vault album of synth pop music.

Also, it's called the tortured poets department. There is barely anything poetic or tortured about the album aesthetic. Except maybe it's torturing me, but I'm as much of a poet as she is, which basically means I'm not one.

The album just feels so different than the other albums, in the sense that they followed an aesthetic, a certain style of music and lyrics, and created some sort of story. This one just feels like she wrote many songs and put them all on an album, picked whatever track name seemed interesting enough as the album name, and called it a day. Some of the songs are gems, some create a confusion as to why they are on this album, and some just make you cringe- or atleast go "wtf". Which is fine, but if not even half the songs fall under the first category out of 30 songs, then it's a problem.

These were written by... taylor?

The lyrics omfg. I'm not going to be one of those ppl who go around saying that the lyrics sounded like an emo middle schooler (I've heard this take) BUT again, some songs have lyrics that make you question how taylor, someone who wrote the albums folklore and evermore, and many great songs like would've, could've, should've, story of us, all too well, fearless, white horse, dbatc, daylight, red... I could keep going tbh, produced...this.

It was very weird to listen to the words "tattooed golden retriever" from someone who wrote "handsome, you're a mansion with a view" (also who the FUCK is calling matty healy that??)

A very important part of taylor's music is how it is focused on the lyrics. The music itself isn't the most special, or different, in most of her songs, but what makes them (and her) special is her songwriting. However, from her songwriting going from commonly used phrases and idioms to make them tell a story, use a wide range of vocabulary, heavily using personification, allusion, transferred epithet, and a few other figures of speech that she uses in her songs to make elements such as colours, for example, tell a story, in a way it seemed effortless and fit perfectly, to this... now it feels like she's trying to do that, but that's it. She's TRYING, and it's not yielding results, and seems more like a try hard "poet" rather than... whatever she was going for. The songs are filled with self-satisfied "clever" metaphors that are being reused and recycled over and over. This is not what ppl meant when they asked you to be more environmentally friendly, taylor.

Final thoughts I guess?

While the songs are basically only an empty shell of something that taylor used to make, the album isn't all bad. Some of the songs do sound good and go well with taylor's voice (aaron dessner, the fucking legend you are) and are quite enjoyable, if not as memorable as her other songs.

There are songs such as the prophecy, clara bow, so long, london, loml, guilty as sin?, etc., that really do come through and honestly I really like them.

I do feel that the album can grow on people, but it's just... not the best. Like she says so much, and not to quote taylor swift, but genuinely the only thing in my head right now is "the more you say, the less I know".

Overall, the album is fine, but not in taylor swift standards. It's just... not bad, with some exceptions.

[biginkyboyo13]

Hello I am here to Wreck it Ralph au brainrot again, teehee

Zamn, I'm back here again.

I really love seeing people's interpretations of a redemption arc for Turbo, those are always fun, he is a silly guy (who committed countless ethical crimes). I have not read every single fanfic (and I do not plan to, oh god there would be too many), but I've read a few and boy do I love seeing creative people do their thing, hell yeah!

Be cringe, be free. Make those aus, create those ocs, make silly fanfics and amazing fanart!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, here's my ramblings on a stupid au

What if they both existed?

What if you could have Turbo and King Candy and they both had their own redemption of sorts? That would be kinda neat I think....anyways, I thought too hard about this, so here we go, epic transition-

----------------------------------owo--------

A virus has settled itself in the depths of Sugar Rush's code room. It should be completely obvious where it came from, who caused it.

Somehow, this virus escapes the code room, hellbent on learning all it can before assimilation. Just because it's a virus, doesn't mean it's mindless after all.

Maybe it already knew about Turbo, seeing as it was probably formed because of him. Did he intend that? Probably not, but you can't expect Turbo to think about the consequences of his actions, that is literally the only thing he's incapable of doing.

People who die outside of their game are never gone. Not fully. Have they been destroyed and reduced to 1s and 0s? Yeah. But they aren't gone. They've become part of the fabric of the game, a whisper, barely a memory. But, they could be plucked out of that ocean of data.

A virus is dangerous on its own. A virus who knows how death works (or doesn't work) is even more dangerous. Point being, the virus decides it wants to have a little fun and bring back Cybug King Candy. Not to let him live, not at all. Instead, the virus is doing what it does best, and infects the host, ripping the original out and taking its place. Where does King Candy go? Between this monster's claws, where it tries to tear him apart. All it does, though, is literally tear him apart. There's two of them now, oh god.

Now you have Turbo and King Candy, and they are probably not too happy about being brought back, extracted, split in half, and probably almost assimilated into the virus.

Maybe Vanellope and Ralph were feeling especially nice that day, or maybe they were acting on instinct because there's now a much, much bigger threat, but perhaps they save these two numbskulls.

And now, they have two very, very, very big problems on their hands. There is a rogue virus in the arcade, and Turbo/King Candy are alive.

Here's some extra small ideas I had

- I think this would take place a couple years in the future. Assuming this is a universe where arcades didn't go out of business, everyone is still doing just fine.

- Debatable if Fix it Felix Jr. is still plugged in. Old game, all that. I wouldn't just immediately say it's been unplugged, but that's on my mind a little bit (they all live in Vanellope's castle, someone's got to)

- Turbo and King Candy are still total dickwads. Turbo is a brat, King Candy is also a brat. I think when separated they would clash immensely. Turbo took all the whiny, childish parts with him, as those were likely his to begin with. King Candy kept the happy, cheery, mass manipulator side.

- I will never acknowledge the sequel, Ralph is still the fun uncle/father figure for Vanellope, and Vanellope doesn't want to leave Sugar Rush. Also, Felix and Calhoun ftw

That's literally all I have rn, I haven't thought super hard about this yet, it's not great I know

That's my edgy, angsty au beginning. Will I ever do something with it? I have no clue! Perhaps it will be written on Ao3. That, or it's just gonna exist here and that's cool I think.

Anyways byyyyyye

[katuschka]

A Rollercoaster Ride with Tom&Jerry

Josh Kiszka x male OC (1st person narrative) 8.014 words

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere. Warnings: intense and confusing emotions; swear words; both verbal and physical fights; oral sex; anal sex (surprise, surprise, it's about two guys); toys; choking&gagging&some spanking; BDSM; ...so you see, it's not for everyone. This is basically a story about finding and re-establishing mutual trust. It involves conflict. Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned. So if you have any doubts that you're gonna be able to handle it, proceed with caution. Big thanks goes to: 1. @edgingthedarkness for making an illustrative short video (you're gonna find it inside the story below) that should make the whole experience even juicier! 2. all my beta-readers and cheerleaders, especially @writingcold, @edgingthedarkness, @its-interesting-van-kleep and @thewritingbeforesunrise. Cheers, guys.

I've got some things to say 'Cause there's a lot that you don't know It's written on my face It's gonna be hard to swallow (P!nk)

“You’re awfully quiet tonight. What’s going on?” 

I sighed. Yeah, no shit. There was actually so much I wanted to say to him ever since the show ended, I just couldn’t figure out how to do that without sounding like a jealous little girl. My mind was absolutely racing and when that happens, the connection between my brain and my mouth just gets cut off completely. It’s a serious condition, really. Commonly known as “sulking.” 

I often accompany him on tour, but I try to avoid live shows. I have my reasons. Hundreds of them. I agreed to be there for the last few concerts, which I now deeply regretted. 

It had been a really busy and eventful week; me, myself and I getting increasingly irritated – by everything, but mostly him – as the days went by, and tonight’s events felt like the last straw. Part of me wanted to be finally alone with him, and another part just wanted to be alone. So, as a result, I just tried to avoid him. I had kept to myself while watching him down his beer as the band enjoyed their aftershow high back in the green room. No one else seemed to pay attention to me, and for that I was glad. Now we were sitting in a car on our way back to the hotel room, and the confrontation that I’d tried to avoid seemed inevitable. 

As much as I pretended to be interested in the night scenery behind the window, it was impossible to ignore him any longer. Sadly, it was equally impossible to pretend that everything was ok and the idea that we could resolve it soon seemed pretty absurd. He was still in his stage outfit, bare chest in full display, absentmindedly scratching the skin right below his left nipple. Much to my dismay, he smelled divine, too. Warm and musky from the exertion, still with a faint hint of vanilla and cedar. AND he was obviously completely clueless. 

“You know Josh, you make it really hard sometimes...” 

Well, shit. I realized what I just did even before I finished the sentence. The instant smirk on his face told me that it was a really bad word choice and I regretted it immediately. I really wished that he would take it seriously this time. But he was still exhilarated and unnaturally restless, even to his standards. He literally couldn’t sit still, fidgeting in his seat, rapping his knuckles on a windowsill, giggling at nothing in particular…and I’d swear I even heard a moan when the car accidentally hit a curb. If I didn’t know him, I would say that he was high, but I knew he would never do that while performing. 

“Yeah, I often do, don’t I darling.” He turned to me and pouted playfully, his chin resting on his fist. “...but you’re never quiet when that happens, so why don’t you tell me what’s bugging you.” He was looking at me now, the lower lip between his teeth again, eyelids half closed. Cheeky bastard. 

What I really meant was – and he just proved my point again, by the way – that it was hard to keep the conversation serious when he was like that. And he was like that most of the fucking time. Everyone loved him for it, and that was the problem, because he just didn’t hesitate to love them all back. Not only was this his nature, but what is more, he was required to do that. A people pleaser, an entertainer…I was no longer pleased, nor entertained, though. 

I knew what I signed up for when we started seeing each other. Granted, I didn’t know who he was – or what he was – when we first met in that rally more than three years ago. He was just a beautiful boy with the eyes of a winking doll and a golden halo bouncing around his head. In a crowd of other nameless, faceless and anonymous people, he exuded blinding light. Am I too sentimental? If you were there, you’d surely understand. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. After staring at him for at least fifteen minutes, I dared to lift my camera up to take a picture just as the wind blew a few disheveled locks into his face. He immediately noticed. His brows furrowed and his eyes squinted at me, but they were warm and I could tell he was smiling behind his mask, even though apprehensively. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” “Why did you do that?” If I had thought that it couldn’t get any worse, I was sorely mistaken. The sultry voice that came from behind that black piece of cloth didn’t match his overall appearance. It made my dick twitch though, and I had to hear it again, so I decided to come clear about it, because he was already turning away again, not really interested in my answer. As if having his pictures taken was something that happened everyday. Yeah, as if. But…

Believe it or not, I just told him I thought he was beautiful. Right there on that street. I don’t normally do shit like that. To this day, I still don’t understand what got into me. It was blunt and impudent and no doubt a bit weird, and I expected him to tell me to fuck off. 

But instead, he blushed. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.” 

I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or if he was just playing along. Or even mocking me. But I had to seize the opportunity by the hair. “I’m Tom.” What else to say, right?

“Josh.”

That’s it. That’s how Tom met Josh. We talked a lot that day. He was cute and funny and I just couldn’t get enough of that voice, which is never a good sign. You shouldn’t let yourself get addicted to people. It’s dangerous and he was very addictive. Later that day, when we left the crowd behind and he put the mask down to reveal his full, rosy lips, I should have run. But I didn’t. I let him use those lips to chain me to him just as they enveloped my dick.

Since then, there was not one single day when I wouldn’t think about that mouth. It only got worse when that sleepy pout became the first thing I saw almost every time I opened my eyes in the morning during that summer. Our relationship started as a strictly sexual one, not because we wanted it that way, but simply because arousal and excitement came first, and there was nothing else to do. We skipped dating and dived head first in the sheets. The world had slowed down, the future looked hazy, and we were just bored. OK, I admit, I was bored. His life wasn’t boring at all. Not even then. I got sucked into it pretty soon (pun absolutely intended). He made me fall for him before we even realized what was happening, and it was brutally intense. And it was also mutual. 

I soon learned what it really meant to be part of that world. Our secret summer of love ended and reality hit. I went completely offline, partly because I was not interested in being hunted down by hysterical chicks, but mostly because he didn’t want them to know. You know what I mean. I didn’t really care that much myself, but I also understood. 

If you’re into traveling, and if you ever followed @tomontheroad on Instagram and wondered why it just vanished one day, wonder no more. Yes, it was me. You probably didn’t even notice though, because in late 2020, it had already been dead for months anyway. 

That’s just how it was. To keep the life we shared safe, I became an invisible nobody, which made it almost impossible for me to do my job, but I somehow managed. Meanwhile, he was there in the spotlight, adored by thousands, making their pussies and dreams wet. I was never to be seen. I agreed to all that, gladly, even though it was gradually getting worse. They started touring again, and that was when I saw his full potential, wrapped in velvet. He was their Pied Piper, playing his flute just as he played his vocals. I still didn’t mind. It was all worth it. I thought it was, at least. As soon as we closed the doors behind us, a brand new universe opened before me. Behind the closed doors, I was a traveler again, a tireless explorer. Every inch and every curve of his body was a land full of miracles and pleasures. A wondrous landscape. Every valley, a new home for me. Every peak, a place that revealed brand new horizons. Who needed tropical white sands when his warm skin was the perfect place to lay your head, the sound of his heart more calming than the humming of sea waves. I simply loved him. 

I learned to live with the fact that I had a boyfriend that hundreds of people wanted to fuck, but it was me who actually did. They were mere voyeurs, standing outside the shopping window, ogling hungrily all the delicious desserts on display, which only I had the privilege to taste. I kept telling myself that I was the lucky one. 

And you know what? That’s complete and utter bullshit. I keep doing this to myself. Lying to myself. I hadn’t learned to live with it at all. Granted, we had these conversations before, and all of them ended with me telling him it was fine. Everything was fine. I spent nearly two fucking years trying to convince myself that I was completely ok with all of this and just this evening I realized how much it was really bothering me. 

Today he crossed the fucking line. The feeling that lurked somewhere in the back of my mind now reared its ugly head and I felt like I reached my limits. 

I said I was there for the show. I actually never really get to see it, because I myself can’t be seen. It had been months since I last watched their concert and this past week I just waited for him in the green room. But tonight he insisted that I be there. I finally agreed, even though it really meant just lurking by the side, under the stage level with the staff, watching what was going on onstage on the monitor with Steve who’s in charge of big screens. 

The camera loved him. And he loved it back, losing himself in the moment as he got high on the music they made. The audience was losing it too, screaming in frenzy because he made them feral. It all looked just like one big orgy. I had seen it many times before, that’s why I didn’t really want to be there, but I still couldn’t get my eyes off that screen. I was very familiar with all those faces he made. I had heard those moans before, I had watched him arch his back just like that before, the way he bit his lip, how his brows furrowed… I could tell he got bolder with it over time. I was mesmerized, but there was one big problem. The whole arena was watching this with me now, equally enchanted, but he was interacting with them and I felt unwelcome. I had seen some pictures, watched two or three shorts, but nothing could prepare me for this. 

He ran down the stage a few times that evening, waved at me the first time, blew me a kiss a moment later, but as the evening progressed, I suddenly felt like losing him. It was an unwelcome surge of panic and just when I thought I got it under control, he ran past me and the next thing I saw on the screen was him right at the barricade, letting himself be hugged and groped by all those random people. I had enough. I couldn’t breathe. I excused myself and ran to the green room to pour myself a generous amount of whiskey. 

Fast forward back to where we were, in the car on our way back to the hotel. “Not here,” I retorted. “Later.” The rest of the ride was tense. He kept looking sideways at me, I kept being extremely absorbed in examining the hem of my shirt. As soon as the door of our shared apartment closed behind us, he confronted me. 

“So, we’re here. Care to explain why you’ve been behaving like such an insufferable bitch tonight?”

“Oh that’s rich, Joshua. By all means feel free to make it aaaall about my behavior again. Nothing wrong with you acting like an insolent and inconsiderate slut!” 

“Inconsiderate…” He looked as if I just punched him. 

“Yes!” I hissed, “inconsiderate! You know, it’s funny how you find this worth reacting…but not the fact that I just called you a slut.”

He just laughed and shook his head in disbelief as he headed straight to the minibar to pour  himself a drink. “Well,” he trilled, “you didn’t shake the bitch allegations either, my love. At least I’m fun to be around.” 

I just huffed and went towards the balcony to open the glass door. I really needed some fresh air. “Yeah, I’m not amused. But you don’t seem to mind. You were having a really good time there, with their hideous, overlong nails scratching your tits. Or when you were moaning into the microphone, almost pretending that you were fucking them all.” With that, I collapsed on the couch. 

“So what do you want me to do to amuse you? You want me to fuck you? Let’s fuck in earnest, no pretending.  Will that make it better? Do you want me to show you what and who I’m REALLY thinking about when their nails scratch my skin?”

“No Josh, you fucking me wouldn’t really sort out anything I’m afraid, because right now I feel like you’re fucking with me all the fucking time. I want to claim you, because I love the way you’re looking at me when I’m deep inside you and when you have to bite your lower lip just to stop it from quivering, you know. Not only because I really, really love that sight, but also because only then I feel like I’m the only person on your radar. And that’s what I need now.”

He watched me avidly, with his head slightly tilted and his expression almost unreadable, except for the obvious arousal that was silently flowing through his whole body, and I swear you could see it glimmering behind his pupils. I definitely could see it in his tight pants. I would lie if I said that I wasn’t aroused. Truth be told, I needed to fuck him, badly. We could continue bitching about each other’s behavior later. For now, angry fuck would do…

He put his glass down and slowly took off his sun jacket, all without breaking eye contact. It was like watching him in slow motion, when he palmed his hardening dick through the white satin, squeezed it briefly and then stroked it gently a few times. He loved this. He was a born entertainer, always ready to please the audience. I couldn’t help but admire the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing. I was his audience now, and I had to admit to myself that this was a completely different show. 

“Ok, that’s convenient, because I’d really love you to finish what I started.” 

I had no clue what he was talking about and watched him – flabbergasted – as he turned around, pulled his pants down and bent over to unfasten the cuffs around his ankles. That’s when I saw it. A little sparkly gem between his buttcheeks. I recognised the tiny steel buttplug with a faceted stone immediately, even though we hadn’t used it much. I gave it to him for Christmas, and later he joked that it really fit the Starcatcher aesthetics, so maybe he should wear it with the rest of his jewelry, but I didn’t really expect him to actually do it!

“Josh…did you have it in for the whole show?” I tried to keep it cool, but the words only came out as a breathy whisper. He only chuckled and stretched like a cat to relieve his stiff muscles. He was still acting, completely naked now, exaggerating every move just to torture me. 

“No, darling. I wanted to, but they would have seen it under the jumpsuit. It’s quite tight, isn’t it. No, I put it in for es-tee-tee. Colors, gems and trim, darling. Now, let’s take a shower first. And close your mouth, or else I’ll fill it.” And with that he strutted into the bathroom without even waiting for me, shaking that tiny bejeweled ass just for the show. He knew that I would follow. He already had me in his grasp, metaphorically speaking. 

We often showered together. That was our personal habit, both at home or when I accompanied him on his travels. It was always our sweet moment of seclusion in his otherwise busy schedule. Very intimate, but not always blatantly sexual. Of course, sometimes it WAS blatantly sexual, but oftentimes we just talked a lot, kissed a lot, washed each other’s hair, just took care of each other. Just tracing my fingers down his spine was enough to help me forget about the gloomy world beyond our walls. Not to mention being inside his walls, but I digress…

I took my time. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of following him like a pet dog, so I stripped slowly, took a few more sips of my drink and walked indolently into the bathroom. Just for the show. I expected him to wait for me by the counter, but he didn’t. He was already in the shower, steam already filling the room. I slid the glass door open and started. He was standing there, right under the stream, facing the door, his eyes boring into me. He was quite a sight, too. Not having bothered with the stage makeup, the streaks of smudged eyeliner were now running down his cheeks, over the remaining rhinestones. Wet hair already flattened and pulled back. This was intentional. He was still provoking me. 

We just observed each other warily before he broke the silence and asked me nonchalantly if I could just wash his back. I gestured to him to turn around and did as he asked. I poured the vanilla-scented body wash in my hands and soaped his body with it, just like I always did. And just like he always did, he started talking about the events of the day. Some tiktok video they filmed after the soundcheck that I didn’t care about. 

His tone was completely casual, in spite of the fact that I held his balls firmly in my hand, gently massaging them with my soap-covered hand. I let my other hand travel slowly down his left buttcheek towards that little surprise he had there for me previously. 

“So tell me, Josh. Why this?” 

I watched him smile at the question. His previous restlessness suddenly made perfect sense. The whole time I was sulking and worrying about us, about his behavior and his intentions, he was just getting himself off. I took the bejeweled plug in my fingers and twisted it gently. He arched his back and moaned softly. I just loved listening to him. His lovely mouth could elicit the most delicious high-pitched whimpers. So I did it again. This time, his head landed on my shoulder, exposing his neck to me. I let my nose brush against my favorite place right under his earlobe. This was dangerous territory. Everytime I let myself wander through the smooth valleys of his lithe body, I was close to losing my mind, and he knew it. He was narcotic. Normally, it just meant that earth-shattering sex would follow, but I needed to stay focused, because I had to resolve this first: “Fucking tell me, Josh,” I hissed.

“I…I like to keep myself perked up, my love. I can’t go onstage…oh, yes, thee-e-e-ere…I can’t go onstage drunk, or high…dammit…that would, aaah would be unprofessional, yeah?” He chuckled.  “So I just keep myself turned-on instead. It’s good for the show.”

“For the show, eh? You’re a liar.”

“No…no-ah, I’m not lying, dear. I keep myself turned on…and when I feel the rhythm in my bones and when I let the… the melody soar through my veins, I imagine your dick inside me. Or your fingers. Aaaall because they lo-oooh-love seeing me like that. So you see, it’s good for the show. They can feel it. Our love. Just…genuine…love. The feeling is omnipresent…and I want to share it.”

The insolence! “You see Josh, that’s the problem,” I whispered while my teeth grazed his jugular, “I don’t want to share it.”

With that, he turned around and kissed me gently, letting the tip of his tongue just brush against mine. With his left hand stroking the nape of my neck, his right palm slowly wandered down my torso, fingertips lightly grazing my left nipple, and further down, until he had me in his grasp, now literally speaking. I fell under his spell again, utterly and completely, and I no longer wanted to fight it. I had to remind myself that tonight was supposed to be my night, that I was supposed to be in control, but I was slowly losing it anyway. He sensed it, and generously put me back on track, while still jerking me off. 

“Honey, this is us. This is just us. I share the miracle, you see? That’s my job. But you don’t share me with anyone. You own me!” 

Oh yeah, that worked. His words felt like a detonator. Perhaps more than he had intended them to. I’m sure they were partly meant to soothe me, but something really snapped in me and all those pent-up emotions suddenly begged to be released. I lost all my remaining mental clarity and acted upon it without really thinking. I pushed him against the wall and firmly wrapped my hand around his throat. His head hit the tiles with a dull thud and even though my own actions took me by surprise and I saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes, I couldn’t stop. I kept him pinned to the wall with my thigh pushing his legs apart. He belonged to me, and I needed him to understand it.

I’m not the world’s strongest man, but I’m bigger than him. Three inches taller, and I could overpower him without much difficulty. That’s why I had always been rather gentle with him, even though he’s a hotheaded bastard and always fights back like a mad chihuahua. Not this time. He just watched me with those doe-like eyes and his mouth slightly ajar, while his hands just rested on my chest. I barely felt the touch. He was a meek lamb, a rag doll, but his face told me a different story. I could see his previously bewildered expression transform into a defiant one. He tilted his chin up, nostrils flared. He was daring me, breathing heavily and waiting for my next move.  

“Damn right I do! Fuck, you’re mine,” I growled and tightened my grip on his neck, while my other hand kneaded his left buttock.  

He whimpered and I recognized the sound. I’d heard it many times before. Everytime I pounded into him with feral force, when I pulled his hair, or when I smacked his ass, because that was the only part of his body I ever dared to leave a mark on. 

“You like this, you little fucker.”

He closed his eyes, breathing raggedly through his nose. I could feel his semi spring up and twitch against my thigh. I could tell just by his fingertips now clawing at my chest that he really did. But I needed to hear it. 

“Answer me!” 

“Yeah,” he finally breathed out and our eyes met again. 

We were both very sensual people, but never overly violent with each other. It’s not that the idea never crossed my mind, because I really like rough fuck. Sue me. I’d had my fair share of “tough love” during the time spent with my previous lovers. Truth be told, he was often pushing my buttons, and it took all my willpower not to act. All smiles and sunshine on the outside, he could be an insufferable brat sometimes. I just always had to remind myself that I couldn’t leave a mark, even though his own nails frequently branded me with scratches. But that was it. It was part of the deal. I treated him like my pampered darling, even at times when I just had to shut him up with a gag… some occassional BD sans SM, that’s how we rolled. It just occurred to me that treating him like that might have been a mistake. I just had to make sure that he was really agreeing to this.

I let go of his neck and let my fingers travel up his jaw and into his wet hair, all without breaking eye contact. We were watching each other intently, trying to communicate without words, searching for clues. I cradled his head in my hands, my fingers massaging the back of his head. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He shook his head silently. I placed a trail of short kisses up his neck until I reached his earlobe and nibbled on it gently. I felt him pull me closer to him as he pressed his fingertips convulsively into the flesh on my hips until it almost hurt.

“Are you ok?” I whispered in his ear. He nodded and rubbed his nose against my cheek. A brief moment of tenderness was exactly what we both needed to reassess our position. Now it was the time to remind him of his role…

“Fine, on your knees!” I pushed him down, perhaps with not enough force, because it did not wipe that defiant look off his face, but I was well aware of the fact that he also still had that thing deep inside him. I was pumped, but not reckless. He was now kneeling right under the shower stream, small rivulets of water running down his face as he looked up at me, blinking. I had to take a deep breath not to cum just from the sight.  

“Open your mouth.”

…and he didn’t. Because he knew. That dastardly sneer of his is going to be the end of me one day, but I usually tolerate it. Not only because it’s hot as fuck, but also because it tells me he knows what I need. Or better yet, what he makes me need…and crave. I certainly hadn’t known that I needed my head to be treated like a lollypop until he taught me it was what I craved. Parting his lips ever so slightly, it just rested on them until he darted his tongue out into the slit, savoring every little drop of my precum. He had this habit of looking up at me when he was doing this, because he knew it was driving me crazy. 

So that’s what he was doing. Licking at my glans, watching me, daringly. I wasn’t having it. Enough of this game. I grabbed his head and buried my cock in the back of his throat. He gagged on it violently, darting his head backwards. I was still holding his head in both of my hands, though, and pushed him back, fucking his mouth in ferocious speed until he tapped on my thigh. Only then I released my grasp, watching him gasp for air. He looked up at me again, and whispered: “More.” 

And more he got. Oh god, that was so sexy, him literally begging me to choke him with my dick. I adjusted my pace, sliding in and out of those full, swollen lips. Grabbing my butt with both his hands, he urged me to go deeper, to fill him up, to obstruct his airway passage again. He tried to relax, letting my cock glide smoothly on his velvet tongue. I was getting close, dangerously close, but I wasn’t done with him yet. His mouth was perfect, but I needed more. 

Before I stopped, I grabbed him by the nape of his neck, pushed him down my shaft and held him there for a while, until I felt his throat contract and his body convulsed. Another gag, another gasp. I let go and tilted his chin up lightly with my index finger. The running water quickly washed away the thick strings of saliva and the tears, but he still looked a mess, exhausted and tamed. He was also very hard, his eyes not the only thing looking at me. He loved this. A wave of tenderness washed over me again. Damn, it was always like this with him. A real rollercoaster of feelings. 

“Come here, my filthy princess.” 

I grabbed him by the arms, pushed him up on his feet again and pulled him into a tight embrace. I felt his chest rise and fall against mine, deep breaths interspersed with intermittent, barely audible chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Not funny, just…exhilarating.” 

My good boy. He deserved a reward. I bowed down and ran a few circles around his hardened nipple with the tip of my tongue, because he loved that. You might think I’m too soft, but this is what makes the experience really intense. I was still pissed, and full of adrenaline, but it was all because I loved him so much, and I needed him to feel it all. I ran my fingers down his spine, scratching his skin with my nails, perhaps more than necessary. But it was necessary. With the actual words still stuck in my throat, the touch was my language now. He looked at me again with a sweet smile, the tip of his tongue grazing his upper lip.

“So…now that it’s settled and I promise to be good, are you going to do that thing, darling?”

“That thing” meant me sucking his dick with my fingers knuckles deep in his ass. “Yeah, baby, you’ve earned it,” I stroked his cheek with my right hand while the left one traveled down right between his asscheeks...”let’s pull this out, then?” He nodded and turned around, resting his elbows against the tiles. It was my turn to get down on my knees. Yeah, I hear you, not very dominant of me, but you need to understand that this man has got the most fabulous ass I’ve ever seen, and I swear I’m gonna kiss and bite and spread and lick it any time I get the opportunity to do so. 

I put some shower gel on my fingers and circled them around the plug. “Try to relax.”

“I know,” he spat impatiently through his teeth. That earned him a smack on his right buttock. Brat. I pulled the plug out gently, eliciting a long, breathy and relieved moan from him. I massaged the opening a bit, washing the rest of the soap out, before I grabbed him with both hands to spread him a bit more for me. What a glorious view. I buried my face in it and darted my tongue out. 

“Oh god,” he breathed out as I licked into him. 

The flowing water was starting to get on my nerves so I turned it off before I turned him around to face me. It was now my turn to taste his leaking tip. A few swift cat licks made him clutch at my shoulders tight and he almost lost his balance when I swallowed him whole. I reached behind him and gently pushed my middle finger inside him while my head bobbed up and down his dick. I pushed my finger deeper, curled it towards me and set a steady rhythm of my movements. 

His breath suddenly quickened and I could feel him pulsate on my tongue. It was a matter of mere seconds. No. I stopped, retreated abruptly and stood up. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull and he was gaping at me in disbelief. I just smiled at him maliciously. He thought he could play with me, so let’s make this a shared experience. 

“What the hell?!?” My plan worked perfectly. He practically shouted it at me. He was furious. Cute. 

“I haven’t come yet, so what on earth made you think that I would let YOU, “ I smirked.

“Fuck you!” he pushed me aside forcefully and stormed out of the shower, heading back into the bedroom. Dripping wet, he slipped on the floor and almost fell, which gave me more time to react. 

I ran after him. “Hey, where the fuck are yo…ouch!” The fucker slammed the bathroom door right in my face. I threw it open again with force, triyng to catch him. He was just by the bed when I reached out for his hair and yanked him back, making his back collide with my chest. “Ouch, that hurt, you bastard!” he yelled as he tried to break free from my grasp, squirming, but he stood no chance. 

“Do you want me to stop?” I hissed in his ear. 

“No…” Good. I pushed him face down on the bed, grabbed his wrists and held them firmly behind his back. I needed him to stay that way, so I searched the ground for something I could use. My eyes spotted a bathrobe that I tossed over the armchair earlier that day. Perfect. “Don’t move!” I got off him for a while to get what I needed. He looked over his shoulder, watching me as I pulled the belt out of the loops. He didn’t move, lying face down by the edge of the bed, ass up. My obedient baby.

I grabbed his wrists again and showed him the belt, making it obvious what I was going to do. “You ok with this?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” 

I nodded, tied his wrists behind his back and went searching for the lube. “I’m going to fuck you now, and I’m not going to be gentle about it. If it becomes too much, or you just want me to stop, just say stop. Do you understand?

“Yes.” 

“Fine. Oh, here it is.” I squeezed a generous amount of the lube on my fingers and put two of them to his asshole, rubbing it in circles before I pushed them in slowly. He was already almost ready from before, but I needed him to relax a bit more. “Now listen, I will let you cum this time. No monkey business. But I want the same from you. If you wanna cum, you’re going to behave. You’re going to beg for it. Understand?” I added a third finger and he whimpered and bit his lip, huffing. I was getting impatient. “Do-you-under-stand!?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “yes, I understand. Fuck me please. I’ll behave.”

I withdrew, slapped his butt, rubbed the remaining lube all over my cock, positioned myself and… pushed in. I had to focus all of my self-control on not pushing all the way in. He was so tight and warm and inviting, and I was all worked-up. The whole situation was a bit overwhelming, to be honest, but I just couldn’t get enough of it at the same time. His quick and shallow breaths told me that he felt pretty much the same. After several languid thrusts during which we both somehow managed to regain our composure and I quickened my pace. I grabbed his bound wrists in one hand and held his head down with the other. The room was filled with our synched moans and the slapping sound of our flesh colliding. I couldn’t get enough of him.

I grabbed his ass and slammed into him with full force. He cried out and begged me for more. His profile was absolutely entrancing, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth wide open, his melodic whines in sync with my thrusts. I needed to see more of it, so I unbound his wrists, pulled out and turned him over. 

I grabbed his ankles instead and forced his legs up, before I buried myself in him again. My heart was beating wildly. I felt the poisonous cocktail of all the previously suppressed and boiling emotions fill my veins as the pleasure overcame my senses. “Look at me!” He watched me, bewildered, while I rammed into him, sweaty and almost out of breath. Suddenly all I could hear were my own labored grunts, while he just stared at me, wide-eyed and speechless. 

“Cat got your tongue, hm? Always so…eloquent…with…them all…but not one…spare word…for your dirty little secret!” 

Adrenaline running in my veins, I continued pounding into him and almost missed the sudden shift in his mood and movements. 

“Tom…”

It was barely a whisper at first, but soon he became more and more agitated. “Tom…Tom, please. TOM! Hold on…stop…”

His face twisted in clear discomfort and his hands were clawing at my chest. I pulled out carefully. “What happened Josh? Did I hurt you?”

“No…no, m’fine. S’just a bit overwhelming, is all,” he mumbled. “Can you kiss me?”

I let his legs slide down my shoulders, leaned down and softly brushed my lips with his. I was confused, but also desperate to make this better, whatever it was. I stroked his cheek with my thumb and tried to make him look at me, but his eyes scanned the ceiling erratically and he blinked several times as he obviously tried to fight back the tears. But I could see that his eyes were already red. Now it was my turn to start panicking. Was he afraid of me? “Josh! Josh, honey, please, look at me. Are you hurt?” He shook his head and sobbed. Then his eyes finally met mine: “No, I’m alright. It’s just…please, don’t hate me Tom. I can’t stand you hating me. I was just trying to protect you.” 

The realization that hit him a minute ago now backfired back to me. And just like that my heart shattered into millions of microscopic pieces. I searched his face for more answers, those big, tearful eyes staring back at me. I stroked his hair tentatively. All the previous tension and anger dissolved and he was my sunshine boy again, but these were mere pale winter beams, and it was my fault, and the realization chilled me to my bones. He was weeping silently under me, obscured by my clouds. 

I moved slowly from between his legs and pulled him up into my embrace. He was reluctant at first, but slowly wrapped his arms around me. We just sat there for a while, cradling each other.  “I could never…,” I whispered against the damp skin right above his collarbone. “I’m just a terrible, jealous guy.”

“No, I made you jealous. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t realize…”

He couldn’t have. He’s the one who always lets his feelings pour out of him. I’ve always struggled with this. Not that I didn’t want to tell what was bothering me, I just couldn’t translate the whirlwind of my thoughts into coherent sentences. Just tell me what’s wrong, Tom. My previous lovers often lost patience with me. They always thought I didn’t want to talk and then our arguments ended with them giving up on me. Not him. He tried to make me laugh, he tried to make me yell, he tried to seduce me and he let me take all of him. I held him tight. I couldn’t let go. I was on the verge of tears, but it was him who needed comfort. I just hoped that I could give it to him. It was him who finally broke the silence. 

“Tom…” It was barely a whisper. 

“Yes?”

“I just hope you know I love you.” 

I finally loosened the embrace to look at him. My mouth was dry and my throat felt constricted, but I somehow managed to force out at least a weak “I do.” But that wasn’t enough. I knew I needed to say more: “…yes, baby, you’ve been telling me…I’m sorry,” I croaked. He took a deep breath and continued. 

“But hearing is not the same as feeling it…and,” he cleared his throat,”...and sometimes I need to feel it too. Sometimes it feels like you’re not even present. In your secret hiding place behind a thick wall and I just can’t get in!”

I buried my face in my hands. I needed a minute to process the evening’s events. “So, you seek it elsewhere?” I regretted those words almost instantly, but at least I finally forced myself to speak. 

“What do you mean? God, no!”

“No, not like that. I mean all those people, the plug. You didn’t really expl…” 

“I already told you! I wanted to share what we have.”

“By letting them touch you…”

“Cut it already!” He slapped the mattress, furious once again. “Yes, maybe you’re right…to a certain extent,” he spat out at me. “Yes, I let them touch me. I share a lot with people. It’s fulfilling and it feels natural. But it’s a different kind of love. And they understand. They didn’t grab at me, no one tried to pull me in. I share a lot with them but I don’t belong to them. But I agree with you that it's very personal. I thought about doing that for quite a while, but couldn’t find the courage to do so…unless I felt you there with me. I do miss you there. Sometimes I just miss you… anyway, about the plug…I guess today felt like a perfect day to try it. Please just tell me you understand, because I’m getting really sick of this.”

The plug was a gift from me, so yeah, I understood…kind of. Touch is important to him. But... “But why today?”

“Oh Tom,” he was tearful again. “Oh, fuck you. Really. It’s exactly three years since the day you first told me that you loved me.”

I just stared at him for a while, speechless. Then I finally lost it and started crying. “I’m a terrible person.” I felt like shit, I treated him like shit and really deserved to get a taste of my own medicine, in one way or another. But Josh is not like that. He doesn’t do that. And so it was now his turn to hug me, even though I tried to back away at first. But he’s stubborn, too. “You know, Tom, I felt it today. Among other things…”

“Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. I understand.”

“No, you don’t... Listen Josh, I don’t need you to protect me. If anything, it should be the other way round. But I do need to feel like I belong in your life. I…I’m not sure I could continue like this.” 

Here, I finally said that. I had been afraid to utter those words aloud, because I knew they were dangerous. I expected another argument to follow, and maybe it would be the last one this time. But he only sighed and I felt him nod lightly against my shoulder. “I guess we need to make some inevitable changes then.”

I knew what he meant, but this was not just about me. And it was not just me who he’d been trying to protect. Himself, too, but also others in a way…

“Are you ready to make those changes?”

“I guess so…” 

We looked each other in the eye once more, trying to communicate the rest. At last I stood up and offered him my hand. “Come on, let me fix you a nice, hot bath.”

“No.” He took it but didn’t move. Instead, he tried to pull me back to bed. 

“No?” “No Tom, come back here, please. Make love to me.” 

He was sooo good at playing with my heartstrings. He really wanted me. He still trusted me. And from the look on his face, he needed me. I climbed back to him, took his face in my hands and kissed it. I traced my parted lips across his cheek and down to his jaw. He was like the oxygen I needed in order to stay alive and I was breathing him in. I continued upwards until our lips finally locked together. It was the first genuine kiss we shared that evening. 

How…?

“Spoon me.” As he lay down, I retrieved the previously discarded tube from the floor, lubed my fingers and cock once again and snuggled behind him. I didn’t rush it, and repeated the process once more that evening. I was nothing but tender this time, but he thought otherwise. He took my hand that was stroking his bare chest, placed it on his neck and tilted his head back. “Choke me.”

“Josh, I…you…” “Shhh, just do it. Please.” And I did. I wrapped my fingers around his throat and pulled him firmly back towards me. It wasn’t harsh. He let himself be completely vulnerable with me and I wanted to cherish it. I just rested my hand there, holding him firmly, but not with too much pressure. I could feel his pulse beating against my palm, every intake of breath. This was different than before. A moment of raw intimacy. He arched his back and reached behind to grab the back of my head. He knows I like that. I rewarded him with slow and deep thrusts, just how he loves it. He was moaning melodically to the rhythm, singing a secret song just for me now, and we rocked in tandem slowly, meeting each other halfway. Nothing else was necessary, this was everything. 

I took control again soon. Quickening my pace, I thrusted into him with a frantic urge. Goosebumps appeared all over his skin, which told me that he was very close. He always got shivers when he was approaching orgasm while I fucked him. Almost as if he was feverish. “Maddening ecstasy” – those were his words with which he once described it. I could feel him tense and tighten around me and rolled my hips once more to hit that perfect spot. “Oh my ggggnnnh Toooooohmmm….,” he let out a high pitched scream and came hard, his whole body convulsing. 

He was literally sobbing. I slowed my movements to a near stop and held his shivering body tight in my arms, waiting for his breathing to slow down. I was just about to pull out when he started moving again against me, urging me to continue, but I grabbed his hip and made him stop. He looked up at me, frowning. “What?” “Are you sure? It’s been a long night…” “No, Tom, don’t worry…come on, go on.”

I moved again tentatively, looking for any clue of his discomfort. He encouraged me again and I gradually resumed my pace. It didn’t take long. With a final groan, I buried my face in his hair, holding his now almost limp and exhausted body pressed to mine while I threshed about in an almost comical way, keeping him swaying in unison with me. We shifted a bit so that he was lying  on his belly now, me hovering above him. With the last few erratic thrusts I filled him up and we finally collapsed together into the pillows. 

We barely moved for at least another ten minutes, limbs still intertwined, eyes closed and our torsos literally glued together with sweat. Both of us simply wanted to prolong the moment, but I was slowly becoming aware of the world around us. We had left the glass door leading to the balcony open and the evening breeze finally pulled us back to reality. 

“Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“I think a few people might have overheard us.” “Uh huh…ok…good.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Love sticks, sweat drips Break the lock if it don't fit A kick in the teeth is good for some A kiss with a fist is better than none (Florence and the Machine)

@writingcold @edgingthedarkness @its-interesting-van-kleep @thewritingbeforesunrise @lvnterninthenight @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @takenbythemadness @fleet-of-fiction

[formosusiniquis]

In a turn of events surprising exactly no one among the group, it's Dustin's who starts the whole thing. He calls a formal party meeting, and an hour after the message goes out over the walkie Steve has a living room full of anxious freshman and Eddie Munson -- and him and Robin who are mostly there because the meeting had to be held at Steve's house for some reason.

Dustin's sense of dramatics have come to rival Eddie's, and he waits until they're all seated before he even bothers coming out from where he hid himself with a manilla folder under one arm and the only white sheet in Steve's house, that had definitely come from off of his parent's bed, under the other. He doesn't say a word as he throws the sheet over the entertainment center and comes back again wheeling in an overhead projector. Steve can still faintly make out O'Donnell written on the side. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today," Dustin punctuated his sentence with the heavy click of the projector being switched on.

The fan doesn't drown out the screaming from the crowd.

"You made it sound like an emergency."

"How did you get that here?"

"How did you get it at all?"

"Please," Dustin interrupts, "save all questions for the end." From his manilla folder he slaps a pre-written laminate down on the light table. Projecting, enlarged for everyone to see, 'Why Lucien is secretly the big bad of the whole campaign: a presentation by Dustin Henderson."

"This is the lamest reason for petty theft ever." Eddie gripes. Clearly more upset than Henderson had actually figured the plot twist out, Steve remembers how proud of himself he'd been when he talked himself through it weeks ago.

"Did you help him do this?" Steve asks, afraid of the answer. 

"Obviously not, why would I spoil my own-"

"The projector, Eddie."

"I mean barely, I was more of a getaway driver. Really, if she wanted to keep her projector she shouldn't have moved it out into the hallway so they could wax the floors. I didn't know he was going to use it for evil."

Henderson clears his throat, a disgusting phlegmy hem-hem, "If you're going to talk through the presentation, you'll be asked to leave."

The attitude on the kid, really.

It becomes a thing after that. Steve already has the projector, it's not like he can bring it back to the highschool. What would he even say, 'Sorry about the confusion, my overhead projector looks just like this one.' When there's nothing good at Family Video to rent or it's raining too hard to use the pool, they'll all go to different corners of the house with a stack of ten laminate sheets, a wet erase marker, and a vague theme. Then they come back and share what they've come up with.

The group is incapable of not instigating some kind of competition, at the end of the night they'd fight and argue over whose presentation was best. Steve participated half the time, but more often than not let himself be talked into playing referee to make sure no one's feelings got too hurt. On those nights he'd add onto Robin's. His favorite: why star trek is better than star wars (with footnotes from Steve)

It's at least twice as gay, kirk and spock are basically alien married and uhura definitely had a thing for spock's wife. All star wars has is the robots and they're barely main characters.

Steve note: Spock's half-vulcan status can be looked at the same as being bi or genderqueer, not feeling like you belong right in either half of your identity cause you aren't enough of one or the other -- Luke is just a twink with a nice wardrobe.

The Party could argue about anything, but Steve wasn't exactly surprised when the young adults got in on the fun too. The projector didn't usually come out until they were all drunk or stoned enough to admit that they had been waiting all night to make their presentations. Unlike the kids who mostly treat the games like debate team: who's the most powerful fictional character, what's the best PC class, what character from star wars would survive the Upside Down (he thought Erica's presentation: why the my little ponies could take down tiamat but wouldn't because they're too civilized, was especially inspired). The older teens treated it more like an amped up game of truth or dare, making up things that someone else in the group should have to do and encouraging the rest of the group to join in too.

They started the night off with Argyle's "Why Steve should give me his secret brownie recipe" which turned out to be mostly about how good they would taste as weed brownies and Eddie and Jon were quick to join his side.

They go around like that advocating for bad decisions like consequences don't exist, like they could be kids again. Robin thinks they should get tattoos, Steve is easily swayed. Jon proposes a road trip back to California. Nancy says they should all move to Boston with her. Eddie thinks the core four should start a band. Steve waits for his turn.

Steve has had his pages written and waiting for days. He knows exactly how long it takes his friends every time they meet to get wasted enough to give in to the temptation to wheel out his contraband projector. Once Robin is finished shouting at Eddie about how they're the only ones with any musical gifts he takes his turn.

"Why Eddie Munson should go out with me: a presentation by Steve Harrington."

[harrisongslimited]

George Chapter of the Day. March 13, 2024

Greetings my dear tumblr and Beatles' families! Happy to announce I'm popping a foot into the fanfiction pool and seeing 👀 what happens. Your comments are more than welcome!!

All the important stuff:

Title: I Saw Her Standing There

Story Description: John, Paul, George and Ringo meet Joie Armagh, a strong willed American girl, who influences their lives more than they wanted.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, drug references, adult situations and behavior, M/F smut, fluff, falling in love, tense arguments, angst.

**18 only please***

**This is a work of fiction. As such, it should not be read as a factual account of events or as biography. While many characters of the story bear the names of actual people, they and their actions have been imagined by the author and should be considered products of the imagination. This story is fictional and the events did not happen. It is written and re-produced here online for the purposes of entertainment only.**

Author's Note: I've noticed many fanfics have a Starrison or a McLennon flair, but this story will be M/F interactions including smut. It's just how I see them! Now if you're under 18, just move yourself right along. As I'm not there to patrol over you, just be strong and pass this up. I had to wait to read adult material and so do you!

Thank you to gif artists and photo owners.

Phew! That's over....

She was across the room from him; he could barely see her without his thick, black rimmed glasses. He felt her. Felt her as if she were standing within inches of him. His skin was hot. The light brown hair on his arms came alive – his stomach grumbled with a feral intensity.

Chapter 1

There was something about her. Something, he figured, she didn't know about yet, something she didn't know how to use – yet – but it made John Winston Lennon rearrange his slumped body to a nearly half-attentive position.

John watched her as best he could without his glasses. He was nearly blind without them, but acknowledged only to himself that he was far too vain to wear them in public. Besides, if he had to see something that important, Paul, George or Ringo would alert him. But at this moment, they were too interested in their own orbits to notice much.

She was talking to someone. Someone he didn't know – which he didn't care much about. From her body language, he could tell it was tense. She ran a hand through her short, auburn hair, and he continued to watch as she pointedly aggravated the man she was talking to.

This, to John, was great entertainment.

She turned in John's direction, although he couldn't tell if she saw him or not. It was nice she wasn't straining to scope out a look at the four of them , like they were the side-show freaks they felt like – or make a mad dash for the table to try to touch him like he was some bloody good luck charm. He liked that. Maybe she didn't give a shit who they were. THAT, he nodded to himself, would be refreshing for a fucking change.

She was, however, very pissed off at the little runt who was running the audition and had he been asked, John would have agreed with her. The whole scene was outrageously idiotic, as were their whole lives now, but he had danced with the devil and this was payback time.

The little moron in charge, whom John was introduced to but couldn't have cared less about, was a highly paid ass-kisser with a slimy handshake and badly manipulated crew cut. John might have the appearance of someone who didn't give a shit, but he took in everything. Every person, every nuance, every sight and smell and sound. Nothing got past him, unless he wanted it to. And the little California-tanned wild bird was giving it to the little pisser and John couldn't take his eyes away from her. It made him jealous and angry and aroused that she could do what he wasn't allowed to.

Brian was about to intervene, as the pisser/wild bird barney was holding up the whole show. He wanted to tell Brian to leave her alone, that she was practically giving him a hand job from across the room, but he also had an immediate urge to get the hell out of this place. He didn't like the United States. Too much fucking sunshine and not a decent cup of tea within 10,000 miles. But, as was his current circumstance, money, the promise of women and fame had too much a hold on all four of them for anyone to say "piss off" and head back home to England. Because as sure as the sun rose in the east, if one went home, they'd ALL go home.

John watched as Brian interrupted the moron and the woman of his dreams. He threw an elbow into Paul's side to wordlessly alert him to the situation. Paul lifted up his brown eyes and tried to force a smile.

"Another one?"

"No man. Totally different. She's cutting that audition manager a new asshole."

"Good. Maybe we can get the fuck out of here. I'm beginning to think I made a wrong move when I chose a band over plumber's apprentice."

John looked at Paul. "You? A plumber? I'd pay to see your ass rooting out some loo in the low rent district."

"Piss off....," he answered. "So what's going on?"

John filled him in. Ringo and George were both still half asleep, cigarettes hanging off their lower lips. No one made any attempt to pay attention when their manager approached them.

"Get those bloody fags out of your mouths," Brian said to them. "You are all clean cut, working class boys from across the pond – and well paid to act your parts. So sit up and pay attention."

John made an obscene gesture. Ringo turned his back to him continuing to smoke and George leaned forward and gazed at Brian with his middle finger slowly working its way up to his temple.

Paul, ever the diplomat, made a valiant attempt to appear slightly more involved. "Look Brian, we aren't trying to make your life hell, but this is getting out of hand. We've spent 2 hours evaluating 200 girls who want to have a role in this movie. Really, it doesn't matter. We don't even know what the movie is about. Just have that little audition manager pick out the best of the bunch and send everyone on their way."

Brian sighed and pulled up a chair. John knew they were about to be lectured from the Brian Epstein Guide to Managing a Famous British Band. John wished he could order about a dozen Scotch and Cokes and call it a day.

"Boys," he started.

Ringo, George and John turned the switches off and began cruising down the avenues of their brains. Paul pretended to listen and caught the gist of the whole thing.

They were famous. Yes, he remembered that. There were politics involved in being famous. Yes, he remembered that. It was sometimes necessary to go through these things for the publicity. Yes, he remembered that.

"Just like a politician. You have to, figuratively speaking, kiss the babies and hug the old ladies. Half these girls are daughters of Hollywood big-wigs. We can't piss them off. We must pretend we are gentlemen."

"Thank God we've had lessons...." John piped in. "Now shut the hell up and tell me who that bird is."

"Who?"

"The one who is still going off on the audition manager."

Brian turned and jumped up. "Oh shit."

John sat totally upright for the first time all day as he saw her coming towards them at a determined gait. The audition manager followed her, mumbling.

Brian was about to intercept her when John looked at him sternly. "Back off, big man. Let her have her say."

If there was one thing Brian knew, it was when to absolutely listen to John. He could manipulate the other three on an individual basis, but John alone or the 4 of them enmasse, well, that was the ballgame. He let out a heavy breath.

John stood to watch her walk towards them. He had seen plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous. He had HAD plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous, but this pissed off bird was in a class by herself. She was nothing like the girls he normally went after – nothing like the birds of his own turf. He was, at this stage of his life, attracted to "bee-bees", Beautiful, Brainless and Sexy chicks who knew better than to open their mouths for anything except a blow-job. After a brief affair consisting of plenty of sex and perhaps a late night supper or two, maybe an autograph or an album, it was less of a problem to diplomatically dump a BB than it was a hometown girl or some mate's sister.

John had his exit line and delivered it with the precision of Olivier playing Hamlet. He could conjure up this little boy lost persona, with a pained "this is going to hurt me more than it is you" look and begin his speech. "I'm SOOO sorry, but I've realized that I really DO love my wife and I don't know how to thank you for helping me see the honest truth. I have to go back to her. Your unselfishness and honesty showed me what I must do. I know you'll understand. I can't tell you what you have done for me. I will never forget you (insert name or not). "

And it worked. 99% of the time. The other 1%, Brian took care of.

All at once, she was in front of them. Directly in between Paul and George. John shifted in his chair to look at her.

"Look, I know this is all fun and games, but it's 95 degrees out there in the hallway and girls are dropping like flies. There's no water, no air. C'mon---hasn't everyone had enough?"

Brian walked over to her and extended a courtly British hand. "I'm sorry Ms. but you will have to get back into line or leave the audition. You are causing a disruption."

The young woman looked at Brian then beseechingly at the four English lads that were sitting before her. John, for once in his life, was speechless.

Paul stood and faced her. "We didn't know..." was all he could muster. She was not amused. Not amused at all with any of them. George turned his eyes toward her and remained quiet.

"Well, now you do," she said without emotion, then sighed. "Look, I know you are the biggest things to come out of England since Earl Grey, but it's really hot out there. Can you put an end to this?"

George finally spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Her brown eyes flashed at him. "Does it matter? I'm just trying to get those other girls out of the heat."

"Why do you care?" John blurted out, his cigarette smoke exiting his mouth.

She sighed and was going to speak when Brian returned with a police officer and the audition manager.

"Hold off...." John eyed him.

The police officer stared at the woman for a minute before saying, "Joie?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. It's me. I'm just trying to get those girls out of the heat, Mr. Watson. Or get them some water or something. I know they are all probably daughters of movie studios, but they are melting just the same."

Officer Watson turned to Brian. "I know this girl. She doesn't mean any harm. And after all, she has a point...."

John and Brian exchanged looks. Brian knew it well.

"We will get the girls out of the heat and move this along...." He answered properly.

"Thank you." Was all she said. And she turned to leave.

She didn't give a shit that they were the Beatles. She didn't give a shit if she got a bit part in their first movie. She just didn't give a shit about them. What she cared about was 90 remaining strangers, struggling in the heat.

John was enamored.

The audition manager was sweating profusely. He was too old for this shit. He had been around the greats---Barrymore, Hepburn, Gable. These punks from somewhere in England might make every girl wet her pants, but all they were was trouble to him.

Brian pulled him aside and a plan was made to move the line of girls along so they could get a look at the Lads from Liverpool and Brian would pick the 15 or so they needed in bit parts. The others would be given a ticket to the final concert in the film. All Brian knew for sure is that there was going to be a concert at the end. And 100 seats were to be occupied by the offspring of Hollywood elites. The other seats were to be auctioned off to fans through the fan club.

This is what he knew....as the screenwriter typed away, tucked safely back in London.

"Mal...." John groused at their assistant. "get her number....."

[bagginshieldlibrary]

Canonverse list!

GIF by itscrochetnotknit

We're starting off with Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ.

Summary: After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 55,643

This is not really your traditional Canonverse fic. Erebor never fell but Thorin is "cursed" and Bilbo is their last hope for a cure, due to his skills. Its a really good exploration of emotions and senses and how sometimes all we really ever need is a change of perspective.

There is a second Explicit part that is not linked to the fic so I've put it here.

Our next fic is Roses of Iron by Porphyrios

Summary: Two years after Bilbo returned from his adventures, he's made his peace with being back in the Shire. He still wonders what might have happened if things were different, but figures all that is behind him now. A mysterious visitor turns out to be someone he never thought he'd see again, and he's shocked by the news he hears.

Rating: Mature

Word count: 152,426

This fic is a work of art. The added lore, the explorations of both Bilbo and Thorin's character, the exploration of the dwarrow culture, and how how the story flows. Its a long fic but it's not a slow burn, in my humble opinion.

Here we have The Age of Miscommunication by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

Summary: “It’s got such a presence to it, even from a distance,” Bilbo says softly, and there’s a general murmur of awed agreement from the others. “Why, in all my fifty years, I never thought I’d see such a thing, and we haven’t even arrived yet!”

Thorin’s sword hits the ground with a clatter, and Balin chokes on his pipe.

The hobbit doesn’t look at Thorin, too busy thumping Balin on the back. Once the dwarf seems able to breathe again, he looks up, to find thirteen wide pairs of eyes fixed on him.

“What?” he says defensively, though he’s not sure what he’s defending.

“You’re how old?” Kíli squeaks.

Bilbo frowns at the young dwarf. “I’m fifty years old. Well, fifty-one, come springtime. Though it is not very polite to ask someone their age so bluntly,” he tells him primly.

Fíli makes a choked sound, and Nori lets out a vicious string of swears in Khuzdul."

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 6,683

A comedy and a half. The company reacts drastically to finding out the age difference between hobbits and dwarves. I laughed, giggled and eye rolled at the theatrics.

Our first explicit fic rec is young savage things/ barely worth remembering by pomgore

Summary: For a moment, Thorin looks winded, his eyes wide and his jaw set tightly like Bilbo has wrung him out to dry. He seems out of his depth—it’s written all over his face, really—and Bilbo would be moved to sympathy if he didn’t know that somehow, this warranted Thorin seeking him out in the middle of the night. He remains guarded for both of their sakes.

“I have never courted anyone before, and I was not educated in the art before the dragon came.”

“Alright.”

“If I remember correctly, you have been- involved, with other hobbits before.”

“... I have.”

“Please teach me how to kiss.”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 8,649

This fic ripped my heart out and then healed me. Its written in away that makes you want more and more, just like Bilbo and Thorin.

And last but certainly not list we have Songs in the Dark by Leoandlancer

Summary: After the resolution of the Battle of Five Armies and the beginning of the restoration of Erebor, Thorin and Bilbo are still carefully, and respectfully, distant to each other. Each certain the other wants nothing to do with them after the betrayals they've committed. However, trapped by a cave-in while exploring the lower halls, Thorin and Bilbo are suddenly, and unavoidably thrown together and slowly they begin to sort things out.

Rating: Teen and up

Word count: 13,400

Close quarters apologies and reconciliation, angst and fluff. Thorin singing. Really this fic hits all the delightfully good spots for one so short.

Also this fic is locked so you need an account to read.

0 notes

[notthequiettype]

very random question about writing sex. how do u decide like if a character is a dirty talker or not. or like, do u ever write dirty sex dialogue and cut it bc you're like nah they wouldn't say that. does that make sense

i don't write a LOT of dirty talk, mostly bc i think it generally feels a little goofy, like, when you're boning down irl you can get away with a lot bc sex is really stupid and you're not really THINKING but it's a whole different thing when you're reading it, you know? and i'm so picky about the words i use for sex scenes already (notorious for scrunching my eyes shut and typing the word balls with an agony level like i'm being electrocuted) that i just don't do it very often

and there are of course probably characters who have more dirty talker vibes (in both good and bad ways lmao) who are better suited to it

THAT SAID i really do think you can sell basically any character saying just about anything if you figure out how they'd say it -- stuttery and broken? mumbled with a little bit of embarrassment? said with authority bc they Want it? -- or if the context is right -- fumbling through phone sex? trying to reciprocate their partner's dirty talk from an earlier offscreen encounter? -- or if they're just sufficiently stupidly motivated, like letting a character just be so stupid into the person they're fucking that every horny thought they have comes out of their mouth is a perfect way to get away with writing dirty talk in a way that ends up being really hot, ESPECIALLY when the other person is maybe surprised by being into it

i also think i tend more toward dirty talk that's less about the graphic or explicit and more about expressing desire which is always easier to sell AND kind of gets at the emotions as a bonus, like i'm always making people have sex bare for the first time together and just getting it said out loud that they want that is dirty talk to me and the inevitability that someone will say something about filling bc i know what i'm about

i think the most explicit dirty talk i've written in recent memory is probably from put the stars in our eyes

"You know how you are, huh. Plenty of you to go around." Leon curls his fingers through Connor's hair, feels his breath hot against his collarbones. "Finally getting all that hot win energy out on someone who can take it, who wants it. Going home well-fucked to be sweet with your wife, fucked full of my come and still shaking from how hard you got off, burying your face in her cunt just praying to make her feel half as good as you do."

and it really came from leon trying to push at connor and the bounds of this thing that they're trying to figure out and that leon doesn't necessarily quite believe will work and is ultimately about connor pushing back by saying the big thing, the romantic thing, that he wants to be sweet with leon too, showing leon again that it isn't just about the sex

and do i think leon would say it irl? probably not bc straight guys in my experience are fucking TERRIBLEEEEEEEE at dirty talk, but he also probably wouldn't fuck his soon-to-be-married captain either so like, i'm fine with that lmao

also i HAVE written a lot in the past and tossed it, but usually it was less about 'oh he wouldn't say that' (as addressed above) and more about 'oh that doesn't sound right' once i sit and read it aloud which is just my general process for all dialogue, since i'm usually writing the same guys now i feel like i have a pretty good idea of what i will or won't write them saying

this was very long and probably not all that helpful but i had fun answering it, so thank you for asking!! i hope you are having fun writing whatever you're writing and not second-guessing yourself too much!!

[alastorsrchivesforthehotel]

Hii!

I hope I don't sound too demanding with this but do you have any ideas for what Radio Guard Alastor's full demon form is like? I know I already kind of wrote about his full demon form being a giant red deer for him in my fic since I couldn't find anything about it when I looked but I've been thinking about Radio Guard AU lately and got curious if you had his demon form written down already or had an idea about what it is.

- Fanfiction Anon

OH! Hello Fanfic Anon :D! Don't worry you don't sound demanding!

But to answer your question, nothing written down, just ideas, so prepare for word vomit.

For how I see Radio Guard Al's demon form, the scenes of him lifting himself off the ground with his tentacles and the scene where he strikes down his mic staff on the ground, surrounding himself with tentacles against Adam lives in my head rent free tbh. So I always imagine that without really putting more thought into it, besides maybe the fact Alastor, sort of like Stolas in...Helluva Boss Episode 6(?) who began to freak out the TVs and cause weird shit to happen, Alastor was able to do something similar. Not to the same degree as Stolas because Alastor is just a sinner still. I think mainly Alastor would be able to hijack radios or similar audio devices and distort the audio, playing emergencies broadcasts, music, or the screams of past victims to freak people out (there is actually a really good, i think commissioned, Dead by Daylight thing someone made that basically gives an idea of what I mean, let me link it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQKuLoe6bmI ). And of course lights like in episode 5.

He can show snippets of it off like in the canon show and pilot as ways to scare people. Like its second nature to him, but as a catch, when he gets anger, it pops up on its own, without his control.

And if I were to give him a big demon form (since its clear Alastor does have that in the canon show, or maybe that's just him messing with his size idk), I think it would really only appear when Alastor was through into a rage. Like a blind one, mainly one brought out by his protective instinct (since, reminder, Alastor did nearly lose anything and his life after being nearly left for dead, he's gonna be SUPER protective of things he loves and Vox, even if it sends him into blind rages). I can see it as this. This hulking figure, elongated, twisted limbs, the skin being pulled and stretched, barely holding onto the skeleton. Stitches appearing, but even they are being pulled to their limits. Eyes radio dials as the sound around him sounds like a radio breaking and screeching to life, the sound of siren echoing in the background of the chaotic noise. His lower half gone, replaced with deer legs. His horns long and large. Tendrils curling and slithering around his back. Sharp teeth ready to bite and tear into anything. I think also maybe a skull? Kind of like King and his dad from the Owl House. Maybe fhjkdsf. But yeah, something just screams "You SERIOUSLY fucked up". Probably only really Charlie, Husk and Vox can calm him out of this state. Maybe Lucifer too, but he may also get smacked across the battle field fhskdf. Again, blind rage.

Hope that answers the question! Still do love the form you gave him in the fic, but I hope this helps if you ever write more stuff featuring Radio Guard Al!

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I can kind of see why Hyrule reads as imperialistic to you in totk, but why do they read white? Sonia is brown and rauru is a black goat. What makes the difference between them and Ganondorf so bad?

Hey, thanks for the ask!

So... I have an answer, and it's kind of in layers. So I hope it's fine if I kind of go on Journey TM where I figure out my own feelings on the topic alongside you, the person reading! It's long! Kind of meandery! Sorry!!

Also, I had written a great version of this reply to this ask that Tumblr fucking ate and I'm furious about it, so this version is slightly more annoyed as a baseline because of Tumblr and not the ask itself. But I got stubborn and decided I would rewrite the whole thing tonight. So.

Here we go.

Layer One: My Basic and Unfiltered Gut Reaction

My first, potentially unwarranted gut-level reaction would be: I kind of think it's a stretch to consider them POC-coded. Sonia gives me more tanned Ariana Grande vibes than anything else, but that's... I mean, I'm aware that there are brown people with lushious blonde hair and blue eyes out there, that race as USA-infused Internet understands it is Complicated (I'm half-brazilian, and even though I'm very very white and don't consider myself biracial but bicultural, I had people discussing my ethnicity to my face a non-zero amounts of time, including quite recently, including in my own family! so I super get that it's more complicated than what I make it out to be here). But given vibes don't count as an argument, I completely get + accept if that reading on her ethicity is therefore dismissed. She could very well be brown. Fine by me.

(so, I feel like I have to add this borderline-conspiratory reason why I'm suspicious of her skin color being considered a factor here, which can 100% be dismissed but I still want to bring it to the table: I've been to several meetings and heard about many instances where "diverse traits" are being handed over to characters with the explicit purpose of using that diversity as shields against deeper criticisms of core aspects of the storytelling instead of fixing the storytelling itself, and honestly it could very well be the case here. I really hope it's just the team thinking Sonia would be prettier with a darker skin tone, because her design is genuinely lovely and I really like it, wish she didn't die like immediately and had a character arc of her own, but. Imagine the kneeling scene with two very white ladies and everything else, etc. It might be overly paranoid of me, but I can't help but squint a little bit in this specific instance, especially since the biracial trait here is so toned-down that it's barely there and barely committed to anything. Which would also make a good argument against this suspicion too tbh! Anyway. Just wanted to bring that up so you get the whole picture of where my brain is at.)

Rauru... Okay. Here's the thing: I can't unsee The Rauru. The original one I mean (and his Skyward Sword Gaebora counterpart), aka: the White Patriarch of all times.

(this has nothing to do with anything but Link's little recoil animation here is so funny to me, like he looks so shocked and his nose is so pointy)

I do think that removing the origins of this character from his DNA for TotK is kind of overly convenient when discussing this iteration, especially when his role in this game is basically a mixture of OoT Rauru and the Unnamed King of Hyrule (and every king of Hyrule that came after). I mean, okay sure maybe the Unnamed, Unseen King of Hyrule wasn't white but... it's obviously not true, right? And while I understand this is a different iteration of that character, many characters in the series maintain their base ethnicity across different reimaginings (even Blue Pig Ganon remains a gerudo at heart post OoT, at least in the way we keep on understanding him). And beyond this, given the fact that Rauru retains this energy of a Founding Father (in the largest possible sense), I feel that, at the very least, that patriarchal energy is extremely important to his character to a core degree.

But even so, yes. Rauru is now indeed a Goat Man. Not only is he a Goat Man, but he dresses in ways that are very inspired by mesoamerican cultures; undeniably so. So that would make him at least mesoamerican-coded, right?

I mean... I guess? I guess. Sure. But. I have now to introduce the Layer 2 of my argumentation, which is that...

Layer Two: Zonai Culture is Hylian Coded

So. Pretty bold claim I know. Let me explain.

Now I certainly do not want to say that mesoamerican civilizations are not *everywhere* in the aesthetic inspiration for the zonai culture in Tears of the Kingdom; I'm sure these real life references are overflooding the moodboards, from the color palet to the symbols to the artstyle, the costumes and the buildings. It's the main way the game communicates zonai-ness to us the player. And it's great! I wish they had went even harder in that direction (I think there's even pretty dramatic differences between the zonai ruins on the surface, much more interesting imo, than what was done with the actual zonai architecture at its peak).

But now, I will ask a question that I asked myself often while playing. What is zonai culture, beyond the feathers and the indented patterns and the swirls and the dangly bits? What characterizes it? I would say that zonai civilization is primarily interested in automation, technology, mining to develop said technology, and things that float in the sky. Beyond this, and from the limited perspective the game gives us through Rauru and Mineru, we see a society ruled by a patriarch (neutral term, it is just patriarchal in nature), married to a woman who is a priestess and doesn't seem to hold an equal amount of power (she doesn't speak as much, seems content to handle the religious side of things), who values collaboration and engineering prowesses, has an army, servants, robot servants, administrates other races through, to be docile and go the game's way, collaborativeness... It's Hyrule. It's just Hyrule, except older and with a different paintjob; but at heart, the style of society upheld by Rauru is very (eerily?) similar to what we get to know in the TotK/BotW era. Actually, this version of Hyrule seems extraordinarily similar to the Hyrule we get to see in BotW pre-Calamity: replace the zonai technology with the sheikah's, and what's the difference --except that this later version of Hyrule isn't trying to pass itself off as perfect? Zelda doesn't experience any kind of culture shock. Even the language seems to be basically the same. It is Hyrule, because it is. It's the origins of the kingdom. This is the whole point of the zonais: being that familiar thing that we know and love, except more pristine and more glorious and more mysterious so we can be sad when it gets destroyed.

So is it aesthetically inspired by mesoamerican cultures? Yes. Does it evoke specific details about said culture? The way politics and religion interconnect perhaps (unless we consider Rauru coming from the gods as such, but it's nooot super specific and not really elaborated upon)? What that culture valued, or what we assume it once valued? Cultural shortcuts we tend to make with these cultures, for better or for worse? I may be extremely uncultured here, and if that's the case I apologize, but I never really saw any of the aspects highlighted as the core pillars of the zonais commonly associated with either mesoamerican ancient civilizations, or current living native decendants of these civilizations. The biggest connexion or shortcut I see is the "mysterious ancient advanced civilization", which is pretty vague and was honestly more convincing in BotW.

Then of course, it doesn't invalidate that connection. But now, as a point of comparaison, to see what happens when Zelda takes active steps in coding one of their fantasy races... Let's take a look at the gerudos, shall we?

(Urbosa appreciation break. She's just so freakin cool look at her goooo!!! okay now we can keep going.)

I have said my whole spiel about the gerudos about a bajillion times now so I will try to make it quick. My tl;dr is: gerudos were always meant to be culturally disruptive. It's their whole point in the Zelda series. I won't rehash the whole thing about the crescent moon, the orientalism etc, but I think it's important to remember that they are meant to be considered foreign in a way no other Zelda race ever is. What I mean by this is, if we return to OoT: they are the only race hostile to Hyrule enough to not only consider and carry out an invasion, but to forbid entrance to their territory if you are not one of them. They have a different (apparenly evil-looking) god and their ears are rounded when everyone else is some sort of elf, their script is different, their cultural values are different, it's a weird semi-matriarchy where the man-king's occasional patriarchy has a very different social role than the king of Hyrule even if we don't get to see all the details... Won't return on the thievery and the 90s islamophobic kick of that time period, but the gerudos were very obviously crafted to be culturally deviant to the Hylian norm; their difference so great that getting accepted by them is an actual fighting and infiltration challenge. And even though they are much friendlier in TotK/BotW, they are still, by far the most innaccessible and different race out of all the rooster of, and it's worth mentioning, fish-people, bird-people and rock-people. They are the only one with their own language, their own strict rules that oppose your freedom as a player, a series of side-quests that directly address the subject of culture clash and differences; and, even then, they still parallel the real life western fantasy about the Orient TM (even more-so in TotK I would say, which I didn't love): the locked-in harem foreign men are forbidden to enter. This core idea is so entrenched that it becomes gameplay.

When it comes to Ganondorf, the parallel remains, more present than ever: in that game he gets to embody the foreign, cruel, brutal, cunning, manipulative, uncomfortably feminine at times, envious, physically intimidating, oppressive Man of the Desert in a long tradition of Men from the Desert and the rich legacy of literature and movies that portray them. It's not new to TotK, to be very clear: but TotK did double-down on the trope at the cost of Ganondorf's specificity as a character instead of questioning the trope that birthed him the way the series had tried to do in the past (even TP wasn't that bad, doing away with a lot of the baggage altogether --for better and for worse).

So to me... saying that zonais are mesoamerican-coded, in a world where we simply do not actively interact with these cultures all that much anymore (not at all to minimize the very real oppression of their descendants and the extreme and sickening violence their ancestors were met with to be extremely clear --I'm just saying that the violence wouldn't have worldwide cultural resonance in the same way and I don't think would have much reality in Japan unless, again, I'm saying dumb things and in that case please do correct me), or the extremely mild and non-invested way Zelda handled these cultures (to me it's much more costume than coding), positively too (good!), and comparing them to the active coding of the gerudos (and especially Ganondorf) as a means to equalize them as "basically the same thing" feels... a little off to me.

But! Now we're getting to the last layer!!

(you have no idea how long I searched for this gif, I typed "Ganondorf kneeling" in the gif search, like a fool, and parsed through much, much horniness to finally find my little dude anyway layer 3!!!)

Layer Three: It Isn't What Actually Matters Now Is It (at least according to me, the person writing this post)

Honestly, I don't really care whether Rauru and Sonia are white-coded or not. They could be, they could not be, cool by me either way. I don't really care if the zonai culture is meant to stand-in for mesoamerican cultures for Real for Sure or not, and heavily doubt it was done to increase diversity (otherwise Rauru wouldn't be, like, a Goat-Man but just a brown man). I do appreciate the visual diversity of the cast of NPCs, that hylians can look like a whole number of people and it's really cool Hyrule is moving into that direction instead of being very typecast into a sort of Japanese-ish representation of western middle ages/fantasy/fairy tale thing.

But at heart, what bothers me between this whole dynamic has less to do with whom is coded as whom than the fact that this game twisted itself into knots to tell a very suspiciously clean story about its complicated world and complicated history, and I feel like it's completely fine to ask for more than the bare minimum of visual representation and question the way these characters get to interact with each other and how their real life struggles are meaningfully talked about in the worlds Nintendo spend millions crafting? Sometimes, what they do is already great! Sometimes it's half-great! Most of the time, it could be so much better --especially when some of these subjects have been talked about to death for over 25 years (sorry to beat that dead horse one more time btw)

At the end of the day, the story itself is strange for many reasons. The power dynamic between the characters is attempting to be several things at once; maybe it's not on purpose, but either way, the world TotK paints is a strange one that only holds itself together if we accept to take it at face value. Which we don't have to.

And to me, TotK felt particularly shallow in that specific department of representation due to the whole... Imperialist Vibes thing (the other ask about this is queue'd, it's coming!), which nullified a lot of these efforts for me. It's not only about who's represented, but how they are represented as well, and, very importantly, why.