#winner fiction

[moonlight-records]

And The Winner Is... | T. Wolff (Part I)

pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

summary: you love sabrina carpenter and your icon is giving one lucky audience member pink fuzzy handcuffs before 'Juno'. the catch? she's picking men more then females. it's a great thing that your boyfriend is really hot

warning: besides age gap (reader is in her 20's), none!

fc: none!

wc: 916

current | part 2

“On a scale from one to ten, how much do you tolerate me?”

“What?”

Toto looks up from his paperwork and stares at you, “do you mean how much do I love you?”

“No, I know what I said.”

Toto can’t help but stare at you. He glances away then back, not really sure how to respond to the question that is still lingering in the air. Finally, Toto rubs his face slowly as he drops his hands gently on the table, “I love you a lot therefore on a scale of one to ten, I would fall past ten.” Tilting his head slightly, “Why?”

“I bought concert tickets and I want you to go with me.” You admit smiling sheepishly.

“And do I know this artist?”

“Probably not. Unless you’ve always secretly listened to Sabrina Carpenter,” you make your way over to him. “It’s okay if you do, I don’t judge.”

Toto’s brow comes together in thought, “is that the small blonde you’ve been listening to?” Toto watches you confirm and he slowly nods. “So, you bought concert tickets?”

“Yeah.the company working with Team Sabrina released some VIP tickets so I got them actually and it’s a pre-show party with foods and merch and I get to be in the pit and all.” you start and shift slightly, “though…I did buy two tickets and sadly my friends are pretty busy that night so…”

"You want me to go to a concert with you?” Toto starts, “to a…pop? Yes, pop artist concert?” Toto puts his hands together while resting his forehead against them, “I understand why you asked me how much I tolerate you.” He can’t help the ghost of a smirk forming on his face when you make some noise before looking up and sighing gently, “When is it?”

“Next week from today.”

Toto brings his gaze to his computer as he starts to look through his calendar. He sees that he is free that day and he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, “Okay, be honest with me. Why do you want me to come with you?”

“For a date night, obviously,” you start as you round the corner and sitting on his desk, “we haven’t had one in forever and the break is almost done and it would be fun!” You smile at Toto before seeing the pointed look you give and you sigh, “Okay, maybe that’s not the only reason that I want you to come with me.”

“Obviously,” Toto remarks and smirks slightly, “so please. Explain why you want someone like me to assist you at this concert.” He raises a brow

“Because I really want to be the lucky winner of some pink fuzzy handcuffs that Sabrina gives out to a lucky person in the pit,” you whine softly as you lean forward, “pleaaaaaase.”

Toto is taken aback, surprised at the information you just told him, “Wh—pink fuzzy handcuffs? Why is she…” he shakes his head. This is not the time to ask about that, there are more pressing issues at hand. “How do I play into that?”

“Because she typically picks men over women and you just stand out and you are just so hot babe you’d be a shoo in for these cuffs.” You beam a smile to your boyfriend before you stand up and grab Toto’s shoulders gently, staring him dead in the eyes, “please, you would make me the happiest girl already if you got me these cuffs.”

Toto stares at you and sighs softly as he weighs his options, “Well, what’s in it for me?”

“Well,” you lean back, “free food. Free drinks—”

“Being stuck in an arena that is going to be extremely hot,” Toto interjects, “and loud, and probably result in a headache from the music and the people. Not to mention my ears ringing.”

���You get earplugs,” you pout slightly before leaning in a bit, “Toto. Listen to me. If you end up winning those cuffs, I will not only let you use them on me all night but I will drag you to the bathroom the moment the show is over and blow you into next year, okay?”

You weren’t very vocal when it came to being intimate. It’s not that you weren’t, you and Toto had a very healthy sex life, you just had never been one to really be into dirty talking or anything really vocalize outside of closed doors but this was different. You had been a long time Sabrina Carpenter fan and how many times could you win pink fuzzy handcuffs from your favorite artist to sing one of the horniest songs known to man while being able to handcuff your boyfriend?

Yeah, you had to make sure Toto knew what was on the line for these handcuffs. 

You watch the gears turn in Toto’s head as you take in his wide eyes and mouth open silently. You slowly nod when it finally clicks for Toto and he starts to slowly nod, “so, do you wanna come to this concert with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, good.” You smile and cup his face before giving Toto a gentle kiss. You pull back and kiss his cheek. “Okay! I have to go buy us matching outfits, I’ll be back!” 

“Okay Schatz,” Toto takes a moment, “Hey! No! Do not buy me an outfit!” He shouts and you laugh softly but manically because you are buying him an outfit that he’ll secretly love when the shock is over.

[queereads-bracket]

WINNER: Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

A groundbreaking work of science fiction, The Left Hand of Darkness tells the story of a lone human emissary to Winter, an alien world whose inhabitants spend most of their time without a gender. His goal is to facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the completely dissimilar culture that he encounters.

Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction.

Science fiction, classics, speculative fiction, anthropological science fiction, distant future, adult

Runners-up:

🥈 The Murderbot Diaries series by Martha Wells 🥉 Time to Orbit: Unknown series by Derin Edala 🥉 Nimona by ND Stevenson

View the spreadsheet of all books from this bracket here

View the full seeded matchup here

This is Left Hand of Darkness's second win, after previously winning the Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket!

[aarontveitisonfire]

Aaron Tveit is dying to work on a big Epic World building fantasy project. (16:30 interview)

Interviewer: You're great in the show [Earth Abides]. Hopefully you get a Game of Thrones style role coming your way in the future cuz I'd love to see you do it. Aaron: Thank you! Red Rising. That's the one I want to see. [laugh]

Also on portraying Charlie in new TV series Earth Abides (11:00 interview)

Aaron: I was very excited to do it. I've jokingly said to people but I'm actually serious like if could just play like Gary Oldman as bad guys my whole life, I would be so happy.

Watch full interview here. [I think this is the best interview for Earth Abides press so far.]

[requiemdesreves]

Melting Point

Part 1 - part 2 - part 3 pairing: college AU. mech student Vi x physics student reader word count: 3.1k a/n: idk why this ended up being so long tbh. i’m just chronically bored n have nothing better to do. someone pls drop show recs or i will combust 😭 anyway. since i’m suffering, this is now a 3-part series no one asked for.

Vi is your best friend in the world.

You mean it, because since you met her, she’s been a refuge, your company, and a light in your darkest moments. Always there, never judging, never tired of listening, celebrating your joys as if they were her own, and holding you up when you couldn’t go on. Over time, she taught you that true friendships exist, that there are people who stay, who care, who understand…

And that you can come with just her tongue in a matter of minutes.

Her hands parted your legs gently but firmly, she licked your clit several times before pressing her tongue softly against it. You couldn’t help but move your hips up and down, and she let you, letting you satisfy your need, letting you use her. When she decided to stop your movements to steady you, you felt two of her fingers playing with your entrance, and you stopped her:

“Just your mouth, Vi, please,” you whispered so sweetly she couldn’t say no. Then she picked up the pace, her movements changed, became more insistent. She wrapped her lips around your clit and sucked softly, lifting her eyes to look at you as she went on. Her eyes, that puppy-dog look, was what pushed you to the edge, the fact that the intensity of her gaze was begging for something, something you still don’t know, don’t understand. Because of course, that night is a thing of the past, a hidden moment from the first months of your friendship.

You remember how it all started, that afternoon the sun was mercilessly beating down on the cracked asphalt at the bus stop. The humidity made your clothes stick like an uncomfortable second skin. You were sitting on the edge of the bench backrest, checking the transit app for the third time. Delayed. Again.

You sighed, soaked in exhaustion, having had lab all afternoon, and the heat only made the wait more unbearable.

A horn sounded nearby, not loud enough to startle you but enough to catch your attention. When you turned, a matte black truck, with a few dents, had just stopped in front of you.

“Hey, brainiac,” you couldn’t help but smile at the nickname from that voice. It was Vi, with a crooked smile and that sparkling blue look that always seemed about to get into trouble. “Need a ride?”

You blinked. It wasn’t like Vi was a stranger, but you weren’t friends either. You’d crossed paths in a few general module classes, talked a couple of times, more by circumstance than choice.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you replied with a polite smile. “I live pretty far, it’d be a hassle.”

“Far like another city or another country?” Vi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. Her tone was playful, but there was something sincere in her offer. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

You hesitated. She didn’t seem like the type to offer favors out of courtesy. And yet, there she was, elbow resting on the window, like waiting for you under the sun was the most normal thing in the world.

“Are you sure I’m not making you go too far out of your way?”

Vi smiled. “Absolutely. In fact, I have a personal policy of rescuing smart girls who melt at bus stops. Consider it a heroic act.”

That made you laugh, short but genuine. You sighed one last time and got closer to the truck.

“Alright. But if you kidnap me, I’m going to complain the whole way.”

Vi pushed the passenger door open from inside. “Perfect. I love whiners. Get in.”

It stayed in your mind that, even though you didn’t know her well, you got in, but not before texting your mom to say someone was giving you a ride home, along with the license plate number of the truck, 'just in case.'

Inside, it was surprisingly tidy. A half empty water bottle rolled on the floor, and there was a wrench shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Vi broke the slightly awkward silence between you.

“So, physics, huh?” Vi said as she merged into traffic. You wondered how she knew since you’d never told her, though looking back, your personality probably gave it away or maybe it was the pin on your backpack that said “hot girls study physics” your sister had given you. “I always thought you looked like you could split atoms with your mind.”

“They don’t split,” you corrected immediately. “Technically, they’re bombarded with neutrons.”

She smiled. You thought she’d call you “brainiac” again, but she didn’t. “That’s sexy. I love bombs.”

You burst out laughing, surprised. Vi had that knack for turning the ordinary into something entertaining. The conversation flowed naturally. You talked about annoying professors, the upcoming semester, and above all, about how much more you had in common than you expected. 

The trust between you two grew quickly. You went from being casual acquaintances who'd bump into each other now and then to being more than just confidants. Before you even realized it, Violet already knew your parents, got along great with your siblings, and, most importantly, had become your personal chauffeur. At the time, your family was just coming out of a rough financial patch, so whenever you felt too lazy to take public transport and couldn't afford a taxi, you'd text her. She never said no, she was always there.

By the end of your third semester at university, you were at a party with the only two friends you’d managed to keep from high school when you started noticing something off. The vibe felt strange. They were acting weird, hanging around with three guys you’d never seen before, whispering and laughing in a way that made you uncomfortable.

So, without thinking twice, you pulled out your phone and texted your lifesaver.

You: Vi, are you busy?

You sent the message just as you felt a strange presence behind you. One of the guys your friends brought was whispering things in your ear that made you want to throw up. Not knowing what to do, you looked at your friends, who insisted you “go along with it” and “don’t be a bore.” Disgusted, you pulled away from his grip and ran to the club bathroom, slipping into the first empty stall you found. You grabbed your phone to send Vi another message, but saw the typing dots.

Vi: Depends on who’s asking. What’s up, doll?

You: I’m at a party and I need you to come get me, please.

Vi: Is it that bad? What happened?

You: Remember I told you about my best friends from high school? They invited me to celebrate one of their birthdays, but they brought three guys and want me to stay with one. They’re shoving him on me and won’t listen when I say no.

Vi: Seriously? Did they hurt you or anything? I’ve got a new wrench and it’d look great on the head of any asshole who hurts you.

You roll your eyes.

You: I’m serious, Violet.

Vi: So am I, baby.

That nickname made you feel weird. You imagined how she’d say it, with that crooked smile, whispering in your ear. You shook your head and refocused on the situation.

You: Can you come?

Vi: Sure, but there’s a little problem... I’m kind of on a date with the girl with the big ass from our computer science class, you know? The one with the big cake, the double escape, turbo booty, the SUV... You mind if we pick up both of you?

You: You could’ve just said her name, I know who she is. Also, SUV?

Vi: Yeah, cause it’s big and roomy. We’ll pick you both up, okay?

You: Isn’t that a hassle? If you’re on a date, maybe you shouldn’t interrupt.

Vi: Don’t be silly. You know my thing is having sex in the backseat after dinner and calling it “casual.” I’m on my way. Told my date we’re rescuing a damsel in distress.

You: Thanks, Vi. Really.

Vi: Always. Stay where you can see us when we get there. We’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t worry about a thing.

Vi’s fifteen minutes gave you just enough time to try to avoid your friends—keyword: try. As soon as you stepped out of the stall, you met their bloodshot eyes, drunk from so much drinking, but still insistent. As much as you cared for them, you’d said no, and you stood firm. Despite their attempts to convince you, you refused until you got fed up and told them to fuck off, leaving the bathroom and, without looking back, the club.

The night that hugged you was cold, and for some reason, it made you feel alone, betrayed. You don’t remember if it was the alcohol in your system or just standing alone on a corner on a Saturday night, but you wanted to cry, cry until you had no more tears, cry until you passed out and woke up when the bitter taste in your throat was gone. But you didn’t. The light of the truck, which you already recognized from just the sound, blinded you for a moment. And as if an angel sent from heaven to watch over you, you heard her voice:

“Get in, brainiac.” Vi’s voice made you want to cry even more, but you held back. You looked up to see the driver’s window rolled down, and through it, the pink-haired girl leaning slightly out, an elbow resting on the edge of the door. “It’s cold out here, and with that skirt on this corner, I’d dare to ask how much you charge by the hour, gorgeous.”

The girl next to her elbowed her and gave her a threatening look, to which she replied with a simple, “Relax, it’s a joke between friends.”

Without saying a word, you got in the back seat, head down. “Thanks for getting me out of here, Vi, and sorry to interrupt, really,” you whispered, feeling embarrassed now. Vi’s date wasn’t too happy about your interruption but tried to hide it as much as possible. Your best friend, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the girl’s irritation, giving you a concerned look through the rearview mirror and asking, “You okay?” You just nodded. You’d already bothered her enough by making her come get you; you didn’t want her to worry more.

The ride home was quiet for a few minutes. Then Vi and the stranger started talking about things you didn’t really understand. Your mind was elsewhere, quickly analyzing the night’s events, the way your “friends” treated you. Tears welled up again, but Vi’s turn snapped you out of it.

“Turn right,” you corrected her. “I thought you knew the way like the back of your hand.”

“I do.” She looked at you again. “We’ll drop off this lovely lady first.” The words surprised both you and her date, who gasped offended. You saw her try to argue, but Vi gently dismissed her, whispering so you wouldn’t hear.

A few minutes later, very offended, the girl got out at her house, slamming the door.

“Grumpy,” Vi whispered, turning to you with a sweet smile. “You coming up front or do I have to come get you?”

“Violet, why did you do that?” you scolded her as you gathered momentum to slide into the front seat without getting out of the car. “You were supposed to take me home and then go back to your date. Now Turbo Booty will think I’m one of those toxic friends who can’t stand to see the other in a relationship and she’ll hate me.”

“To hell with what she thinks. You’re going to explain in detail what happened at the party and why you were sobbing like a sad puppy the whole way here. And be honest.”

“I already told you what happened. They wanted to hook me up with one of those guys by force. I said no and told them to go fuck themselves. That’s it.” You said firmly, trying to sound convincing, but her look called you a liar, spelling out every letter. You looked down. “And I was crying because I felt betrayed... it hurt.”

The tears you’d held back finally came. “It hurt that they did that to me, that they treated me like that. It felt awful.” Violet looked at you, not knowing what to say. Then her arms wrapped around you gently, and she ran a hand through your hair, stroking it softly.

“It’s over, darling.” She whispers as she tries to soothe you. “You’re safe, I’ve got you, okay? Relax.”

Your sobs eventually stop, though your body still trembles slightly. “Sorry for ruining your date.”

She chuckles softly, and you look up to meet her usual teasing expression, though this time it’s a little softer.  “I told you it wasn’t a date.” Her fingers brush your face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Besides, even if it was, it doesn’t matter, you’re more important.”

“Thanks, I—”

“Stop thanking me for the tiniest things,” Vi interrupts, and her gaze makes you feel strange, something new. “Are you drunk?”

You shake your head. Feeling insecure, you’d decided not to drink at all, you didn’t even feel comfortable thinking about being drunk around those people. Vi hums quietly and stays silent for a few seconds, studying your eyes, your breathing. Then, slowly, her lips move closer to yours. You wait until they’re almost touching before turning your face, and your best friend’s soft lips press against your cheek.

You want to kiss her, you’ve wanted to for a long time, and you would have now if it weren’t for the fact that…

“Less than half an hour ago you were fucking someone, Vi. Kissing you would be kissing her, her pussy.”

“I… we didn’t go that far,” she sighs, looking at you with almost pleading eyes. “Sure, my plan was for us to, but then you called me.”

“So now I have to return the favor?” you ask sarcastically, hoping her answer won’t cost you another friendship.

“No.” Vi shakes her head quickly. “It’s not about that. You mean too much to me to do that to you. I just… thought you’d want it. I don’t know why, forget it, it was stupid.”

For the first time since you’ve been friends, you hear her mumble, doubt what she’s saying, doubt herself, and that surprises you. For some strange reason, it turns you on.

Without thinking, you move toward her, toward her lips, and kiss her. Your lips move slowly over hers. You both hesitate, wondering if you should stop, if it’s right, but you don’t. Instead, Vi presses her lips harder against yours. One hand travels to the back of your neck, gripping and pulling you closer in a way that makes you let out a moan muffled by her mouth.

Vi leans over you, reclining the seat, dominating the kiss with a passion that intoxicates you, carrying you to a dirty, lustful, carnal cloud. Her kisses trail down to your neck, where she bites and marks you. Yours. That’s what you are now, only hers.

Unaware, her hands are already on your thighs, slipping under your skirt. They’re timid, exploring unknown territory. You feel her fingers stroke the wetness your panties are already soaking. She smiles; you blush.

“We can stop if you want, darling,” she teases with a crooked smile, her fingers sliding over your clothed center.

“No.” The answer escapes you with a whimper that begs for more, needs more. You move your hips, pressing against her fingers. There’s a moment of silence as she stares at you, the same smile on her lips, her eyes half-closed.

Vi spreads your legs. It happens so suddenly it burns, it hurts. She kneels in front of you, moving slowly enough to annoy you. Your best friend is giving you time to reconsider, to think things through, and even though she wouldn’t want it, to say no. Seeing you don’t, she wastes no time burying her face between your legs, kissing your cunt over your underwear in a messier way than when she kissed you.

You hear her moan against your wetness, her fingers trembling as they slide your panties down. She doesn’t remove them completely, just leaves them around your knees. Then she watches for a few seconds, not at you, at her: your folds shining with the proof of your arousal, looking shy, as if you’ve never been touched, loved. Vi is deliberate with what she does, brushing her nose against your wet folds. Her tongue moves with precision that kills you, starting at your clit, moving to your entrance, then back again. Her movements are slow, teasing.

“Violet,” you moan her name, bringing one hand to her head, holding it exactly where you need it.

Vi, busy moaning over the slippery mess she’s making, looks up, and oh, you can’t help but squeeze her between your legs when you see those eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You shake your head. “Please, don’t stop.”

She chuckles softly. “Relax, doll, I won’t.”

Her hands part your legs again, this time gentle but firm. Her tongue works in small circles, nibbling and sucking your clit several times before pressing it softly against him. Your whimpers and her gasps fill the tight space in her truck. Neither of you says a word for a long while, just surrendering to the sensation.

Vi, who hasn’t even stopped to breathe, pauses to speak, her voice hoarse and dripping with saliva.

“You taste divine.”

That’s all she says before diving back between your legs.

You couldn’t help but move your hips up and down, and she let you, letting you satisfy your need, letting you use her. When she decided to stop your movements to steady you, you felt two of her fingers playing with your entrance, and you stopped her:

“Just your mouth, Vi, please,” you whispered so sweetly she couldn’t say no. You never told her, but she noticed, despite your outgoing personality and the long list of partners you’d had, your sexual experiences were few, and when it came to penetration, nonexistent.

Then she picked up the pace, her movements changed, became more insistent. She wrapped her lips around your clit and sucked softly, lifting her eyes to look at you as she went on. Her eyes, that puppy-dog look, was what pushed you to the edge, the intensity of her gaze begging for something, for more moments like this, for you to stay.

Your back left the seat, grinding yourself against her mouth. You feel everything inside you shift: the heat of your body, your breathing, the way you grab her hair, and, of course, the way you once saw your best friend.

That very night, Vi stroked your hair as your head rested on her chest. You both tried to catch your breath, to process everything that had just happened.

“I… we shouldn’t get used to this. It was just a one-time thing, you know?”

You roll your eyes but play along, because believe me, that wasn’t the last time, and you both knew it wouldn’t be.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[19agbrown]

Merlin Fic Poll Winner

Here is the winner of the Merlin fic poll.

When Worlds Collide

Merlin gets hit with a spell meant for Arthur, and gets transported to another dimension where he had died during The Poisoned Chalice.

Meanwhile, his Arthur believes Merlin to be dead, and spirals.

Finished product is 14k words, but this is just the first chapter. There are 12 chapters in total. They're not long, but they pack a lot of detail.

Rated M. I'm pretty sure no archive warnings really apply, but I used "chose not to use archive warnings" just in case.

[daphlandia]

"paper stars & promise cakes" is my first markhelena fic.

i hope you read it, i enjoyed writing it so much!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64970983/chapters/167027542

[jynxedshapeshifter]

I don't even need to know Eustace's backstory to get the vibe that his behavior is a result of trauma tbh. Like I DO know what his dad is like, and I'm sure Excelsius will move up a few spots on the "I want to throw them into the Thames" list when I finish Prosecutor’s Gambit, but I cannot help but notice Eustace asks for Gavèlle's reassurance a lot. It's making me really sad honestly. Like this poor kid acts SO confident but seeks reassurance too much for his confidence to be completely genuine. Eustace deserves a hug

[feketeribizli]

WAIT super important marci question i just thought of. when was his first podium? first gp win? has he had any of those already? (thinking about 2024 aston performance....no.....but it can't hurt to ask lmao)

LMAOOO bro still dreaming... bro got a handful of points to his name at best... 😔 love that for realism reasons i have two teams to pray for to have a decent fucking car this season

data could still change but i was thinking his first race was spain (which would mean i killed lance off at his own home race babygirl please forgive me) so that makes his second race (austria) be his first points race (another benefitter of the norstappen attempted murder). might rewatch those last handful of races and make up stats for him...

marci when he gets promoted to f1 but the team is in shambles the team is shite

[wordshaveteeth]

History is a silent record of people who could not leave, it is a record of those who did not have a choice, you cannot leave when you have nowhere to go and have no way to go there, you cannot leave when your children cannot get a passport, cannot go when your feet are rooted in the earth and to leave means tearing off your feet.

- Paul Lynch, Prophet Song

[slightlydraconic]

I'm very excited to start @batmanisagatewaydrug's 2025 book bingo! This is such a fun variety of categories. I haven't decided what I'll read for most of the spaces yet, but I have a few ideas to start:

Reread a Childhood Favorite: Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke was my absolute jam as a kid and I've been meaning to revisit it for awhile.

Sequel: Recently learned that Dragon Rider has a sequel, The Griffin's Feather, which I've never read! Amazing!

Published Before 1950: I've never actually read all of Dracula by Bram Stoker, and I really want to this year.

Bookseller or Librarian Rec.: One of my friends is a librarian, and in the past he has highly recommended The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, which intrigues me.

I'll be looking for more titles to fit the other categories, and am definitely taking recommendations if anyone has them!

[thedoomedhometown]

And the poll winner is

Chrono Trigger, with the disaster being Lavos: an asteroid impact and the living being within the asteroid emerging billions of millennia later, creating a supervolcanic eruption and a verneshot (displacement of material into the upper atmosphere, for it to rain back down equivalent to an asteroid impact/meteor storm)

I'm going to be brushing up on research on this and writing it up as best as I can over this week - like some of our disasters (e.g. the close runner up of Xenogears' Disc 2 with nanomolecular gray goo/mutation zombie apocalypse) this is one that's mostly speculative/hypothetical - even the closest analog we have in real life (the Chixculub impact) is something no one living thankfully experienced, although there's smaller impacts that have been (Tunguska, Chelyabinsk) and a lot can be inferred from those and calculations from nuclear weapon yields and the like.

Similarly, no supervolcanic eruption has happened in the real world since Krakatoa, so while it's somewhat more easy to model from living memory than an extinction level asteroid (and we do know more about volcanoes and how they work than asteroids and comets) there has never been a true verneshot within human existence (which would require a lot more power than even Krakatoa provided, it would likely need at least a level of the Toba catastrophe)

Congratulations to the people who voted for Chrono Trigger, and I shall have this up sometime within the week: I'm going to do some more research, update what I know from what real events and science we do have, so while I'm obviously speculating, I'm not JUST regurgitating something like Supervolcano or History Channel Doomsday and covering the same territory they did but for the setting of Chrono Trigger. (And unlike Doomsday, I promise there will be NO CGI butt plugs presented as Balanced Rock at Arches National Park. Not even joking, I just saw that episode again...)

Also, to be truly pedantic, since Lavos is a "living being," this would also qualify as an "alien attack," but I'm going with "asteroid, supervolcano, and verneshot" since that's the apparent effects and how it did its damage - it didn't say release armies or biological substances, didn't intentionally terraform aside from the results of its arrival, didn't take over existing power structures (but did get found/used by them) and seemed to do most of its damage just from being an impacting object and then from coming out from the ground.

Although that might be an interesting point for the write-up about true accidents/purely natural disasters/competing access need events: e.g. disasters that no one could have prevented because everyone/everything involved was operating exactly as intended/just as it does, and the bad consequences could not have been reasonably foreseen/were foreseen way too late, or it wasn't really anyone's specific fault but just one of bad placement for population/competing needs - e.g. in this fictional scenario, a planet devourer that just needs a solid meal, unfortunately the place is populated.

[pharawee]

Tag Game - Poll: 5 Fav Characters

Challenge: Make a poll with five six of your all time favourite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite.

I was tagged by @pickletrip (thaaaank you! 💜) so I decided to do it again, only this time with my favourite thirdwheelers/pathetic little meow meows (many thanks to @zhouxiangs for reminding me that I made a grave mistake by not including Wahl in the last poll).

For your consideration:

Tagging another five six people because this tag game is fun as heck: @tortibomb @markmybirds @befuddledcinnamonroll @leonpob @singto-prachaya @scarefox (only if you want to of course 💜)

[thlayli-ra]

The Spider and the Fly

Characters - John Cena, CM Punk

Pairing - John Cena/CM Punk

AU - Winner's Room AU

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Winner's Room, blood, concussion, choking, rape/non-con, dubcon, Heel!Cena

Words - ~3k words

Summary - Cena claims his Winner's Rights from Punk... and sends a message!

Wanted to get this out before Raw tonight will probably ruin it 😅

For @stripeydani , @d-lanx , @selamat-linting and @are-we-really-doing-this and all the other Punkena shippers out there. Umm but.... I'M REALLY, REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS!!!! FORGIVE ME FOR I HAVE SINNED!!!!

*** Please note the tags! You have been warned!***

He found Punk in his private locker room, sitting slouched on the far bench with his head in his hands. As soon as he noticed John enter however he slowly straightened up, swiping his hand back over his hair. Cena noted the subtle curl on Punk's lips, the slight softening of his red, puffy eyes, like he had been expecting him. Or hoping he would.

'Hey,' Punk said and a heavy silence hung between them, a membrane as fragile as a bubble, one finger poke away from popping. Punk moved first, the tattooed man getting to his feet with a groan as his aching bones creaked and hobbled towards him. John tensed, readying himself for a confrontation. Instead he was offered a single taped hand. 'Congratulations... Winner.'

Winner! The word sounded strange on Cena's tongue, like a bitter pill he had trouble swallowing. Not that he was unaccustomed to winning; he had enjoyed the lion's share of victories throughout his storied career and was a sure-fire entrant for the Hall of Fame one day.

No, the issue was that he'd won... against Punk!

For over a decade now, Punk had been his banana-peel opponent. The last time he'd defeated him on a Premium Live Event was back when they were still called Pay-Per-Views. Elimination Chamber 2011 to be exact when, just like tonight, he'd eliminated Punk last to become the overall winner. After that, they'd wrestled five times on major events yet Punk had emerged victorious each and every time. He had John's number, could see every one of his Five Moves of Doom coming and counter them effortlessly. No matter what John did, Punk had a knack of running rings around him, all while wearing that unbearably smug grin on his pierced lips.

But things were different now. They were older, slower, balding and greying and that lip ring was now a sad distant memory. But that wasn't all.

Cena stared down at the open palm, thinking back to that moment in the ring when he had extended the same olive branch to Punk, remembering the way the younger man had shook his head, hushed out a 'no', then embraced him in a hug. Now, with the roles reversed, the message was still the same. 'No,' John said at last then rushed forward and wrapped Punk up in a hug of his own. The tattooed man sighed contently, sinking into his Winner's arms he pressed his face against Cena's shoulder.

They lingered there, wrapped up in in each other's warmth, the rest of the world melting away until there was only him and Punk, only them, only this moment. Whatever else existed beyond that door ceased to matter.

'I'm sorry.'

Another echo from the chamber. Punk didn't so much as flinch. 'Don't be,' he said, 'I missed you.'

The ghosts were surrounding them, both men haunted by what had transpired before, but then, hadn't it always been this way? Punk and Cena. Cena and Punk Their legacies entangled, tethered together with unbreakable chains. 'I missed you too,' Cena replied and went to lift Punk's chin with his hand-

But it only broke the spell, the younger man blinking back to reality when he caught sight of red smears marring John's fingers. 'You're bleeding!' Punk exclaimed and in that moment it reverted back to what it used to be. Punk taking charge. 'Sit down. I'll fix you up.'

Cena smiled, enjoying the welcome taste of familiarity. They'd always had this kind of dynamic between them with Punk opting to be the one handling the reigns. Everybody believed Punk was a sub, and for the most part they were right; he got off on being dominated and beaten down. They all witnessed how sweetly the tattooed man writhed with pain, the way he would open his legs as he lay face-down on the mat, suffering beautifully as blood poured down his twisted features.

But how easily they forgot that other side of CM Punk. The one that liked to dangle a hapless victim on the end of a string then twitch his little finger to make them dance. His theme music was 'Cult of Personality' for a good reason; he liked to take poor, broken souls under his charred wings and mould them into his latest devotees. People went insane for Punk - look at Drew, look at Seth - whether they wanted to or not and very few were ever aware of the demon's curse until it had already devoured them whole.

That included Cena. Their first match together, when John had tried to call the plays and Punk had scoffed before putting John in his place quicker than a whipped dog, had changed something in the older man's brain chemistry. Before, he thought Punk was a scraggly misfit, petulant and difficult but after that match, he rapidly became one of John's favourite opponents. He liked Punk being in charge, he liked being able to switch his brain off and let himself be lead for once.

'I said 'sit'.'

John obeyed and took a seat on the bench while Punk grabbed up a towel and headed through to the showers. Left alone for a brief spell, John felt the mask slip from his face. His lips stiffened, his eyes darkened, losing that sparkle of innocence they once held. Yes, things were different now. This time when Punk came to gleefully gnaw on John's soul like a chew toy, the way he always did, he would find nothing there but a festering hole.

'What am I gonna do with you, John-Boy?' Cena swiftly put the mask back on, smiling sweetly at the tattooed man as he wrung the excess water from the towel in the doorway of the shower room. 'Didn't even think I was that rough with you this time.' Punk look up and returned the soft smile, a cheeky light dancing in his gentle hazel eyes.

'You weren't,' John replied, his voice sounding gruff and course in the peace of the locker room. He cleared his throat to sand off the rot. 'Trust me.'

'I do,' Punk said, setting off an invisible spark in the older man's chest, exciting him, 'but if I was man-handling you like you say, then how the hell did you get the pin on me?'

Pin? He hadn't won by pinfall. How did Punk not know that...

Cena thought back to the closing moments of the Chamber. The stomp from Rollins had been brutal, smashing Punk's skull right into the thinly padded steel on the outside of the ring. The worst part was that the tattooed man didn't even see it coming and didn't have a chance to protect himself as his brow collided hard. Now, scanning his eyes over the other man, Cena noting the large welt bruising Punk's forehead, the way he leaned too heavily on the doorframe for support, how sluggish and clumsy every one of movements were.

And in that moment, a wonderful realisation broke on him like a radiant dawn. Punk was concussed, his brain entirely scrambled. He couldn't even remember the end of the match!

'I guess I just wanted it more,' Cena said. Careful there, John. Don't give the game away just yet.

Punk snorted with derision as he stumbled closer. 'Not a chance,' he rebutted, 'I wanted that win more than anybody else in that cage.'

Oh Punk, you're really not that naive, are you? To think that just because you were the only one (that mattered) in the Chamber who's never main-evented Wrestlemania that you were the only one who cared? Punk moved in close to grab up Cena's soiled hand and rub it clean with the damp towel. John watched him, his gaze locked tight as a sniper's rifle. Punk's hazels flicked up briefly, caught him staring and paused, their faces inches from each other.

John's fingers found Punk's dishevelled hair, his hand gliding through the sweaty strands until it clasped the back of his head and pulled him in. Their lips found one another, both men opening wide to welcome their dear friend in. Punk's mouth was warm and moist albeit empty without the tongue bar and even though he'd stopped chewing gum in the ring, it still tasted as sweet as cherry pie, the rich red tang bursting with juices beneath its buttery outer layer.

While they kissed, Cena artfully closed his powerful thighs around Punk's slender waist, locking him in. The Venus flytrap closing its mighty jaws around the fly after luring it in with its nectar.

You wouldn't know, Punk. You wouldn't know because you've never tasted it but closing the Showcase of the Immortals once, twice, five times? It was never enough. It's an urge, a need, a hook that fastens itself deep into a person's lip and hauls them in, much like what I'm doing to you right now.

His other hand trailed down Punk's back, feeling each droplet of sweat catching in the folds of his skin, until it came to rest at his hip, delicately teasing the waistband of his trunks.

Punk pulled away from the kiss abruptly. 'Cool your jets, John-Boy,' he scolded the older man in his best commanding tone, the one that once turned Cena's insides to putty. 'First, we deal with the bleeding then we can have fun.'

John watched as Punk grasped his hand again to wipe the last of the blood off, his expression unchanging, a being made of granite, grey and cold. He had grown tired. Tired of the posturing and the constant need to pander to the masses. His whole career he'd been a victim to the whims of the crowd. They loved him, they hated him. If Cena won, they rioted. He was a boring do-gooder who couldn't wrestle and buried other talent. Then, in that Chamber, when he and Punk had finally come face-to-face, they started to chant.

Let's go Cena! CM Punk!

Let's go Cena! CM Punk!

Memories came flooding back. To times when he was despised by anybody over the age of ten, to when he was seen as a corporate stooge selling out. To when they all put their adoration on a skinny runt from the indies with slicked back hair and a Pepsi tattoo. Punk was a damn dirty heel back then and they revered him, raised him to become the biggest babyface in the company overnight to where he even began outselling Cena's merchandise. He understood why, he'd been there and heard the Pipebomb live, the words spilling from pierced lips like venom. He could see the appeal of CM Punk - the rage, the fire, the danger. It had sucked him in just as easily.

The hand stroking back and forth along Punk's waistband refused to relent until it needed to do more than tease. Without warning, John pushed his hand inside, under the trunks, under the speedo, to grab his trophy between his legs. Punk let out a loud yelp and froze. The fly now paralysed by the spider's bite, ready to be bound up tight and devoured.

'Fuck John, I told you to wait until I'd finished.'

'Then finish,' John rolled his fist along Punk's already semi-hard dick, lavishing in the whimpers it drew from the tattooed man.

'Fine.' Punk grit his teeth, fighting against the sensations wracking his senses. Fighting his basic desires. Fighting. Just like out in that Chamber when he'd kicked out from a Pedigree, kicked out from a Stomp, kicked out from an AA. Again and again. Always fighting.

Never give up, right?

John watched the lines in Punk's face crinkle with every sloping pull of his large hand, spied the crow's feet deepen as his eyes lazily blinked, getting hazy with lust. Just a little more...

Punk wiped the last of the blood, then examined John's hand. Knotting his brow he turned it over, inspecting the back. 'I can't find it,' he said, and John let the sickness take hold, the darkness creeping into his features. 'John, where's your wound?'

Cena smiled. Not that poster boy, all-American smile that made the girls swoon and the kids cheer. Not the cute, dimply smiles he often shared behind closed doors with Punk whenever they found themselves in each other's company. No, he sneered, like a python that finally had its coils wrapped taut around its prey.

'It wasn't my blood,' he said.

The knot deepened. Punk trying to solve the conundrum after only hearing half the riddle. 'Then... who's was it?'

Cena just stared back, quirking his brows.

'John?' He tried that commanding voice again, utterly oblivious to the switch happening between them, how their roles were rapidly reversing. 'Who's blood was it?' Cena refused to answer beyond his vicious sneer. Watching as it all clicked into place in the other man's foggy mind. '...Cody? What did you-? CODY!'

Punk tried to get away but John's legs were locked tight around him like a snare, tightening the more the rabbit struggled. The hand that was only moments ago being tended to so gently by the tattooed man now grabbed him by the throat. Using his superhuman strength, Cena spun Punk around, sending his spine crashing hard into the wall. Punk struggled, beating his fists against the arms that held him. Always fighting. But the more he writhed like an insect stuck on flypaper, the more he became trapped, Cena squashing him tight into the small recess.

'It's too late, Punk,' John informed his prize with a face now devoid of human emotion.

'GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!'

'Stop yelling.'

'FUCK YOU!'

'Fine. I know exactly how to shut little punks up.' The fingers on Punk's throat pressed tighter, pushing into his windpipe. The shouting stopped instantly as Punk's face began to turn a deep pink. Their gazes met and Cena admired the way Punk's red-rimmed, tear-bitten eyes struggled to focus on him. His head injury raging inside his skull. Would he remember this moment too?

He'd make damn sure of it!

It was too easy to rip Punks' flimsy little trunks down, freeing his rock-solid cock. John suppressed a chuckle at the sight as he unbuckled his belt and jorts with his free hand and let them fall to his ankles. 'Sit,' he ordered the younger man, shoving him down by the grip at his neck until he was slouched against the bench, his erect cock standing like a flagpole. Never once releasing his grip on his trophy's throat, Cena mounted him, pushing himself down onto Punk's dick until it broke through his ring of muscle. Punk grimaced, his inked fingers weakly digging into Cena's wrist as he brutally ground his hips down onto him, forcing him further and further in until he was buried deep.

'You surprised?' Cena taunted his prize, who squinted up at him pleadingly, trying to gasp in air. 'This is always how we do it, right?'

John started to bounce, feeling Punk's cockhead rub up and down his passage. And every so often while he rode his trophy, he squeezed Punk's neck a little tighter. See, the problem with the STF is that his opponent was always facing away so he never got to see their expression as he applied the pressure and in the Chamber, when Punk was being cruelly crushed beneath Cena's weight, his little porcelain body going limp as he passed out, the sensation had felt so delicious that Cena wished with all his heart he could see the life fade from Punk's eyes himself.

Now here, in his Winner's Room, he got his opportunity. His eyes never once leaving Punk's face. Watching as his eyebrows steepled up pleadingly, meeting in the middle like two hands touching in prayer. His eyelids drooped over his glassy hazels while his mouth hung open. Cena hooked his finger in, dragging it across his slack lower lip.

Yes, things had changed and this was how it was meant to be. With Cena on top, the king on his throne and everybody else firmly beneath him. He'd understood the moment he'd witnessed Punk, dazed from Seth's vicious final stomp, hanging limply, half-suspended by the bottom rope with his ass up, begging to be bred like a prize bitch in heat. He had relented to this little slut for too long and it was time to finally stamp his authority on him like a brand.

He punctuated that sentiment with another savage drive onto Punk's cock. His trophy was failing now, going under, so Cena grabbed his own throbbing cock and pumped it urgently, pushing himself over the edge. He came with a grunt, soiling his trophy's stomach and thighs with his red hot cum. After catching his breath for a moment, he stood up, yanking himself free of Punk's dick. It flopped, his erection wilting like a flower in the frost.

Then finally, Cena released the hold on his neck. Punk fell, collapsing to the floor at John's feet. The older man admired the view as he pulled his pants back up and buckled them securely. Once dressed, he nudged the lifeless corpse at his feet with his toe, laughing as he placed his sneaker against Punk's head and shoved it into the dirt, just like he had done with Cody only moments before.

'Well Punk,' he spoke aloud, his voice booming against the eerie quiet of the locker room, 'while you lay there, hopefully as uncomfortable as you can possibly be, I want you to listen to me.' He bent down low, closer to Punk's ear. 'I don't hate you Punk. I don't even dislike you. I like you a hell of a lot more than I like most people in the back. I just hate this idea that you're the Best in the World.'

Grabbing a fistful of hair, he lifted Punk's heavy head off the floor, watching as a line of drool ran from his lips to the tiles below.

'Because you're not. I'm the best!'

He let go, heard the crunch of Punk's face hitting the ground then stood up. Grabbing one of Punk's towels he wiped himself clean as he left the carnage behind in his wake.

'And I'm gonna remind each and every one of you.'

[i-cast-zone-of-truth]

Ok but to take the idea of the Kingdom in botw-totk seriously for a second. “Kingdom” means different things in botw vs totk:

In botw, an actual State existed with government and systems etc and when ppl sigh wistfully over it, they’re thinking of the protections offered by that hegemony, but it’s been a hundred years and they don't remember everything that that meant. they can only imagine that world— but it must have been very great! Just look at the mess it left behind!

Totk’s Kingdom refers to “the place where all Link’s friends live.” still bounded by the canyon, the desert, and the ocean…. but the return of one princess does not a unifying government make. The different peoples clearly govern themselves, and look kindly on Zelda who after all only shows up to help (accompanied by 1-5 hylians max). She doesn’t need an army, because she’s not threatening to re-subjugate anyone; she’s just here to study the local insect species, please.

Link losing his memory has more than one upside, because not only did he not immediately have to remember everyone he would feel he’d personally failed in the Calamity, but 100 years ago he was Fully Bought In to the whole Kingdom thing, and it would have been incredibly rough to throw him directly from that into this disordered, emptied place and expect him to see something beautiful.

[lezarus]

i cant be a multishipper. trust me ive tried. fundamentally my brain is wired in a way where if i like a character a lot i need them to beat the ass of anyone else who’s interested in their partner emotional and/or physically. i need them to WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!

[luvinaeverdene]

The Shape of Water (2017)

Directed by Guillermo del Toro