#who the hell is subject zero

[b-rainlet]

The way women experience horror is so much more interesting than men

[medicinemane]

I still argue that bleeping someone like Gorden Ramsey is bullshit so that people who love and find swearing fun can pretend that they didn't just hear him call someone a fucking donkey, because there was a bleep... like they don't know the exact word he used, like they didn't think it, and like they didn't have fun with it

Cause I bet you... any amount of money you want honestly, that if you asked Gorden Ramsey not to swear he just wouldn't... I don't think they ever bleep anything in shows where he's helping kids cook

No, people find swearing fun, it's entertaining... they just don't want to admit they like it because it's naughty

And to be clear I'm directly pointing to this and pointing to 'unalive' and drawing a line between them for how we got here

[beguilingcorpse]

toxic locked tomb crackships that deserve to be explored

babs/coronabeth (one-sided. uncomfortable. deeply unhealthy. they would have to keep it a secret because everyone thinks he’s her cavalier…. except he ISN’T her cavalier. and almost nobody knows. the scandal! the perceived taboo! the way corona would do zero work in the relationship! the way ianthe would murder him if she ever found out!!!)

judith/camilla (the ‘we’re both in love with other people but that’s a sore subject right now’ pity squad. and also they kiss each other about it)

marta/dulcinea (the soldier who’s never been allowed to stop and look at pretty things vs the pretty thing that keeps looking at her. two people who rejected the ones who could have been right for them and have to figure out whatever the hell you do next)

abigail/cytherea (the way abigial historicized and anthropologized cyth’s whole life and never realized that she had the real damn thing right in front of her. like finding a well-preserved fossil only to discover that the dinosaur that left it is still alive and right behind you. scholastic psychosexual murder-flavored bonding)

colum/mercymorn (the bred and built battery of the eighth and the mourning woman who created that culture finally meet. what happens next may shock you! [traumatized sex])

pash/harrow (harrowhark FINALLY decides to take a chance on someone who isn’t literally undead and it’s gideon’s COUSIN??? drama. intrigue. resentment. delicious)

admiral sarpedon/colum (duty-bound servants. scrunkly and normal-pilled. two inconsequential characters who frankly never leave my brain)

alecto/ianthe (i have zero textual basis i just think it would be pretty funny)

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[igotanidea]

Three times: Bruce Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo: Family dinner

(I guess this is what happens when I call myself out on not doing the event I planned XD. As always - sorry for typos, grammar etc. - not proofread this just kind of happened in less then an hour, so - )

***

“This is going to be a mess.”

“It’s not going to-“

“You don’t know them-“.

“I think I’ve stalked your boys enough to –“

“Y/N.”

“Bruce”

“This is-“

 “Oh, come on, just relax and – Oh, for God’s sake gimme that”.

She stepped in front of him, successfully blocking him from seeing his reflection in the mirror. He was doing a terrible job at doing his own bowtie. The fearless, emotionless Batman, the dark shadow over every criminal in Gotham had shaking fingers because his girlfriend was to attend the family dinner with all his sons.

AKA – the mess with his sons.

“Remind me whose idea was it, again?”

“Mine. Duh.” She send him her most beautiful smile, deftly putting the finishing touches to his look.

“Yeah… right. No one else in their sound mind would have come out with that.” He muttered.

“Did I mention you look extremely handsome tonight?”  Her sudden change of a subject made Bruce blush like a schoolboy in a way that couldn’t; be hidden from her watchful gaze.

“You know you’re supposed to say I look beautiful or something like that, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you really that worried, hon?”

“Worried? Who, me? I’m not worried.” Bruce scoffed. Externally to put up a front and internally – because she was so damn right. Poor Y/N had zero idea what she was getting herself into.

“I got contingencies – “

“mhm.” Right, she wouldn’t even imagine the scope of contingencies that would have to be of use when his four boys see each other in the dining room.

“I got tranquilizer for Jason, lollipops for Dick, sleeping pills for Tim and a puppy for Damian.”

“You- what?”

“I got-“

“I heard you the first time, Y/N.”

“Then why-?”

“Lollipops?”

“What? Low blood sugar is not good for any athlete.”

“Dick is not an athlete. And no- “ he cut her off – “hanging out from the chandelier is not an Olympic discipline, Y/N.”

“Well then, in the worst case scenario, we’ll give him a mirror.”

“What, you hope he’d turn into a stone from looking into his own eyes?”

She tilted head looking at him carefully.

“I knew you had a walking dead in the family, but you never mentioned the Medusa”

“If you survive this, you’ll be much better then Perseus, sweetheart.” Bruce kissed the top of her head, praying to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t run out of the manor screaming the first fifteen minutes into the dinner.

***

Five minutes.

It took Dick five minutes to ruin everything.

Out of all of his sons, Bruce was hoping that the first-adopted one would keep a better track record.

Instead, he whistled.

He freaking whistled upon seeing her.

And it took a hell lot of Bruce’s self-control to not strangle him.

And then there was Jason.

Sitting in the corner, arms crossed, stern look on his face, cutting his meat in a way that might as well crash the entire plate.

With a wild look in his eyes, not saying a single word, almost freezing the steaming dinner.

Causing Bruce to start sipping his drink a little faster than intended.

And Tim-

Propped on the elbow, head on the palm, dozing off, almost snoring and almost ending up with his nose in the mashed potatoes.

But Damian turned out to be the worst of them all.

Which probably should have been expected, considering the fact that he was the least aware of the societal norms.

“You’re not a good match for father.”

Bruce choked, Dick laughed and Jason snapped his eyes towards Y/N to see her reaction.

Y/N didn’t react, focusing on chewing.

The atmosphere was becoming a little tense yet no one made any attempt of filling the silence with words.

“I said-“

“I heard.”

Then came the silence again.

“And you’re just gonna-“

“Yeah, I’m just gonna ignore you.”

This was unexpected.

Damian was definitely not used to being treated like this.

And he was not going to tolerate being treated like this.

Who the hell did this girl think she was?!

“You are-!“

“Oh, by all means, do tell me who you think I am.” She snapped and with a mocking smirk looked right into Damian’s eyes, still having in mind that he was just a kid. Being too mean or too harsh was not an option but putting him down a peg or two could be.

“You are-“ Damian started

“Mean?”

“Um-“

“Harsh-“

“I want-“

“Quick – witted?”

“Will you-“

“Not-taking-bullshit kinda girl?”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!?”

“I gotta give to you Damian, you are very perceptive.”

“You are mocking me now.”

“Again. Perceptive.”

As she refused to back down, showing her innate stubbornness and strength, a tiny smirk formed on Jason’s lips and disappeared as soon as the second son noticed Dick staring at him.

“stop staring Dickhead!”

“I’m not staring.”

“you are impressed with her, aren’t you?”

“Like hell I am impressed!” this came out of jason’s mouth a little louder than aimed at and obviously everyone heard. “I’m not!” he objected, almost defensively.

“good. Good cause I would lose my sympathy towards you if you were impressed by me so easily, Jason.”

“I – wait, what?”

“Come on, a girl gotta work for it, doesn’t she? Clearly you all think I’m some sort of gold digger?”

“I don’t-!” Dick cried out in confusion

“Mhm. You don’t, Richard. And yet, you had me checked out the second you saw me, didn’t you?”

Dick blushed, being called out like this.

“What is going on…?” Tim muttered, slowly awakening from his slumber due to the screaming match at the table.

“Bet you also believe I got zero worth and less than zero skills to be dating Batman, huh?”

“SHE KNOWS!?” Tim suddenly became awfully awake, as four pair of eyes landed on Bruce, than on Y/N, than on Bruce again with Tim

“The hell, old man?!”

“I swear, you are a fucking hypocrite!”

“That’s outrageous father!”

“I bet she figured this out herself, cause he was careless again-“

Even in his wildest dreams Bruce didn’t imagine that the source of his embarrassment at the family dinner would be the woman he was in love with. And it made him feel a lot of things varying between fear (cause what else was that one capable of), anger (cause what else was that one capable of?!) and pride (cause – well, you know how it goes).

Showing nothing on his face, he gave Y/N a look she understood well enough.

“What? Oh. Bruce come on-“

“This is not-“

“I’m not going to pretend in front of-“

“They were not supposed to-“

“They are your freaking family. And it’s Christmas.”

“I do it for their own good!”

“What? Lying?’

The silence that came out later was deafening. No one, absolutely no one dared to breathe too loud. Even the flies suddenly dropped dead.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian was all crossing eyes, waiting for the situation to unravel further though each of them for different reasons. Secretly, each of them was making bets whether it was Y/N or Bruce who would win this argument.

And odds were not in her favor.

Bruce cleared his throat, pushed the chair away from the table and stood up.

REACHING HAND TO HER.

Talking her hand in his, and walking out of the diner room, to the study and closing the door behind them.”

“What the fudge-?” Dick muttered

“Do you think they are going to-?”

“JASON!”

“What? They freaking locked themselves!”

“There are kids in here!”

“I’m not a kid, Grayson!”

“You are a kid Damian!”

“I’m 12!”

“Shut up you little demon spawn!”

“Watch your tongue Todd!”

“I should have stayed by the computer-“

“We were supposed to be nice to her-“

“Well, look how that worked out for you all – “ Y/N’s teasing voice cut right into the boys’ fight before they could move to fisticuffs. She was casually leaning on the doorframe, observing them with unimpressed look on her face.”

 “Um-“

“By all means, do not stop on my account. I got three older brothers and-“

“Wait, you got what now-?” Bruce appeared behind her back – “you never told me that.”

“Well I’m full of surprises, but glad you didn’t go full PI on me as you do with every other victim of yours.”

“You are not my victim-“

“Oh yeah, then what am I?” she teased, daring him to confess his feelings in front of the boys.

“Y/N!”

“Fine! Fine, later you little coward.”

Boys chuckled

“And as for you, I am shocked and maybe a little disappointed  you are not at each other’s throats already. I was hoping for a show-”

“I’m sorry, how exactly did Bruce describe us to you-?”

“cavemen.”

“Whaat?!”

“Ok, well, maybe not exactly cavemen but-“

Bruce cleared his throat again.

“What now?” she rolled her eyes turning back to him. “Wait, what time is it?”

“9.15.”

“9.15? You sure? Not a 9.14 or --?”

“It’s 9.15 sharp.”

“But that would mean-“

“Mhm.”

“And you are-?”

“Yes.”

“What is going on in here?” Damian was beginning to lose his temper.

“Oh, nothing. I won a bet with Bruce.”

“A bet?! You bet on us!?” Jason yelled feeling like a circus monkey.

“What exactly was the bet about?”

“Well thank you for asking, Tim.” Y/N turned to look at Drake. “I voted on you surviving an hour in each other’s presence. Bruce- well – not so much.”

“Oh my god, we are cavemen in his eyes!” Dick wailed theatrically.

“And now – since he lost” she put an emphasis on the word – “he will apologize for the lack of belief.”

“He what?!”

“No way!”

“Could you give me a second to rush upstairs and grab a camera?”

Gods. Never in his life was Bruce that ashamed.

“Y/N-“

“Bruce-“

“Do I have to-“

“Yes, you have to.”

“But-“

“Come on, really it’s not that hard.”

“I’m shocked you survived this long.” Bruce muttered almost incoherently with the grim expression, willingly making a full out of himself by admitting his wrongdoing.

Leaving the boys in pure shock and maybe, a little respect to this woman who made the Batman do this.

Little did they know that said woman was about to be thoroughly dominated that night for this.

Therefeore – the family dinner happened to be a huge success, everyone getting what they wanted and what they deserved.  

Especially Y/N, cause it felt like she won three times.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hi Skyen, hope you're well! I'm seeking some advice and since you used to work doing mainly art commissions I figured asking you was worth a shot.

I'm a furry artist and I'm looking into doing commission work as a side gig while I finish animation college, and hopefully acquire enough experience/clients/notoriety to turn it into a full time job once I graduate.

Do you have any advice for someone literally just starting out with fresh accounts and zero following? Especially when it comes to reaching people and getting your first clients, and anything that one should take into account when working with NSFW specifically. Also advice for pricing your work is always useful 😅

No need to answer obvs but I'd appreciate your viewpoint if you want to share!

Got 2 asks on this exact subject so I'll write up what advice I can. One big caveat: I haven't worked as a commission artist for like half a decade at this point, and this job has a tendency to change fast, do not take anything I say as gospel. This is advice from a limited perspective, be critical of what I say and trust your peers and the people you are in community with before you trust me.

building audience

Step one is getting people to notice the artwork you create. Literally nothing else can happen until you have eyeballs on your work, and the most consistent and reliable way to make that happen is fanart. Ideally you'd want to produce fanart in a fandom you are personally engaged with and passionate about and familiar with, and which also has a sizeable community whose attention can help you build recognition and a base of followers.

This isn't always possible, and there's many a working artist who creates work for fandoms not out of deep personal connection, but because the fandom is large and relevant and a good way to capture the goodwill of algorithms and content feeds.

This approach has some downsides. For one, genuine fans can usually tell when someone's engagement with Their Thing is shallow, and for another it can be deeply creatively exhausting to chase the algorithm. I don't recommend this approach, but it is a valid means of building a business.

Another important consideration, especially when you are early in your career, is that volume tends to trump quality. Every artist will eventually learn that their shitty joke-doodle they sh*t out in ten minutes on a whim will get a billion reposts, and their complex personal work that took eight weeks to finish gets 2 likes from their closest mutuals and a comment from a bot saying "wow!"

In the age of the algorithm, what machines and for you pages value is a consistent, high-volume of output that generates user engagement. You will generally get further, faster, by producing a lot of work than you will producing great work. Again, this can be rough on your mental state, and a fast way to burn the fuck out, so please be careful and mind your health before all else.

The best way to build something that will last is to build your audience in communities and around fandoms and themes and ideas you genuinely care about and enjoy exploring and interacting with. Being your authentic self and creating work from your authentic interest is generally both healthier and long-term better for your career than trend-chasing. Treat trend-chasing and volume > quality output as tools in your toolbox, as creative and business decisions you can make to achieve a specific purpose, never ever EVER let them become the center of your praxis or your philosophy. Never ever EVER allow the Numbers™ to be your source of validation and accomplishment.

building business

Ok, so you've got eyes on your work. You've got some followers. How the hell do you get them to commission you?

Well, again, by demonstrating a capacity to create kinds of art for which there is demand. In the furry community, there's brisk trade in things like ref sheets and character design, for example. For most fandoms, ship art is a product which tends to be in demand. Being able to do really good expression sheets is a marketable skill. Being able to create compelling and clear emotes for streamers and creators is a marketable skill.

Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of styles is valuable. Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of genres is valuable. If you can do both comedy and romance your appeal expands. If you can do shonen-like action and angst as well, it expands again.

Equally, being incredibly good at a specific niche is valuable as well. Focusing hard on an under-served niche of work can give you a lot of opportunities to be the Go To person for that specific kind of thing.

Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is marketing yourself. Not only showing that you have the skills, but actively informing your audience that you are available, eager and willing to practise your skill for a fee. You have to sell yourself. It sucks, but you have to do it. You have to advertise what you can do, and you have to suffer the rejection and annoyance that comes along with doing that.

You have to ask people to commission you. You have to raise your hand and demand attention. It's not fun, but it's business.

Walking the line between self-promotion and being a person is hard. I can't help you that much with it, it's a very personal balance to find. Stay in touch with your soul, but kill the part that cringes at yourself.

Ultimately, you best marketing asset is your portfolio. Every time you do work, show it off. Repost it, retweet it, spread it around. If someone is happy with what you've made for them, do your best to make sure that other people see that happiness. Ask your clients (politely) to tag you when they share your work.

Oh, and for the love of god, sign everything you create, slap watermarks on anything that's likely to get reposted, and make it impossible for someone not to find your business email on your profile.

building network

If you're a commission artist, you are in community with other commission artists. You share interests, you share experiences, you share needs.

Practise solidarity. Absolutely seek out professional peers to help your business, but equally seek out opportunities to help them with theirs. If someone comes to you for art and you don't have commission slots open, point them at a colleague who you know can do the work too. Gas up your peers and spread their work.

Be a symbiote, not a parasite. Respect the craft of your peers, and don't chase celebrities and big names in the hope of coasting on their coattails. It will fail.

smut

If you're a working artist, at some point you have to reckon with smut and r34.

These genres are excellent sources of income, and fertile ground to build a business and network of customers. BUT. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that they are "the easy way" or a shortcut. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you can simply offer to draw tiddies and rake in the cash.

It's work and graft same as literally any other form of labor, it's challenging on both a technical and creative level, and the audience can sense if you're looking down on them. If you approach this from a position of shame, of "eugh, I'm debasing myself by doing this for rent money," it will not work, and you will lose standing and respect in the eyes of every peer whose support you need to succeed.

Just as in all other forms of creativity, if you treat the audience as morons who will slurp up whatever slop you serve them, then you will attract clientele that agrees with you, and you will deserve the misery they will inflict upon you.

If you are going to work in smut, establish your boundaries and enforce them. Know that good clients will feel safer and more comfortable with an artist who clearly states their red lines and earnest interests than they will with someone who tries to attract more clients by pretending to be open to work that they are actually uncomfortable with.

Never, ever, EVER let a client push you to create work you are not comfortable creating. It scars your soul in both the short and long term.

Also, when working with this kind of content, know the rules of payment processors and know how to hide the nature of your business from them. PayPal should never, EVER know the details of the content you sell with their service. Frankly, neither should your bank, most likely.

Look to your peers for advice and best practises about this. And be meticulous about your bookkeeping.

money

I want to tell you to charge at least minimum wage for your time. I want to tell you to charge substantially more than that, because your labor is specialized and highly skilled.

But the economic reality of commission work is that there is a crushing downwards pressure on the labor price of art, which has only been made more devastating by the rise of generative AI, and especially when you are a young artist just starting out, you're going to find yourself in a position where charging even minimum wage for your time will turn away a huge proportion of your potential customers.

Again, your portfolio will be the greatest argument for the value of your work, but you have to build that portfolio first, and very often that means doing a f*kton of work for not remotely enough pay until the pressure of demand finally works in your favor.

I don't condone or justify this state of affairs. It is horrid and I hate it, but I don't know how to fix it either.

Making a living from content creation of any kind requires you to get lucky, on top of working obscene hours and foregoing rest and vacations. It's not a safe or sensible plan for a career or paying your bills.

My sensible advice is to get a "normal" job you can survive doing, and do your creative work on the side, and resign yourself to the possibility that the creative work may never actually pay your bills.

And that is soul-crushing, but I cannot stomach pretending that hard work and gumption will guarantee anyone a decent living if they just try hard enough.

There are people who are better at every aspect of my work than I am, and they struggle harder and work for longer, and they will never see half the success I have, because I happened to get lucky, and they happened not to. It's wretched.

I'm not telling you not to chase your dreams. I'm telling you to do it with your eyes open, and with compassion for yourself first before all else.

All of this to say: I can't tell you what to charge for your work. It depends on everything from your competition to your niche to your genre to your community to your economic situation. You have to figure it out on your own.

All I can tell you is never forget that your work is worth more than the market will let you charge, and to raise your prices as soon and as much as you can. Try to reach at least minimum wage for your time as fast as possible.

in conclusion

Again, I haven't been a commission artist full time for a long time, please do not take any of this as gospel. Listen to your peers before you listen to me.

But trust me about the solidarity. It will save you when all else fails.

[icarus-suraki]

Bleep bloop, bleep bloop!! [Not Really] New Conspiracy Theory Alert!!

A number of TikTok kids have decided that the AG/GATE (Academically GIfted/Gifted and Talented Education) program in elementary school was aaaaactually a government screening program for viable MKULTRA candidates.

Questions/speculations from believers include:

"Do you remember much about what you did in the GATE program? Was the classroom in a separate trailer with the windows all covered? Did you go on these weird field trips to, like, government offices? Did you do things with these weird computer programs? Were you given tests and puzzles to solve? Did you have to put on these big over-ear headphones and listen to these weird tones and say what you heard in them???"

I suspect this will tie (or already has tied) into the "targeted individuals" conspiracy theories and the "Monarch Project" conspiracy theories (that one involves reincarnation, time travel, and fighting aliens on Mars!).

Gang, I was in the AG program in elementary school in the early-mid 90s and, believe me, I remember it. It was in a trailer classroom, sure, but that was because all the "regular" classrooms were taken up by, you know, regular classes.

And the whole idea behind the program was to keep the kids who tested out of their grade level in certain subjects occupied while the rest of the class proceeded at the typical pace. So the handful of us who tested out went to the AG trailer and mostly played Legos and Othello or did lateral thinking puzzles. We did some introduction to algebra (which I recall frustrated the hell out of me because language was definitely more my strength). We did some computer programming with the Logo language (the turtle program), as I recall, and once we each created an imaginary country with a government, culture, map... And the teacher had a bunch of these absolutely hideous puppet toys called Boglins that we absolutely loved and we'd sit there, doing whatever activity, with these monstrous things on our lap, like latex rubber pets. (Their eyes would bling with these switches inside their heads, which was the best ever. Wink, wink, wink. I linked to a picture of the blue one because that was my favorite.)

As for the "big over-ear headphones" and "weird tones," my dudes, that was a hearing test with an audiometer. Source: my mother is an audiologist (and speech-language pathologist) and she'd get my brother and me to check her audiometer from time to time. I am very familiar with those tones and, bonus, I have really sensitive hearing. Hearing tests are administered to children in public schools the same way vision tests are administered: once a year for the first few years of school to check for physical issues that may impact learning. There's zero suspicious stuff going on there.

There's no MKULTRA screening, no weird stuff, no suspicious actions, no "targeting," none of it. The program was intended as enrichment for students who would very likely be at loose ends in class otherwise.

Anyway, tl;dr: the "gifted kids" were already regarded as special; there's no need to super special yourselves. Just accept the "gifted kid burnout" and try to live with it.

[mercuriians]

I feel like a fic about Atsumu, Oikawa, and Bokuto finding their s/o reading fanfic about them would be hilarious

(You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to <3)

Have a lovely day and thank you if you end up doing this request <33333

a fantasy world

content info — gender neutral! reader, fluffy hq!! drabbles with some crack & hurt/comfort (sounds weird but bear w it, all separate). a teeny tiny bit suggestive in atsumu's part cuz he's a little shit.

word count — 1.9k words.

author’s note — holy HELL this is so late 😭 anon i hope ur still here, i made this pretty long so that's my way of apologizing. im also praying that atsumu is in character because this is only the second time ive written him. anyway, tysm for requesting!! hope u all like this <3

MIYA ATSUMU

your eyes are obstinately glued to your phone, wholly transfixed by the words that were typed across the screen. not a single soul knew about your little hobby and quite frankly, it was likely better that they remained oblivious. you wouldn’t know how to react if anyone found out, but really, there was one particular person who absolutely had to stay unaware.

as it turns out, they were also the very subject of the story you’re currently reading—of course, none other than your sweet, beloved boyfriend, atsumu. not that the term ‘sweet’ was an especially fitting term for him. ooh, that was a sick burn.

now, obviously you loved the boy. atsumu was bold, intelligent, thoughtful, hardworking, and affectionate to the point where osamu and the rest of his team often complained about how shameless he was in front of them. his spirit burned bright with fiery ambition, glimmering red and orange and yellow, and he introduced a kind of light into your life that you had never quite experienced before. at first you were a little wary at first, a little blinded by how much he shone, but because you were just as stubborn as he was, you soon grew used to it.

if anything, you came to learn that atsumu was undoubtedly one of the most inspirational people out there. motivating his peers was like second-nature to him, and even if he didn’t consciously put in the effort to inspire them, he still ended up doing so anyway. his love for volleyball was blatant in its authenticity, in its obsession. so when coupled with his charisma, and, yes, his boyishly good looks, atsumu developed a serious kind of gravitational pull. it was no wonder so many people were drawn in—yourself included.

but, inevitably, something had to be sacrificed. your boyfriend’s devotion to the game often meant that you two didn’t get to spend much time together. if atsumu wasn’t practicing at the gym, then he was either thinking about doing it, on his way to doing it, or—this happens only under the direst of circumstances—recovering from doing it. he was, in every sense of the word, a workaholic.

you were fine with it for the most part, mostly because you had a busy schedule to deal with yourself. if you weren’t doing homework or studying for an upcoming exam for the sake of staying on top of your classes, then you were either fulfilling your duties as a student council member, playing your respective sport, or taking care of things at home.

regardless, there were still times when you wished atsumu was with you. it didn’t matter if he was spewing volleyball jargon, or forcing you to pepper with him, or anything like that. you just wanted to spend time with him, to actually see him and his stupid face and his stupid smile that you want to kiss so badly.

maybe that’s why you’re so zeroed in on the fanfiction you’re reading—to try and make up for what you’ve been deprived of for days on end. a very palpable twinge of sadness tugs at your heart. you push the unwanted sentiment to the depths of your mind, trying to focus on reading the story again.

god, what sentence were you even on? and why was the door suddenly opening—

“hey baby, did ya miss me?”

your soul leaves your body.

before you even have time to think, a shrill scream rips from your throat as you scramble to hide your phone underneath the covers. atsumu's jaw drops, completely and utterly befuddled by your behavior. after a moment he raises his hands in mock surrender. "jeez, darlin', it's just me. your boyfriend, remember?" atsumu says, brow raised. there's a mixture of emotions written across his face—slight concern, palpable amusement, even some suspicion. "what are ya hidin' there on your phone, anyway?"

finally, you seem to find your voice. "n-nothing important," you mumble, clearly and very intentionally avoiding the intensity of atsumu's hawk-like gaze. "i didn't even know you'd be visiting today.. thought you would be busy with practice again."

maybe it's because your boyfriend knows you so well by now, but he catches the hint of bitterness in your tone. his face softens, and he takes one, two, three steps toward you until he's taking up the space on your left. "coach called in sick, so mister perfect decided to just cancel practice for today," atsumu shrugs. you're still somewhat upset, but you can't help but smile at the setter's nickname for his captain—kita shinsuke, the closest embodiment of perfection that anyone's ever seen.

"i'm pretty sure i texted ya that i would be dropping by," your boyfriend adds, glancing over at you. cautiously, you pull out your phone again and open up the messages app. lo and behold, he did in fact text you, but you were too busy with your fanfiction to notice.

your face burns with the weight of your embarrassment.

a small chuckle escapes from atsumu's mouth. "wow, i haven't even done anything and you're already blushin' for me," he teases. you hit his chest halfheartedly, muttering about how mean he's being. you fail to notice the calculating glint in his eyes. you also fail to notice his hand wandering.

a second later, atsumu grins smugly, your phone held securely in his grip.

"what the hell, 'sumu?!" you screech, trying to retrieve the object in vain. "how did you even—"

"i'm good with my hands," he winks, and you don't even have time to scold him for the clear innuendo because he's typing in the password to your phone. all you can do is accept your fate as atsumu discovers the story you were reading.

as expected, he laughs. loudly. it's almost like the laugh he lets out whenever he wins a bet against osamu. you turn away, shame and humiliation gnawing at your chest. there's nothing more you want than to be swallowed by the floor beneath you.

however, when atsumu's laughter dies down a few moments later, you feel him wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "baby," he begins, voice still a little breathless from all his cackling, "why are ya reading this when ya got the real thing right here?"

you look up at him, a confusing mess of emotions swirling within your stomach. "because we don't seem to spend much time together anymore," you admit, lowering your eyes to the ground. "laugh all you want, but these stories are there for me whenever i need them. you probably think it's stupid, or pathetic, or whatever, but.. i miss you, 'sumu."

you close your eyes, preparing to hear another round of thunderous laughter. it never comes.

"open yer eyes for me, babe," atsumu's voice is unexpectedly soft, tender. hesitantly, you do, and your gaze meets his. your boyfriend reaches out, resting a calloused hand against your cheek. his touch is so familiar, so comforting, that you can't do anything else but lean in and welcome it. "i didn't know that ya were feelin' this way, and i'll admit that it's my fault for not noticing. but hey, you wanna know somethin'?"

"what is it?" you whisper.

"i miss ya too," your boyfriend confesses. he leans in, placing a soft kiss against your lips. "and tomorrow, i'm taking ya out on a date."

OIKAWA TOORU

"oh my god, this is so cute," you sigh dreamily, swinging your feet in satisfaction as you indulge yourself. it was fanfiction, for crying out loud—can you really be blamed? this particular story practically reeked of fluff. you had just received flowers from the male lead, with you two having confessed just a few days ago. now you were on the first date, entering the doorway to a beautiful relationship that made every reader jealous.

the fact that the male lead—the infamous setter of aoba johsai, fanboy of iwaizumi hajime, hater of ushijima wakatoshi—also happened to be your boyfriend was just a minor detail.

you continued reading, the outside world completely irrelevant as you immersed yourself in the story. soon another squeal leaves your lips as oikawa, the male lead, bends down to kiss your hand. he says something swoonworthy, causing you to giggle like a madman. "that's it, i'm marrying you," you say, as if he can hear you through the story.

"marrying who?"

you let out a defeated sigh as your boyfriend pops his head into your room. there's a pout on oikawa's face, his mocha eyes filled with mock betrayal. still there's a part of you that knows he actually is a little bit jealous; he just doesn't know that technically, he's jealous of himself. "who are you marrying, babe?" he asks you somewhat accusingly. "i think it's a bit too early for—"

"shut up please," you groan, a bit sad that your reading session got interrupted. "i'm reading this fanfiction of you, and in the story, you're actually nice to me."

you immediately hear an indignant gasp from your boyfriend. he puts a hand to his chest, his pout now even more prominent. "excuse me, i am nice to you," oikawa scoffs as he walks over, squinting at the story you're reading. "i'm way better than him!"

"you are him," you deadpan.

"exactly! why are you reading that when i'm right here? i'm hurt," oikawa says in disapproval, shaking his head at you. "now move over."

you blink—once, twice. "wait, what?"

"i wanna read too," oikawa says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "so i can list all the things they got wrong about me."

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

maybe reading fanfiction about your boyfriend wasn't the best idea. it's not that the story wasn't great because it really was—the characterization was on-point, the writing style was smooth and elegant, and the plot was creative. it's more about your boyfriend himself. particularly the way that he reacted when he found out.

"am i not good enough?" bokuto asked you quietly as he stared up at you. his golden eyes were absolutely despondent, his shoulders were slouched, and even his owlish hair looked like it was deflated. you didn't need akaashi to understand that those were all signs of an emo bokuto.

and it was all because of you.

man, the guilt was unbearable.

"koutarou," you say softly, reaching out to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. "baby, you are more than enough for me. you're amazing, okay? you're my anchor, and you make me smile when no one else can. compared to you, this fanfiction means nothing." you pause, placing a tender kiss against his warm cheek. "seeing you sad makes me sad, you know?"

"i'm sorry," bokuto mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. "i thought i'd let you down or something, like i wasn't being a good boyfriend. it scared me."

his words make your heart hurt even more. you pull away from the hug, letting your earnest gaze meet his. "from now on, you don't have to be scared," you tell him seriously. "i'll stop reading fanfiction, and every day, i'll remind you of how much you mean to me. is that fair, kou?"

bokuto nods, and it's at that moment that you start to see the gloomy aura around him disappear. "i love you," he says, and you can tell that he means it. he always does.

you pull him closer, your fingers combing through his hair soothingly. he hums quietly, enjoying the feeling. "i love you too, koutarou," you smile. "and no story will ever change that."

you let a few moments pass by, simply listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. slowly, you let your eyes close, your boyfriend's strong embrace lulling you to a light rest. after a few moments, though, bokuto's voice breaks through the silence. "can i ask you a question, babe?"

you open your eyes. "anything."

he pulls away, his expression completely serious as he looks at you. "can we get something to eat?"

[anontheghost]

Prayers for a Rushed Marriage

Well... guess who is done with her first fic of 2025? Me!

(Please click the image to be directed to be fic. If that doesn't work, then click here)

Some notes:

Sallie May and Millie's sisterly bond should have been explored more in the series proper. As of now, the only other interaction they had (apart from the five-minute short "Hell's Belles") was one of rivarly during the Harvest Moon festival episode. Back then, they didn't seem that close and if you really think about it, Millie doesn't really mention her sister after that episode.

In canon, Millie's family doesn't like Moxxie because he is not "strong and tuff" like the average wrathian male. Narratively, that was not really a good excuse and was probably written into the script to make the episode focus more on Moxxie, even though we are technically exploring Millie's hometown.

Leaving Moxxie and Millie's relationship so unexplored was what caused a great part of the confusion in Millie's reaction towards her unplanned pregnancy. If hers and Moxxies marriage is so strong and they trust each other completely, then why was she so adamant about hiding the pregnancy from him? Haven't they talked about if they wanted kids or not?

If you do the math, you can see that M&M marriage is not only very young, but their entire relationship is. I know that Helluva's timeline is very confusing, but if my calculations are correct, they have probably known each other for less than three years.

Shouldn't it have been really interesting to explore the problems that surge when two individuals rush into marriage because they are young, in-love and high in endorphins?

Extra: Between you and me, I have zero faith in how the Spindlehorse team and Vivzie would handle something as delicate as moving forward or dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. Considering their track record on handling other delicate subjects like abuse and S/A, my expectations are extremely low.

I am probably going to write a continuation on how I would continue this particular plotline. Should I do it?

Or maybe for another time?

[sayyourprayers]

Why Will's resentment of El is not an in-show theme:

Diorama scene

Scene begins with El completely clueless about the school dynamics - eg. waving hi to someone who dgaf. She knows she isn't having a great time (hence lying to Mike) but at the same time she feels like THIS IS THE DAY when everything will change. Bruh if you haven't gotten the memo till a day before spring break maybe Hopper didn't call you stupid enough.

Talking about Hopper - presumed dead - presumed hawkins mall fire hero - subject of El's direyama, it wasn't Will's job to find a hero for El nor was it his responsibility to to suggest she make a projected presentation (his own project's a chart ffs). The shots of Will looking nervous and upset when El presents is for 2 reasons:

i) She followed Angela

ii) She followed Angela

It doesn't matter what your project is, your bullies aren't bullying you for quality control purposes. I guess people who think they can just intervene and stop bullying by their aura alone, truly have no idea how bullying works. Hopefully, for better understanding the material being analysed (to death), they do get to experience being at the receiving end of it, even if it's just a little.

As per El's own admission she chose the diorama as a visual aid - as she was allowed to. Idk if y'all expected Ms. My grammar's getting better also to do a verbose write-up or Ms. sheltered in the lab has got no one poor bby to just suddenly know and find heroic inspiration in famous personalities. What is it? Is she undersocialised and trapped or not? Analyse that.

2. Post presentation

Will tries to assuage El that her presentation wasn't that bad (not a lie that it was great but it truly wasn't the worst) But Ms. friends don't lie won't listen to him. (omg willel wonder twins friends). Sidenote: how was Will gonna tell her that her project was "not what she should have made"? I am guessing the lines would be similar to Angela's and El's response would be similar to El's. Anywho. I'm not spending more time analysing this scene that was clearly meant to establish that El's lying in her letter to Mike and she's not really having a great time in California - which isn't just about the school and bullying btw but also (moreso) about her father's death and the loss of her powers (shown by the scene of her walking away merging into a depressed max doing the emo walk to the chart topping kate bush song: nordic walking really fast up a cliff.) But let's forget all that on-screen text for fanfic hit pieces.

3. Die a rammer

Before El's homage to Hopper meets the wrath of Devila there's a small scene (bby scene tiny as hell uwu) of El receiving her maths tests results. And they were F-ing bad. Another scene to establish how much creative writing went into El's letters to Mike. Will should have tutored her though, I agree. The least he could have done for the girl that got him kidnapped and then saved him from the kidnapper - but was it really saving if he's forever changed? Not important: this is about establishing Will's guilt and El obviously has none.

Anyway, El is minding her business and California dreamin' but Angela and the minions trip her up and methodically destroy her diorama. It doesn't help that an enraged El tries to telekinekick Angela's ass, but as we all know (and now re-know) she has lost her powers and is sad and frustrated about it.

Now some brilliant scientific minds of our generation wanted Will to step into that shit show and (and what?) defend El? The guy that famously freezes? The guy who loaded up a gun in 3.5 seconds but froze up and didn't use it on a literal monster with a monsterface? The same guy who has NO POWERS (would be copying El) and has been bullied throughout his life, not only in school by his peers but even whole ass adults. They called him slurs, egged on by none other than his own Papa. So the great analysts with zero experience in bullying and less than basic level of empathy towards bullied people, wanted Will to shatter his little never seen before peaceful Cali existence to save El after the fact? Yes, Zombie boy go save your social pariah wonder woman channeling sister friend. The fact is, he NEVER abandoned her, but he also didn't have enough social standing at school to prevent El from getting bullied. (A point missed in all analyses.)

He was upset and worried and headed over to console El, not in secret no no, out in the open. He is not a fighter. He has never stood up to his own bullies. He's only "sassy" with his friends and family, people he's close to and feels safe with (a feeling he associates with El too, as seen in his "sassiness" with her, but that's for later.)

Poor El had to be rescued by the teacher herself. No other person in that entire school that was present did anything even remotely expressing sympathy - no they were all laughing at her. Only the teacher and Will were in her corner. So much for resentment.

4. Rink O Maniacs

Let's begin with the airport waiting area: Two happy Byers pookies (yes even I have to concede that El was a pookie here) waiting for their incelebrity crush/love - disappointed almost immediately by the scrotoid they fancy cuz they've not discovered feminism yet.

El has the whole day planned, Will is there around them cuz I guess he's too young to be hotboxing with (a concerned and all-knowing) Jonathan and my man Argyle. I mean they could've bonded over being stressed out over not their girlfriends.

Instead though, Angela and the aerobics class decided to eff up El's planned dayte. Angela on being called El--er--Jane's friend grabs her and heads over to the rink. Will knows El's lying, but was he supposed to idk just blurt it out with all that audience? What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to pre-empt the attack (either) in a crowded place? He wasn't physically gonna stop anyone, let's be real. If Angela would have picked on him, he'd be the one on the rink dressed in milkshake. So let's not pretend it's a reaction unique to seeing El in distress. No that's his response to BEING DISTRESSED - which he was, seeing his sisterfriend whom he likes and doesn't resent (apart from her being the love of Mike's life) in trouble.

Mike goes "above and beyond" i.e. reacts the way y'all would've loved Will to react (but it's not his gene type). Will however is worried and the one that alerts Mike once he realises, things are no longer gonna go anywhere but down under. He finally, reluctantly, but for his sisterfriend El, tells Mike about her problems, or that she's having them. Mike also can hear what's being announced for all the rink (a dedication to Jane the snitch) and coupled with what Will's told him reacts fast and tries (the operative here, he failed too) to stop the show.

Acting prowess aside, Mike and Will are both shocked and worried by El's "wipeout" in a crowded rink where it seems nobody likes her. Mike calls out to El who runs away hurt and embarrassed n not in the mood to answer him.

Now, they BOTH look for El, and MIKE the cunt thinks it's a great time to have a one on one with Will, about him "sabotaging" the day. (I still don't know how he did that, since M11 were pretty much enjoying the date till Angela appeared). The stupid gay fight happens, whatever man, idgaf.

El straightening up in the staff closet hears Angela and the pussycats (and not stupid byler) laughing (most likely at her) and decides, powers or no powers, Angela's gonna feel it tonight. The iconic Angela facelift happens after El's appeals to salvage the day and protect her lies are dismissed. Mike and Will are both again there to give loud reactions and Mike manages to be a moid even in that situation and questions El's overreaction (he at least truly believes that, unlike Will who is ready to lie to the cops abt it being an accident, lol) (Also, a quick mention Mike doesn't remind her of Brenner, Mike's the final straw that takes her back to the lab, she's already feeling weirded out by the blood and the people surrounding her, but ya whatever.)

Commentary:

Will asking El about why she's lying to Mike, isn't just him caring about Mike being lied to over El's well-being. If one's to engage a third braincell, one would notice that Will, too, found out about El's lies that day itself. He realised cuz he lives with his sisterfriend and is with her at school and at not school and so knows whatever she's saying and Mike's recalling from the letters has more imagination put into it than his painting. Will is annoyed at El and Mike (El - cuz he says it, Mike - cuz Mike says it) for being made a third wheel and also being greeted awkwardly (let's not forget he literally didn't gift Mike the painting which he painstakingly made cuz of Mike's weirdo behaviour.) That's not resentment, that's plain annoyance - an emotion Will has shown multiple times over the course of 4 seasons. His emotions don't only exist in the context of El and Mike's existence - you may ask Jonathan and Joyce, if you don't believe me.

It's hard for some people to read Will's character as anything other than a lovesick fool or brother of the main character, and their analysis reeks of this. Let's not forget, unlike Mike Wheeler, Will actually has his OWN stake in the supernatural/sci-fi/horror/superhero plot. Mike is the romantic lead. Will and El have their own journeys and stories both including and completely independent of each other and Mike.

Will not showing El the painting, is more a testament to his enduring feelings for Mike and the post-puberty clarity of romantic/sexual attraction vs puppy love. El didn't show Will her letters to Mike either. (And I am not saying she should have.) Will is not in the text to serve El. In fact, Max herself got promoted from that job. Just slapping on Vecna preys on this juicy shit - doesn't make it true. I am not saying Will and El are perfect siblings, but they're close to it and the show wants us to believe that. (You may take this as a contribution to DBros/MissedOpporunities OTP fanwork)

Will's resentment of El is the jealousy from romantic (not even) rivalry, but it is a very small part of their relationship. He could and should have been more pissy about having the girl who (even accidentally) upended his life just being his new sister now (mike or no mike) but that's not what Will is as a person. Will's jealousy of El is also something he takes out on Mike and NEVER on El.

Maybe there's such a thing as re-watching the show too many times. Y'all jumbling up character names. Y'all need to be peer reviewed.

[hadesoftheladies]

queer theory is actually a nightmarish frankensteinian creation of postmodernism, and post-modernists philosophers have frequently and explicitly been pro-pedophilia, because this is a logical consequence of what post-modernism says is true: there is no (epistemic) certainty or stable meaning.

when my conservative parents tell me they basically associate "lgbtq" with "maps" and pedophilia, they have reason to do so, given how "queer culture" is fundamentally a creation of post-modernist values, and post-modernist estimations of sexuality. everything is fluid, no binary exists, no meaning is fixed, so there are no defining lines, which means lines cannot actually be crossed. homosexuals can be bisexual, man and woman are interchangeable meaningless terms, and attraction to children is just one of the many ways sexual fluidity is expressed in humans, a benign and normal thing that should be released from modernist moralistic confines

that is queer philosophy, and it is actual queer culture. so not only are LGB folk being told they should celebrate the reclamation of an awful slur that explicitly others them as "perverted" and "strange", but now they are told to embrace queer culture (which means queer identity and philosophy) which not only declares their reality as abnormal and unreal (same-sex attraction is myth, since there is no such thing as sex and attraction is fluid), but also defines them explicitly with sexual perversions like pedophilia and bdsm: which IS EXACTLY WHAT HOMOPHOBES BELIEVE ABOUT THEM.

when queer culture is predicated on subjective feelings of identity needing to be validated, celebrated and "set free" from modernist (read definable, material and epistemological) structures, then the distaste for MAPs from queer folk doesn't mean anything, because even if MAPs are publicly rejected by queer culture, they are embraced and validated by queer theory and post-modernist philosophy.

what is doubly baffling to me is how the lgbtq+ community has tainted a movement for gay rights, you know, people who are being killed and ostracized for being same-sex attracted. not only nullifying their experiences and struggle in being same-sex attracted, not only associating their neutral, normal orientations with perversions and kinks, making something neutral political . . .

but they have also actively decentered a movement for homosexuals and bisexuals in order to accommodate identities that have NOTHING to do with that struggle or fight. intersex conditions, gender dysphoria, and asexuality have nothing to do with the oppression LGBs have faced for their sexual orientation and gender nonconformity, their culture of genderlessness. the idea that men and women can wear and present however they want, love and be attracted to the same sex, without it altering their material status.

EVEN MORE INFURIATINGLY, queer politics has offered almost ZERO challenges to patriarchy. by throwing out definitions, throwing out distinctions, it has relegated the essence of oppression to an individualistic, liberal fantasy that is powerless to change the system, and so can only grant us "spicy" patriarchy. dominance and submission, patriarchal inventions, are now cool kinks that every couple should try. gender is now open access (but still necessary), so men can wear heels and still call women slurs and violently harass them. transmen can go by he/him and still be refused abortion access! gay people are gender fetishists, not sinners. nothing has structurally changed, it's just we have cool names now! :)

so now LGB and women all over the fucking world are relegated to this homophobic misogynistic hell whether we turn to the left or right, and when we speak up about it, conservative homophobes and misogynists confuse us with liberal perverts, and liberal homophobes and misogynists conflate us with conservative sadists.

the structure doesn't change. there is no actual progress. like, same-sex right and women's movements all over the world have suffered for this. because white liberal westerners wanted to play around with words and have that count as activism.

i fucking hate queer theory and politics. i fucking hate how rich western whites shit on every human rights movement while capitalizing on them.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

it’s very funny to me the amount of sonic characters who had horrifically traumatic backstories like. shadow not only has an extremely fucked up and evil biodad he also saw his sister murdered in front of him unable to save her and his adoptive/science dad fucked with his brain to try and get him to kill people in revenge. knuckles is the last of his kind and with the pressure of the world on his shoulders to protect the master emerald since he was a very young child. tails is an orphan who was subject to ableist bullying over his second tail at a very young age and had zero friends until he met sonic. silver was born into a horrific post apocalyptic world that was so bleak he considers deserts impossibly beautiful and full of life. hell even eggman was neglected as a child and saw his role model grandfather unfairly persecuted by the government (and the less said about how he treats his own kids the better)

[sarafangirlart]

Did Kaos even explain why the three humans “destined to destroy Zeus/the Gods” are specifically Eurydice, Caeneus and Ariadne? Because if they really wanted a “we hate the gods” story shouldn’t the chosen three be. severely wronged or abandoned by the gods / the fates?

Like Oedipus? Lamia? Cassandra? Daphne? Arachne? Callisto? Hell I’d even watch a smackdown of Clytemnestra vs Artemis or Menelaus and Helen vs Aphrodite any time then watch a whole other boring show following the same bad story tropes.

They don’t really explain it no, but I was so eager for it to be over I likely missed it, this show seems surprising hesitant to show the more gruesome side of mythology, if they adapted the story that Caeneus was raped by Poseidon and they show how angry and miserable he is about it I would’ve totally been on board, tho someone mentioned that considering the current social environment is especially hostile towards trans ppl nowadays, having someone transition after assault could be bad “pr” so to speak, tho I don’t think we should bend a knee to transphobes/terfs and make representation that’s more palatable and presentable, human experience is messy and we shouldn’t shy away from that in an attempt to make bigots less hostile towards minorities bc they will always be hostile.

If they show Eurydice being angry about Aristaeus not facing any consequences for trying to assault her I’d understand that too mythology Eurydice has zero beef with Hera, but she could feel resentment towards Aristaeus and by extension Apollo (since he’d likely defend his son), gods rarely face consequences for assaulting mortals, Euripides’s Ion tackles that subject way better than all of these “Gods bad” modern retelling (tho I wish Creusa didn’t forgive Apollo bc that mf didn’t even have the balls to show his face).

Instead of Ariadne, who usually gets a happy ending and becomes a goddess herself, how about going with Apemosyne? Another Cretan princess. Her story is extremely depressing, she’s screwed over by a god and her own family, considering that half the show takes place in the underworld she’d fit right in. Considering she’ll be “coworkers” with Hermes it would especially suck for her. But considering that Dionysus is made to be one of the “good ones” even tho in mythology he brainwashed women into slaughtering their families, they’d probably portray Hermes as such too, since he’s usually simply the comic relief in adaptations anyway.

That’s another thing, they water down the gods who are supposed to be good guys and make the “bad guy” worse, in this version Hades never kidnapped Persephone that’s just propaganda in universe. The Fates and Furies are goddesses but in this show they’re against the gods bc of that meander water thing? Don’t they drink it too?

I think they realized that their hesitancy means that they won’t be showing us bad things the gods actually did and so they make up random bullshit like Hera owning tongueless priestesses and Zeus killing a kitten. Cassandra is in the show but she’s more of an exposition machine tho it’s hinted she’ll play a bigger role in season 2, but why couldn’t she be one of the three humans destined to destroy Zeus? Why aren’t any of the Trojans destined to destroy Zeus? Why do they have to be saved by Greeks? Sure Zeus in mythology had a soft spot for them but he still planned the destruction of their city (could be a decent metaphor for an abuser who says that they love their victim while still abusing them imo) but Kaos Zeus doesn’t have that goodwill towards the Trojans so why not have them rightfully take him down? In the final episode Andromache and Ariadne team up and agree to fight against Olympus, tho that reminds me of Acrisius in the Clash of the Titans remake being more of a dumb dumb than he is in the myths and started a war against Mount Olympus only to unsurprisingly fail.

I really dislike how the Trojans are portrayed in the show, clearly they are supposed to be allegory for modern middle eastern refugees in Europe yet all the main Trojan characters are played by white actors. They have such a racially diverse cast but they seem uninterested in actually representing the diversity of the Mediterranean and mythology as a whole.

[impactrueno]

This is why folks have a problem because there HAVE been people using your art as a means to go "see see its platonic!" in the face of shippers. You keep shutting down every possibility that people aren't in fact "chill" about it and make excuses for your audience. It's tiring. Nobody wanted to argue with you, but you shut down every avenue not to. I just don't understand why.

who's using my art for anything like that? and most importantly, why would they even do that? i'm not tim burton, i'm not an authority on the subject. i'm literally just an artist drawing whatever the hell i want and sharing it online for fun.

you gotta realize that i have ZERO control over how people react to my art. sometimes i can't even keep up with my comments and who says what. so why are you pinning that on me? very strange.

man i would've expected this type of behavior from """""ANTIS""""" (groan) but from the supposed "ship and let ship" crowd?

the iron-e of it all, huh

[roguishcat]

WIP Monday and Wednesday on Friday

Thank you so much @obsessedwhyyes, @funniestbitchinfaerun, @verbenaa ,@anacdoce, @xxnashiraxx ,

@fangbangerghoul, @busy-baker for tagging me! ❤️❤️❤️ I loved reading your snippets!

I'm a simple woman with simple thoughts. Such as what Astarion thinks of his lover's butt, as inspired by the tireless efforts to give us great content by heroes using Freecam mod to reveal the juicy stuff that would otherwise have gone unnoticed.

I was a bit worried that it's weird shy about this, but then saw this post and was once again reminded that Tumblr is a safe space where we can all collectively obsess over the vamp! 💕

You felt giddy every time you asked for a kiss and Astarion agreed most enthusiastically. Kissing you deeply, both his hands squeezing your butt tightly, kneading the soft flesh in a way that had you both moaning into the kiss.

Lae’zel would roll her eyes and march past you, muttering something unsavoury under her breath about istiks and their peculiar mating rituals that would go completely ignored.

Shadowheart would smirk and pretend to be annoyed, remarking that if they were to be subjected to seeing you be all over each other, at least some change in repertoire would be nice.

It never went past that. Just as you agreed, you gave Astarion space and time to figure out what he was comfortable with. The two of you would hold hands, cuddle up to each other, share heated looks and sweetest kisses that made your toes curl. And without fail Astarion’s hands would eventually be touching, patting, squeezing, playfully slapping, or pinching your ass.  

So it really should have been no surprise when you woke up one fine morning with Astarion rutting against your clothed backside. Now, whilst you had no issue with your vampire enjoying himself, having explicitly stated to him on several occasions that you were game for whatever he would come up with, you were not entirely sure what to do now.

Should you just stay still? Judging by how his pace was picking up and the way his gentle grunts were becoming more audible by the second, Astarion would be done soon. He was clearly so lost in the moment and eager to chase his release that he didn’t even pick up on the change in your heartbeat.

Most of the time you slept like a log. It would take wildebeest stampeding past your tent for you to stir. Which is probably why Astarion, having made plenty of quips and jokes about your almost impressive ability to fall asleep in any place as soon as your head touched the bedroll, was not being particularly careful about being quiet.

Yes, staying still was probably best. If you were entirely honest, Astarion wanting you so desperately was doing wonders for your confidence. And the moans and grunts, his cool fingers on your hips, curls tickling the back of your neck, got you hot and bothered in seconds. You two weren’t intimate in... a while. And whilst this was not exactly how you thought you would next be intimate, you'd take it.

And then you felt your nose itch. What started as little itch that had you scrunching you nose in annoyance became worse by the second. Oh, hells! You were going to sneeze!

You tried to turn your head ever so discreetly to the side and rub your nose against the bedroll. Surprisingly enough, this got absolutely zero reaction from Astarion. And this would be the end of your predicament if you were anyone but the unluckiest woman in all the realms.

Your violent sneeze was like a clap of thunder on a still night.

No pressure tags💕 : tagging everyone who tagged me and @clazberryk, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @khywren, @inkymoonbunny, @marlowethebard

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 1: Going Down Swinging

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary: It's the hottest day of the year, you're exhausted from a mission, and all you want is your bed. Unfortunately, the elevator in Avengers' tower throws a spanner in the works.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5373

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @kittimbo @mcximffs @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @alternativeprincess @annocaprosmaloka @thrutheburnout @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Notes:

Hello and welcome to my week of summer themed fics! I'll be posting a fic every day for a week.

warnings for unprotected sex, creampie, hate-fucking, pietro is a lech, ankle injury, trapped in an elevator, reader has an IUD, oral (both receiving), reader and pietro are both switches, teasing, sweating, heatwave, teensy bit of angst

---

You were exhausted. It was a hundred degrees, and you’d spent the better part of the day fighting some freshly superpowered men on the streets of New York.

Your mission had had two parts: neutralise and bring in the powered people; and retrieve the stolen alien tech they’d used to give themselves the power to manipulate and control energy.

Your foes’ inexperience had been a gift and a curse. On one hand, you outstripped them in every sense: physically, mentally and tactically. On the other, they were unpredictable, with powers barely in their control. That made them very dangerous, especially on the crowded streets of New York City in summertime.

You and the rest of your team – Clint, Natasha, Steve, Wanda and Pietro – had all made it back in one piece. There had been a few civilian injuries but no casualties. Two of the men you’d been fighting, however, had died in the process. Their powers had overcome them and they’d exploded before you could subdue them.

That was the trouble with messing around with alien tech. You never knew what it would do to a human body.

Of course, you had to feel sorry for them. There but for the grace of God…

You had received your powers from dangerous alien tech as well, though through no fault of your own. You had been a junior scientist working for a brilliant xenobiologist, but a lab accident had left him dead and you with the ability to move objects with your mind.

When SHIELD had found you, you’d been out of control and terrified out of your mind. They had brought you in, though, with zero casualties. That you were forever grateful for. You weren’t sure how you could live with yourself otherwise.

You had been an Avenger for several years before a couple more enhanced test subjects had joined the team: the Maximoff twins. Wanda was withdrawn and unsociable, but Pietro was unbearable. He was arrogant, he was cruel and he always found ways to push your buttons.

You were sick to death of Pietro Maximoff, and his pretty eyes, and his toned body, and the way he would leer at you when you stared for half a second too long, because he knew. He always knew.

When you had realised that you would be on a mission with him today, you had groaned, but you knew it made sense. You had experienced being on the other side of this situation. So had the twins. It was also a good opportunity to train up the Maximoffs, who were the newest recruits to the Avengers.

So you had bit your tongue and fought alongside them, and stayed the hell away from Pietro.

Now, as your half-unzipped costume hung from your shoulders, boots in your hands as your bare feet padded across the cool tiled floor, all you wanted was to shower and get into bed.

That wasn’t entirely true. You were hungry too, but too exhausted to even think about eating. You wondered who would be the most likely person to bring you food if you asked. You reckoned that Steve would do it, gentleman that he was.

You were almost home. You stepped into an elevator in Avengers’ tower and hit the button for your floor. The doors were sliding closed when a familiar silver-blue blur shot in between them. You groaned internally as another button lit up, and then Pietro Maximoff was standing next to you, grinning at you with that unbearably boyishly charming smile.

The door closed behind him before you could even think about escape.

“Boy, it’s hot in here,” he said in his smooth, Sokovian accent, and then, without another word, he pulled the shirt of his costume off over his head.

He did it slowly for him, at a normal pace for anyone else, which was how you knew it was for your benefit. If he really wanted to, he could be naked in milliseconds, but he did slowly to put on a show. Your cheeks heated up at the thought, and you looked away from him, but it was too late. You could see him smirking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Can’t you wait until you’re in your room before you start stripping?” you snapped.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your anger. He never was. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. The elevator began to move, giving you an uncomfortable turn in your stomach that you were sure had nothing to do with the way Pietro was staring at you.

“Come on, prinţesă,” he practically cooed. It was a nickname that he knew you hated.

“I’m not your princessa-”

“Prinţesă,” he corrected. You had once asked him why he called you that, and he’d responded, “because you’re beautiful but you’re such a priss.” You had almost slapped him. Almost.

“I know you’re used to women falling at your feet, Pietro, but I don’t know why you bother with me. It’s never going to happen.”

“We’ll see,” he said in that unbelievably cocky tone. “In the meantime, you’re cute when you’re angry.” He reached out towards you, and you knew what he was going to do because he’d done it before. Before he could ping your bra strap, you slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

“You’re so-”

You were cut off by a horrible screech, and then a mechanical groaning sound. The lights flickered and the elevator came to a sudden, jarring halt, knocking you off balance. You fell back against the wall, and the red emergency lights came on.

“What the-” said Pietro, but you had already gone over to the wall panel hit the emergency call button.

“The elevator is broken, obviously.” The call button crackled. “Hello?” No response. “Hello?” There was a buzzing, and then it sputtered out and the entire panel went dark. “Shit.”

Instinctively, you patted where your pockets should be, but of course, your phone was in your room. Pietro’s suit didn’t have pockets either, and you’d both handed over your earpieces when you’d arrived back after the mission.

“Here, let me try.” He moved past you to get to the panel.

You glared at the side of his face. “All you do is press the button. It’s not like I did it wrong.” He ignored you, jabbing at the button several times in quick succession. “That’s not gonna-”

“Shut up,” he snapped, and you took a step back. Pietro might’ve been an asshole, but he wasn’t usually openly hostile to you. He preferred to annoy you in more subtle ways.

You stared at him. For the first time, you noticed that his hand was shaking. He was nervous.

“There’s a hatch,” you said, not quite apologising (why should you apologise?) but almost making amends. “If you give me a boost up there, I can see if I can climb up to the next floor and get the doors open.”

For once, he didn’t argue with you. He laced his fingers together and let you step into his hand, and, when you were ready, pushed you up towards the ceiling.

You had to put your hand on his head to keep your balance, uncomfortably aware of how close his face was to the vulnerable flesh of your stomach. Not that he would do anything. Still. You managed to pull the lever to open the hatch.

“Higher,” you said, and he grunted in response, lifting you up further. You were glad you couldn’t see him right now. You’d seen him working out in the gym, and exerting himself on the field. The way his muscles flexed always got you a little hot under the collar, and that was the last thing you needed right now.

You managed to grab onto the edge of the hatch and, with Pietro’s help, pushed yourself up onto the top of the elevator.

You stared up into the shaft above you, but it was very dark. You couldn’t see the doors for the floor above. With your hands on the wall, you looked for a ladder, but there was no sign of one.

“Any luck?” Pietro called out to you.

“Can’t see much.”

You did have an idea about how you could see a little more. You couldn’t fly, but with your telekinesis, you could hover a little. Projecting yourself into the air, you tried to get closer to where you thought the door might be. There was only more darkness.

Letting out a frustrated noise, you pushed yourself further up. Your body was trembling with the effort, sweat beading at your brow. High above you, you could make out lights. If that was the inside of the door, then you were a lot further away from it than you thought.

You tried to push yourself a little bit further, just to check if the door was truly what you were seeing, and faltered. As if your slick-sweat body had slid across a surface, your hold on yourself failed and you tumbled out of the air, landing hard on your ankle.

“Fuck.”

Pietro called out your name. He never called you by your name. You felt dazed.

“Are you okay?” he shouted.

“Yeah, I’m…” Your voice had come out high-pitched and wobbly as you choked on the pain in your ankle. You cleared your throat. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay. Come back down.”

You didn’t fancy trying to climb back down right now. All you wanted to do was stay in one place.

“I’m alright, I’m gonna stay up here for a bit.”

“You can’t stay on top of the elevator!”

You didn’t respond to that. After a few moments, you heard him call out your name again, and when you stayed silent, you heard a grunt, a clang, and then Pietro’s hands appeared at the edge of the hatch.

You were about to lean forward to help him up, but you didn’t have to. He pulled himself up onto the roof of the elevator beside you in an impressive display of upper body strength.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “It sounded like you fell.” It was much darker up here, so you couldn’t see his expression, which unnerved you, because for the first time since you’d known him, he actually sounded sincere.

“I did fall, but it’s okay.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“… I landed awkwardly on my ankle.”

He tutted, but for once, it didn’t sound patronising. It sounded worried. “Let me look at it.”

“It’s dark.”

“Well, let me help you back into the elevator, and then look at it.”

“I’m not going back in. We need to get up to the doors.” You pointed vaguely upwards.

You saw Pietro’s silhouette shift as he looked where you were pointing. “There’s no way we’re making it up there. We need to go back in and wait for rescue. Someone will notice the elevator is out eventually.”

You groaned loudly. “I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck in an elevator with you.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a barrel of laughs either, prinţesă.”

“Stop calling me that!”

He ignored you. “I’m going to climb back in, and then you’re going to lower yourself back down.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I will catch you. Come on.” His tone left no space to argue. He climbed back down into the hatch and landed back inside with a light thump. He was agile, like a cat. You were envious of that right now.

You swung your legs over so you were sitting on the edge of the hatch, your legs dangling into the elevator. You could see Pietro properly now, bathed in the red emergency lighting.

“Come on,” he repeated, holding up his arms. “I’ll catch you.”

“Are you sure?” An edge of nervousness was creeping into your tone.

He chuckled. “I have superspeed, prinţesă. I promise I won’t let you fall. Now drop down. I will catch you.”

He was watching you. That only made you more nervous. You had to close your eyes and shuffle forward. A hand, strong and strangely comforting, grabbed your calf.

“Just a little further, prinţesă.”

Squeezing your lips together, you edged closer. Pietro had a firmer grip on both of your legs now. Putting your life into your hands – or, to be honest, Pietro’s – you shoved yourself off the ledge.

Pietro’s hands let go of your calves and caught you around the waist. You clung to his shoulders as he held you there, feet dangling a foot off the ground.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m going to lay you down, alright? Let’s have a look at your ankle.” Swallowing, you nodded. 

Carefully, he lowered you to the ground. You held on tight to him until you were firmly sitting down, at which point you released each other. He hooked his hand under your calf again, gently lifting it up so he could get a closer look.

“It looks a little swollen,” he said. “Maybe you sprained it.”

“Maybe.”

“You should get some ice on it when we get out of here. And maybe see a medic, just in case.”

“… Thanks.”

“Here.” He picked up his shirt, which he had discarded at the corner of the elevator. He bunched it up and then placed it under your ankle. It didn’t do much to elevate it, but at least it cushioned it from the ground.

You leant back against the wall, stomach swirling. Pietro stood up and crossed the room, mirroring your position against the wall opposite. You closed your eyes, trying to think of some way to pass the time when you heard the sound of unzipping.

Your eyes flew open to find Pietro with his trousers halfway down his thighs. He was wearing black boxers underneath, which were sleek and strangely pretty.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax, prinţesă. I’m not going to take my underwear off.”

“Put your pants back on,” you hissed, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s hot. My costume is too tight. I have no idea how long we’re going to be stuck here. I’ll boil alive if I keep it on.”

You huffed and looked away from him. You had to admit he had a point. It was very hot. You wriggled fully out of the top half of your costume, which had already been hanging off you. You were wearing a vest underneath, so at least you were more modest than Pietro, who was now sitting in his boxers with his costume in his lap. There was no way you were taking off the bottom half, no matter how hot it got in here.

A bead of sweat rolled down your neck, and you felt it heading for your cleavage. You grimaced. You’d kill for a bottle of water right now. And ice. For your ankle and for everywhere else.

You glanced back at Pietro and found him staring at your chest.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” you said, no heat behind your voice. You were too sweaty and exhausted to fight anymore.

“I can’t help myself, prinţesă. You have a great rack. It draws the eye.”

It was one of the cruder Americanisms that he’d picked up since he moved to New York.

“Fuck off, Pietro. I’m not begging to be ogled, unlike you. I mean, you were practically doing a striptease earlier.”

A grin spread across his face. “Did you like it?”

You rolled your eyes. “I was just trying to get back to my room to sleep. I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with…” You gestured at him. “All of this.”

He cocked his head to the side, resting his chin on his palm. “What are you dealing with, prinţesă?”

“You!” you snapped. You shoved yourself onto your knees, your costume flapping around your waist. “I’m so sick of you!” You wobbled to your feet, but thankfully your ankle seemed to be able to support your weight.

As you stalked towards him, you were pretty sure you were actually gonna hit him this time, and from the look on his face, you could tell he thought so too.

“Careful,” he warned, on his feet in a split second. “Your ankle-”

You barrelled into him, grasping his chin with one hand and dragging him down to your level. His eyes went very wide, but you were already kissing him.

Wait.

Kissing him?

You were supposed to be hitting him!

His hands dropped to your waist, smoothing over the fabric of your vest, and you leant into him, letting him take the weight off your ankle.

“You’re so,” kiss, “fucking,” kiss, “annoying,” you muttered, and you felt him smile against your lips. “I hate you,” you snarled, pulling away from him, but he held you in position.

“No, you don’t,” he said fondly.

“You’re, ugh-” Your words stuttered to a halt as he pressed a kiss to the spot below your ear, and then one further down at the column of your throat.

“You seem tense,” he said, sounding smug. “Let me help with that.”

Despite yourself, you pressed against him, and then leant back to look at him suddenly. “Are you hard?”

“Honestly? I’ve had a semi since you took your top off.”

You let out a growl of frustration, pushing him back. That shouldn’t have turned you on nearly as much as it did. You cupped him through his boxers and watched the smug smile disappear. His lips parted and he exhaled hard. That was much better.

“Take these off,” you said.

“Feisty,” he said, but dutifully removed his boxers. He was moderately well-endowed, and the thatch of hair around the base of his cock was brown, not platinum blonde. It was something you had wondered about, on hot lonely nights when he’d pushed your buttons just a little too hard during the day.

You wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed, watching the expression on his face change. He swore quietly, his hands going to your waist, gripping your vest. You swatted his hands away.

“Lie down.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, but did as he was told. He sat down on the ground in one fluid motion, and then lay back, hands behind his head. He was stupidly, unfairly, annoyingly attractive. You knelt down in front of him.

“Shut up,” you said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, continue not saying anything.”

He ignored you. “You know I’m completely naked and you’re still wearing most of your clothes. How is that fair?”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Only because you decided toget practically naked before we even got started. How is that my fault?”

He shrugged, which was a slightly awkward motion in the position he was in. “That doesn’t matter. I want to see you.”

Lips pressed tightly together, you pulled off your vest and then your bra in quick succession. His eyes went wide and he reached for you, but again, you pushed him away.

“Hands to yourself.” And then you bent forward and wrapped your lips around his cock. He swore loudly. You supposed that was a good sign.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Pietro was a naturally fidgety person, so they twitched by his sides, trying to find something to hold onto.

You pulled back, letting your cock fall out of his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“You said to keep my hands to myself!”

“Well, this,” you gestured to the motions his hands were making, “is offputting.”

“What do I-” You grabbed both his hands in yours and guided them up to your hair.

“Better?”

He gulped and nodded. You leant forward again and licked a stripe up his cock. His grip tightened, pulling hard enough to hurt, but the pain sent a sizzling sensation through your body.

Still, you wouldn’t let him set the pace, as much as he was trying to. You bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him. He groaned deeply.

“Prinţesă, maybe you should stop. I’m not gonna last very long if you keep- Fuck.”

You ignored him, continuing to push. Your hand came up to fondle his balls, thumbing over the crease between them. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling you off him, but warning.

“I’m gonna- Fuck.”

The hot, salty taste of his cum hit the back of your tongue. You swallowed it, taking pride in the way he whimpered as you sucked him clean.

“Prinţesă, baby, I…” He sounded wrecked. You relinquished your hold on him pulling back and letting him breathe. His eyes were glassy as he stared back at you. “That was… Fuck.”

“You said that already.”

He sat up suddenly, crowding into your space. You were ready to tell him to fuck off again, but then he kissed you, his tongue pressing insistently into your mouth. It was like he was trying to taste himself on you. Maybe he was. He was a narcissist, after all.

When you’d both run out of breath, he pulled back. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright and shiny with excitement.

“Can I touch you?” He said the words in a low voice that sent tingles down your spine. Here was the flirty, seductive Pietro you knew. You wondered how many women he’d used this voice on. You wondered if it worked every time. It was working on you. You nodded.

His hands were uncharacteristically clumsy as he tugged at your costume, trying to get the bottom half off. You loosened the straps and lifted your hips up so that he could pull them off you.

Now, in just your panties, you were feeling pretty exposed. Sensing your nervousness, he kissed you again. Gentle, insistent hands pushed you until you were lying flat on your back. He moved with you, covering you with his body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into the skin of your neck. Every breath across your skin left goosebumps in its wake. You trembled, and you were sure he felt it, but for once, he didn’t seem all that smug about it.

You were worried he might try to give you a hickey, but his lips continued to press soft kisses against your skin, persistently kissing and licking, not sucking. You carded your hands through his hair, breathing in time with him.

He moved lower until his mouth found a nipple. You twitched, almost pushing away out of instinct – you were very sensitive – but he held you still with one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip. His eyes flickered up to yours as he sucked, and his lip quirked up into that annoying (sexy) smirk.

“I was right,” he mused as he nosed his way along the valley between your breasts, lazily looking for your other nipple.

“About what?” Your question came out breathless. He’d just found it and bitten gently down.

“You do have a great rack.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” This time, he said it in a sing-song voice as he travelled further down, laying kisses along your stomach that made your muscles jump. “In fact,” he said, lips grazing over the waistband of your panties. “I think you like me.”

“I do not.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, his lips hovering over your clothed pussy. He was right there, where you wanted him most, but he wasn’t moving anymore. Instead, he was very gently nuzzling at you through the fabric.

You let out a huff of frustration. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’ll stop teasing when you admit you like me.”

You snapped your mouth shut, glaring down at him. He stared back up at you with amusement in his eyes, kissing along your inner thigh. It was torture.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You like it.”

“Fine!” you snapped. “I fucking like it! I like you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

You barely heard his response because your heart was beating so loudly. The blood was rushing in your ears. What were you doing?

“That’s good,” he said, tugging down your panties. “Because I like you too.”

That was all the warning you got before he dove into your pussy. His hands came up, parting your lips so that he could explore your folds with his tongue. The noises that were falling from your lips were frankly embarrassing. You tried to cover your mouth, but Pietro slowed down.

“If you don’t let me hear those god damn moans, I swear I won’t let you cum,” he said. You glared at him, but removed your hands.

He held you down, one hand resting flat against your belly button. His tongue danced over your clit, moving in patterns so fast you couldn’t follow them. It was like his tongue was a vibrator, and you felt a telltale warmth building inside you.

“Pietro!” you moaned, unable to hold back any longer. You grabbed a handful of his hair, holding him as tight to you as you could. You ground down against him, riding your orgasm out on his face.

In the immediate aftermath, you felt too good to be embarrassed. He slid his fingers inside you, filling you with a fresh sensation of pleasure.

“I, uh… Don’t have any condoms,” he said.

You let out a grunt of frustration. “I don’t care.” And then, as an afterthought, “I have an IUD.”

“I get tested regularly.” That made sense. From what you knew, he was a bit of a player.

“I haven’t had sex since my last test.”

“So I can…?”

“Just fuck me, Pietro.”

He hooked a hand under your hip and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. You let out an undignified squeak, which quickly turned into a moan when he pressed against you from behind.

At first, he put just the tip inside you, until you whined and pushed back against him. He slid in further, and you exhaled. It was a strange relief, having him fill you up like that. It was as though, from the moment you’d met, the two of you had been heading for this moment. Now he was inside of you and you were sprawled out underneath him, you felt fuzzy and warm.

As he slid all the way inside you, you leant your forearms on the ground and rested your forehead on your hands. The metal floor was cool against your skin, which was nice because you felt like you were burning up everywhere that Pietro was touching you.

After a moment, you said, “you can move.” He let out a groan of relief.

His movements started slow. He was exceptionally consistent, thrusting in a perfectly even rhythm, hitting just the right spot inside you every time. You wondered if it was practise, or if his powers helped. He certainly had stamina.

“You feel so good, pretty girl,” he murmured, stroking your hip. “So tight around my cock.”

You felt your walls clench involuntarily, which drew a choked out groan from Pietro, making his rhythm falter for the first time. He regained his composure quickly, sliding a hand into your hair as he began to speed up.

Your g-spot was being pummelled, and every thrust pushed the air out of your lungs, forcing you into a gasping rhythm of ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

As his movements grew more desperate, Pietro’s hands were everywhere, lightly scratching down your back, squeezing your breasts, anchoring himself on your hips. When his hand finally found his way down between your legs, you knew it was over for you.

With his fingers on your clit, breast squeezed tight in his other hand, hot breath in your ear, you came with a gasp.

“Shit,” he hissed, and you could tell he was close. You continued to clench around him, even after the aftershocks of your orgasm, trying to push him over the edge. Still, he kept going.

You looked back at him over your shoulder and his eyes met yours, pupils blown with lust. You smiled at him, and he swore under his breath. He clung to you, spilling his cum inside you.

You felt cold as soon as he pulled out of you. There was a gnawing feeling in your gut. Regret. You shouldn’t have done this. He was your coworker. You hated each other.

(No you didn’t)

You rolled over into a sitting position, wincing as you felt his cum dripping out of you. You grabbed your discarded costume and shuffled over to the wall.

Pietro was sitting back on his heels, watching you. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head, but you felt tears prickling at your eyes. He leant forwards, putting what was supposed to be a comforting hand on your knee. You flinched. He pulled back like he’d been burnt.

“Was I too rough?” There was an earnest expression in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Is it your ankle?”

“No,” you said, your voice thick. “It was good.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“We’re still stuck here. What do we do now?”

Pietro was about to answer, but he was interrupted by your stomach rumbling loudly. He regarded you for a moment, and then scooted over to where the trousers of his costume were discarded. He dug around in them for a moment, and then produced a granola bar, which he slid across the floor towards you.

“Here,” he said. “Eat this.

“Where were you hiding that?” you asked, picking it up and unwrapping it.

He grinned at you, boyish charm back in full force. “Secret pocket.”

“You have a secret snack pocket in your suit?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

You knew he wasn’t joking. He had to eat a lot. Something about his metabolism. You had seen him at mealtimes, loading up his plate. It made sense that he kept emergency snacks on him.

Right now, you were very grateful for them. You felt your anxiety draining away as you ate.

“Next time, I’ll buy you a real dinner.”

You paused. “Next time?”

“Yeah. If you want to.”

You opened your mouth, but at that moment, the main lights flickered back on. There was a moment of silence, and then the elevator juddered to life. It was moving upwards again.

You had the sudden, horrifying realisation that you were naked, with Pietro’s cum dripping out of you.

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” You fumbled with your panties, but changed your mind at the last second. Trousers were more important. As you struggled to pull them up, Pietro put his boxers and trousers back on in half a second flat.

Your vision went white. You blinked, and you realised you were wearing your vest. Pietro must’ve put it on you.

Meeting your eyes, he slipped your panties into his pocket. “I’ll be holding onto these.” He winked at you. Your cheeks burned.

DING.

The doors of the elevator opened and you scrambled to your feet. Steve and Sam were standing on the other side of the doors, staring at you both. Steve looked horrified, but Sam looked more amused.

You quickly tucked your bra under the shirt of your costume, which was hanging over your arm.

“Hey guys,” you said, trying to sound casual. “The elevator got stuck.”

“There was a power cut,” said Sam. “But I don’t wanna know what you two got up to in here. I’m taking the other elevator until this one has been thoroughly sterilised.” He turned and walked away. Steve stole one last shocked glance at you, before following him.

You looked at Pietro, and found him looking back at you. Sudden, uncontrollable, laughter bubbled up from your chest. Pietro began to laugh too, which only made you laugh harder. You grabbed onto his arm to keep your balance.

“Did you see Steve’s face?” asked Pietro between gasps, and you doubled over, hands over your stomach.

You laughed until there was no more breath in your lungs.

When you had both finally got over your fit of hysterics, you realised that you were leaning on each other. Instead of stepping away, Pietro leant down, pressing your foreheads together. It was a brief touch. He pulled away and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

“Next time?” he asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.

You swallowed. “Next time.”  

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: sharing a tent with Steve Harrington.