#this was a thesis god damn

[seoafin]

how does poly rip!verse geto fuck? i keep thinking about your horny aggression post and of geto coming back to take rip!mc against the counter and stealing her panties in uhhhhhhhh one of your fics (i've reread them all so many times now i cant actually remember which one the scene just lives in my head rent free) so! just wondering! about geto bc i feel like gojo has gotten his fair share already lmao (though i love them both). hope you're doing well!! i'm probably gonna read hell's paradise bc of you soon also!

a a a aa a a a a

idk if this makes sense but while gojo is more playful geto is more of a tease!!! and a liar. he lies so much ("just one, I promise") and he does it all with a smile you fall for every single time. then he'll wait for you to abashedly lift up your skirt or dress to flash him the panties he and gojo picked out for you to wear hours earlier. but it's never just one, and most times, the night's over before it ever really began, with you on your knees, your face pressed to a pillow while geto takes you apart with his fingers and tongue until you're all strung out and thinking only of him. i know a lot of people attribute orgasm denial to geto and i agree to an extent that it's just enough to get you pleading but also i think stsg are both very indulgent with you to a fault. they just can't deny you, especially when you're the one asking, especially since you never really ask for anything. i do think geto tends to use humiliation and when he's jealous he's ruthless with it. and im talking unspeakable acts so absolutely [redacted] that you can't meet anyone's eye in the morning 😭😭😭 he's soooooooo 😭😭😭😭 like i said before i think once gojo finally goads geto into being more open with his desires (towards you) it's no holds barred. he is a nasty freak and so totally unrepentant about it (just like a certain someone else).

ALSO i think geto's more of an exhibitionist than gojo. i think full exhibitionisim is a hard no for the both of them but also geto's not above making you get on your knees in a public bathroom and take care of him. with geto you always get some sort of comfort and kindness and reassurance before he's fucking you to incoherence. i think he's fond of cupping your face, brushing your cheek with his knuckles, or pecking you on the cheek, and it's seemingly sweet!!!! but you've long learned to associate it as a warning lmfao he's also very very fond of bringing you to tears and being the one to wipe them away. if gojo is a blunt force geto is a wheedling whisper. somehow you'll find yourself doing things you've never thought you'd be doing if geto hadn't nicely innocently asked. and his requests are always vague enough that when you find yourself agreeing (he just asked for some help later!), the deal is always sealed with a smile (you've signed your death warrant)

you can always worm your way out of satoru's own requests by not taking him seriously (like when he asked you to wear a maid costume) and he's so shameless about it that it's easy, but geto makes it...so much harder to refuse him. especially when he looks so sad. he's so evil 😭 the two of them fully take advantage of this and routinely use this method to get their way. absolutely horrible!!!!

in the end i think geto is probably somewhat aware of the fact that you bring out all of their (gojo included) worst impulses while gojo just accepts it as a natural byproduct of their love. all in all i think stsg keep each other in check when it comes to their overwhelming need to...smother you 💀

[nevaronn]

we as a society do not talk enough about the fact that izuru had to fucking sedate yumichika to keep him from doing stupid shit when ikkaku went down

[set-phasers-to-whump]

racing the clock

prompt: race against the clock

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi everyone and welcome to my sixth year of whumptober!! i am so excited to be doing this again and i hope you like this first fic! it can be read as gen or ot3 or pre-ot3, whatever you feel like.

There’s a terrible noise in Napoleon’s head, a tick, tick, tick that counts down in time with the bumping of the car down the gravel road. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes and then Illya’s body will start shutting itself off irreparably. Thirty minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

It has been five minutes and forty-three seconds from the time they’d found him strapped to that chair, struggling against iron restraints with the ferocity, the desperation, of one who knows that the clock is ticking. 

“Two minutes. Sixteen seconds,” the report from Illya on how long it had been since a man in a lab coat had stuck a needle into his arm and pushed the plunger. 

Napoleon had immediately taken up the count. 

They are miles away from the city, from medical help. Napoleon had radioed Waverly as soon as they’d flung themselves into the car. The earliest evacuation time is two hours too late. 

Gaby is driving as fast as she can. She isn’t counting time. Can’t afford to, isn’t built to. All of her focus is on driving the beat-up little Renault down a road neither it nor she especially wants to be on. Her right foot is glued to the gas pedal, the wheel merely an extension of her arms. She’s in top gear, has been since she’d gone smoking out of the flattened patch of grass she’d parked on. 

She isn’t thinking. It is her and the car and the road, and nothing else exists. 

Nothing else can exist, or she will not be able to work. 

In the backseat, Napoleon is still counting. Tick. Tick. Tick. Nine minutes. Twenty seconds. God knows how far there is still to go. 

Illya is by necessity pressed up to his side in the cramped seat. Heat radiates off him, and Napoleon doesn’t know if this is normal and he’s just noticing everything now, or whether it’s some effect of the drug.  

He thinks. About the worst, mostly. About what he is going to do if they’re not in time, if Illya starts dying. If Illya loses himself. If they lose him. 

It’s difficult to think these things through when Illya’s body is a heavy weight beside him, when Illya’s breathing—slightly irregular—is as loud as the ticking in his head, as the gravel on the road. 

He doesn’t dare speak. Doesn’t want to risk losing count. Instead he blindly reaches for Illya’s sweaty hand, squeezes. 

Illya leans into him more heavily, his head coming to rest on Napoleon’s shoulder. This close, the shaking is impossible to ignore. 

“Я хочу—,” Illya whispers, voice unsteady and afraid, but before he can say what it is he wants, they’re both thrown to the side as Gaby executes a screaming turn, and suddenly the horrible noise beneath the wheels drops away. 

Asphalt. A proper road. 

Fourteen minutes, forty-eight seconds. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Illya is silent. Napoleon’s heartbeat is thumping in his ears, but it has no hope of drowning out the clock. 

Gaby navigates through rapidly rising buildings, trying not to let relief overwhelm her. She still has to find a hospital. They still have to explain what’s wrong to a bunch of Portuguese doctors, and none of them speak Portuguese. 

Stop that. Drive. 

She’d seen signs for a hospital yesterday, driving through the city. She searches for familiar landmarks, finds none. Except—

There. A spire, rising up from behind a dreary apartment block that looks like it belongs back home. She knows where she’s going. A map forms itself in her mind. Fifteen minutes at the current speed limit. 

She’ll do it in ten, or maybe less. 

Napoleon does not let the increasingly more familiar cityscape outside calm him. Any number of things might still go wrong. Plus, getting to the hospital itself is hardly enough. It isn’t like Illya will magically be healed simply by virtue of being in the building. 

Please, he lets himself think, addressing no one and nothing in particular. Let us have time. 

His hand is still wrapped around Illya’s hand, and he’s squeezing every few seconds to make sure Illya’s still there. He gets weak squeezes in return, tappings of fingers, but they’re less and less sure every time. 

The hospital jumps into view as Gaby careens around a corner. Napoleon jostles Illya, directs his attention out the window so he knows what’s coming. 

Twenty-four minutes, six seconds. 

They screech to a halt outside the emergency entrance. Before Gaby’s gotten out of gear, Napoleon’s already half out of the car, pulling Illya along behind him. 

The next few minutes pass in a chaotic haze. Half dragging Illya into the hospital, Gaby hot on his heels. The frantic search for help, a doctor running up, “English?,” frantic explanations, reassurances, Illya being whisked away. 

And then it’s just them, standing in a waiting room with several Portuguese people eyeing them with a combination of confusion and interest. 

They both sort of collapse into each other. The clock in Napoleon’s head has gone silent in the chaos and without it he feels off-kilter, like he is missing something important. 

Gaby is thinking for the first time since she’d slid behind the wheel. Thoughts enter her mind too quickly to be processed in any semblance of order, emotions crashing over her in force. 

She’s shaking, she realizes, leaning into Napoleon. Or maybe it’s him. 

--

They wait. The doctor comes back out, and Napoleon has to forcibly restrain Gaby from jumping at him when he says he can’t say anything definite yet. She’s shaking, he thinks. It might be him, though. 

Finally, they’re given information. Illya is fine. No permanent damage. He needs rest, and they want to keep him for the night, for observation. 

They both start protesting at once. They can care for him. It’s what they do. And they should get out of here as soon as possible. Who knows how long it’ll take for someone to track them down, or to realize they’re not who they say they are. 

The nurse who’d delivered this information puts his hands up in surrender. They both slow down, turning to each other for mutual confirmation, comfort. 

Their evacuation will arrive in about an hour, Napoleon realizes, looking at his watch. They can contact the medical team, let them communicate with the hospital staff. 

He goes out to the car to relay this decision—well, technically it’s a suggestion, but he knows Waverly will agree. He finds it very illegally parked in much the same spot as they originally stopped in, which does not surprise him in the slightest. 

He pulls the car into an actual parking space, then calls up Waverly. He agrees, just as Napoleon had known he would. 

Back inside, Gaby sits in a chair beside Illya’s still, silent form. She’d been able to persuade the nurse to let her see him, and she isn’t sure what she’d been expecting. 

Not this. Illya is so small and pale lying in the hospital bed, IV in his arm, eyes closed. She wants him to wake up, to pull the needle from his skin, swing his long legs out from under the sheets and walk out the door as if nothing at all is the matter. 

Except he’d nearly died. That’s what the nurse had told her. Nearly died. 

But he hadn’t. He’s alive, albeit asleep, hurt, but he’s still here. No lasting damage. 

She slips her hand into his, careful not to jostle the IV. She squeezes, but his hand remains limp. 

Napoleon enters the room a few moments later, and she knows from his expression that Waverly had agreed to their proposal. She watches him take in Illya’s body, sees the pain in his eyes, the relief, the dregs of fear. 

He sits down opposite her and takes up Illya’s other hand, and they wait, the three of them, together.

thanks for reading!! fun fact in an unprecedented and shocking turn of events i have managed to write a substantial amount of fics ahead of time this year (including this one!!) wow ahh ooh

[chrisbangs]

i finished thesis, won an award, and have graduated.. hello 👋🥸

[aroacee-of-spades]

^ face of someone (me) who just finished the arcane finale

[purpurussy]

.

[d-eathvalley]

finished hilda furacao and i gotta say that mf malthus can fucking RUN

[raksh-writes]

Oh to write a line that is such an emotional punch to the gut you have to take a break and maybe even go on a walk, like oof

[suolainensilakka]

Accidentally rewiring your brain to mentally replace the canon design of a character with your own headcanons and oc-ified designs is really funny bc sometimes you see fanart that is objectively pretty faithful and accurate to canon but it's still a jumpscare. Like what do you MEAN xemnas isnt actually built like a fridge. Why are you thin. What happened here. Do you need several lovingly homecooked meals

[nanami-is-nanamean]

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOO

THE GONANA FAMILY YEAHHH

All i need now is sr or ssr megs or nob heheheheh

[krukel]

just handed in my thesis!!!

[gayabeilles]

filling out the patient health questionnaire before therapy and nodding sagely to myself as I merely mark things as “several days” and “more than half the days” instead of “nearly every day” and then being genuinely surprised when I submit the survey and it says I may be experiencing a high level of distress

[chilegp]

god im not your strongest soldier (im making a tutorial for a poster)

[citriarchive]

Interrupting my own scrolling to realize how fucking grrrrrawrawrawr it is for absolute beloved asshole doctor nithral baines to have two names—a first and a last (HELL IT'S THREE BECAUSE HE'S NICKNAMED THE SCALPEL BY BARDS)—he didn't choose, only to be given the choice to take a (last) name that has become partially his by way of him choosing it the same way he chose to love the man who gave it to him. i CANNOT believe i only found a way to put my feelings about that interaction into words just now.

the fucking feeling of "i'll offer to let you share my surname if you'd make it more comfortable, but you don't have to" and him choosing to. him getting to choose his name. him choosing to share a name with someone he fucking loves fucking what

this is not even my character even though my character is involved and i am just absolutely fucking bananas fosters bonkers about this shit right now oh my fucking god

[tad-ahrt]

I decided to dedicate this new art book, I got it just the other day, to my Zelda ideas and studies- 'cause it's such a creative series, and also it's fun/stimulating to try and "modify" Totk (since we all know by now that it's not all that well thought out.. not to throw any shade lol) Info dump over

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've heard many people talk about how they find the difference between Botw's Zonai and Totk's Zonai to be too jarring - Which I don't personally mind because I've also heard that the difference is because apparently Botw's Zonai structures were already ancient ruines (aka the beginning of Zonai civilization) by the time of Mineru and Rauru (aka the end of the Zonai civilization). Which is really interesting.

And also a shame why Totk didn't spend any major time giving us any insight beyond the Zonai devices being a major part of their culture. Or even how the Zonai managed to make whole islands float. And they never even explained how or why the Zonai just... Ascended into the sky???? 'Cause we know they were surface dwellers at one point due to the Zonai ruines in Botw.. But at the very least if Nintendo wanted them to have originated from the sky as like a holiness thing, they could've just said that they were Skyloftians that somehow never descended onto Hyrule, or that they come from the Wind tribe, or that they were crafted by Hylia Herself or something et cetera, at cetera. I feel like the lack of a clarification is just a major oversight in my opinion, because it would have become a welcomed addition to the Zelda lore. The Zlore...

So in order to elaborate on the divide, and also the sky-thing, I decided to delve into the theory that they were originally surface dwellers!

The post-ascension Zonai are basically just Totk Zonai but with the basic scale colours modified so they resemble the Botw/Totk dragons more, and the pre-ascension Zonai just flat out have dragon heads because of, y'know, the Zonai's whole shtick?

I wanted the Zonai, as a race, to be descended from dragons because:

1. It explains why they haven't shown up in any previous Zelda game. They're a relatively "new" "cross breed". (Though I haven't figured out what the dragons "bred" with yet- if at all. Sheikah, hylians, Rito, whatever the hell Kilton and Koltin's race is..)

2. It fits nicely with the ouroborous thing Totk has going on. What came first: the chicken or the egg? The dragons or the Zonai?

3. Dragons have already appeared in previous Zelda games like Ocarina of Time and Oracle of Seasons ( I think). And that only helps to link Botw/Totk's dragons to the Zonai.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Anyway back to my drawings:

I used a achromatic colour scheme for my default zonai because I think it would be really interesting if the Zonai's colours were based on their "powers".

Mineru's design is purple due to her being the sage of spirit, Rauru's is yellow/white because of his light magic, and so on- but I hc the pre-ascension Zonai to be split into three (3) sub-tribes? clans? Based on the three Godesses: Din (power), Nayru (wisdom), and Farore (courage). So these pre-ascent Zonai will have red, blue, or green/gold colourings (unless they're too important I guess? Or just specialise in a different power like a sage would). So just swap out the black/grey for a different colour and you'll see what I'm trying to get at lol.

I also made their hair less scaly so there would be a more obvious connection to them and the Sheikah, just look at that 3rd eye man c'mon Nintendo, the theories!!..

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Side note: I don't think there would be much of a difference between male and female zonai, except that female Zonai are bigger because they follow reptile lore. (Also giant dragon women 👀👀👀).

I also believe that, the Zonai are a matriarchy (meaning women are expected to be in authority) because of the Godess/Goddesses being female, Zonai women being larger when they live in a warrior-heavy society (see: Botw barbarian armour). And this would also explain Botw/Totk's dragons (Dinraal, Naydra, and Farosh) having female pronouns and a very high status. Leaving credence for the theory that they were once Zonai and weren't always dragons. (This will feed into the 'plot' later).

However, Mineru's height is still considered "smaller" for a Zonai because she is trans. Hope this helps!

Essay Over

[unclewaynemunson]

AO3 Wrapped 2022

I was tagged by @pizzaqueen​ , @maxinemaxmayfield and @yournowheregirl thank you all so much ily <3

Works Published: 17 (oh fuck that’s a lot, i remember writing one (1) steddie fic this summer to get them out of my system and here we are. oh well.)

Word Count: 165,929

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Most popular by kudos: Beyond the yellow sweater

Most hits: also Beyond the yellow sweater :)

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Fic that made me cry: Friends don’t leave is the most angsty one and may or may not have had me crying multiple times

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Gifts: Know any better by @beetlebugboy <3

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