#witness my lack of self control

[incognit0slut]

The breaking point

Part 2 of Beyond the Limit (can also be read as a standalone)

Spencer realizes that being dominant doesn’t always require him to be rough, especially when he has complete control over your body.

warnings: (18+, MDNI) soft dom spence because there’s a lot of praising in this one, reader in lingerie, orgasm control or edging, overstimulation, reader gets cockdrunk (idk how to explain it better), a little cockwarming at the end

Words: 4,3k

a/n: this has been in my drafts for a while and i finally finished it, i don’t usually do a part two for my oneshots but…i’m actually tempted to do more

You were a tease—a goddamn tease. Spencer knew he needed to work on his self-control, but it was hard to keep his composure when you had the ability to stir desire within him. It was perplexing, given that there was a time when thoughts of anything remotely sexual never even crossed his mind.

For the majority of his life, intimacy had been a foreign concept. While he occasionally felt a pang of jealousy witnessing everyone around him find love, he managed just fine without it.  He suspected it was partly a defense mechanism, channeling his focus toward other aspects of his life—such as his mother's health, for example—to avoid dwelling on what he lacked.

But then all his beliefs shattered when you came crashing into his life. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew about himself was thrown away. Your presence sparked a fire within him that he never knew existed and he found himself craving the intimacy he had once dismissed as unnecessary.

He wasn't even aware of how touch-starved he was until he met you, and now it was hard to maintain that last thread of self-control he possessed. It wasn't that he didn't want to give in, but rather, he feared the intensity of his own desires, afraid that he might enjoy it more than he anticipated.

Because did he have to be rough with you for him to be satisfied, now that he had once known how it felt like? But how could he indulge in such temptation when you looked so utterly beautiful right now, so delicate, so precious in his eyes?

How could he even fathom ruining your perfection with roughness?

"Spence?" You nervously asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Your confidence was starting to dissipate as his eyes slowly traveled down your body, taking in the lingerie you chose to surprise him. Although this was not the reaction you were hoping for. "Do you not... like it?"

Spencer's gaze lingered on you, his expression was unreadable for a moment before a warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"No, no, it's not that," he reassured you, putting down the book he had been reading on the bedside table before you walked into your shared bedroom. He reached his hand out, motioning you to come closer. "It's just... you caught me off guard, that's all."

You approached him cautiously and as you stepped closer, you noticed the tension in his shoulders easing, replaced by a soft warmth in his eyes. His hand found its place on your waist, drawing you closer and you instinctively fell on his lap, your knees dipping onto the bed on each side of his thighs.

Feeling his arousal right between your legs, you couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips. "So you do like it," you murmured, a hint of satisfaction lacing your words.

"Like it? Sweetheart, that's an understatement," he replied. His calloused palms traveled along your sides as he took in the way the lace material hugged your curves.

The lilac-colored lingerie set on your body accentuated your figure perfectly. Both pieces were see-through, granting him a glimpse of your chest and lower region. The delicate edges of the top were adorned with more of the soft fabric, cascading over your stomach and back in a gentle, stunningly pretty way.

"You're so beautiful," Spencer whispered as he traced the intricate patterns of the fabric with his fingertips. "Absolutely breathtaking."

His touch sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into him, relishing the warmth and tenderness of his touch as one of his hands moved up your arm before resting behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

His lips touched yours gently, sending a thrill coursing through your body. He nipped at your bottom lip, his touch both teasing and tender and as he sucked on it softly, a low moan escaped you. He then deepened the kiss, his tongue gently pushing into your mouth, and you kissed him back eagerly, your lips moving in perfect sync with his.

When he finally pulled away, you were left breathless, but he didn't stop giving you attention. His mouth made its way down to your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin and you couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. He then sucked on the spot below your ear, his lips creating a deliciously pleasurable sensation that made you moan softly in response.

You could feel his smile against your skin as he continued to travel further down, his lips leaving a trail of heat along your neck and collarbone. At the same time, his fingers pulled down the strap of your lingerie top, the material gracefully falling down your body, revealing more of your skin.

"Beautiful," he whispered as if it was the first time he laid his eyes on you, even if the two of you lost count long ago. His name slipped from your lips the moment his wide palms were pressed to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh and your nipples hardened beneath his touch.

Your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, and your breathing quickened in response when his thumb traced over your sensitive peak, sending electric sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Spencer watched the way your eyes widened with desire, his own filled with a hunger that mirrored yours. And when he leaned closer, wrapping his soft lips around it, you were instantly gone.

The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, eliciting the most sinful sound you weren't even aware of making. It was like music to his ears, fueling his desire to please you even more. He continued to suck on your skin, giving the same attention to each breasts, his movements growing more fervent with each passing moment.

When he felt your hips bucking against his, he let out a low, guttural groan of pleasure. He softly drew back your nipple, your supple skin following his pull before he released it with a soft pop. Your skin glistened from his saliva, and honestly, Spencer had never seen such a splendid sight before.

The way you were grinding against him over his cotton pants frantically sent a surge of desire coursing through his veins. He could feel the thin fabric of your sheer panties pressing between your cunt, and with each movement, he could see glimpses of soft, bare skin glistening under the light, driving him wild with longing.

A primal need surged within him, a need to devour you, to lose control and indulge in the raw intensity. He craved to run his rough hands along your body, to explore every inch of your skin and claim you as his own. But he couldn't—not when you were the one in control as you sought pleasure in the way your hips moved against his.

So instead, his hands found purchase on your hips, guiding you to move faster. "That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going."

You obeyed, pressing your aching heat against his cock, rolling your hips rapidly as a whimper of his name escaped you. You felt yourself growing hot and needy, your arousal dripping through your panties to coat his flesh beneath you, soaking through fabrics.

"Look at how wet you are," he mused, his voice laced with desire as he observed your flushed state and the evidence of your arousal staining the fabric between you. "Does this feel good?"

Your only response was another desperate moan, your body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of being with him. What started lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

"I need to feel you," you breathed out quickly, and before he could register what was happening, your fingers were pulling down his pants frantically. Sensing your desperation, he was quick to push the fabric down as his cock sprung free.

You bit down on your bottom lip as you lift your hips above him, taking him by the base with one of your hands while the other pushed the material of your panties to the side. He groaned when you pressed the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice. Spencer always made sure you were fully ready, either with his fingers or mouth—or even with your own fingers. But you were already wet enough, and you couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside you.

You nodded eagerly, the need for him overpowering any hesitation. "Please," you begged, your voice pleading and desperate. "I need you now."

Both of you watched in awe as his girth stretched your clenched walls, the sensation of being filled to the brim overwhelming your senses. It wasn't the first time this happened, but it felt like a new sensation each time, and you found yourself instinctively clenching around him, eager to feel him even deeper inside you.

"Fuck," you whimpered, allowing yourself a moment to adjust to his size. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as you squeezed yourself around him. With a slow, deliberate motion, you lifted your hips, feeling him ease out of you, only to lower yourself onto him again.

The sensation of him sliding back inside you made you gasp, a rush of pleasure washing over you as you took him deeper. His groan reverberated through your body, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. As his head fell back against the headboard, you couldn't help but whimper, the words tumbling from your lips without much thought.

"You fill me up so good," you confessed, your voice laced with desire as you rolled your hips against him. Your hands slipped under his shirt, feeling his soft stomach clench underneath your fingertips with every upstroke of your hips. "Take this off, baby."

With a low growl of approval, Spencer complied, swiftly removing his shirt and tossing it aside. Without hesitation, your hands trailed over his chest, reveling in the sensation of his smooth skin beneath your fingertips, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

He watched you intently, captivated by the raw display of pleasure that painted your features. The way your face twisted in ecstasy, the way your mouth hung open in silent gasps, the way your breasts bounced with every movement—all of it drove him to the edge of his self-control.

As you quickened your pace, he felt his restraint slipping away, the urge to claim you completely becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Each time you clenched around him, it became harder for him to hold back. And as always, you could tell. You could feel the tension in his grip on your hips, the way his fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive urgency.

You slowed your hips, bringing your hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "You're doing it again."

His gaze met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and frustration. He knew exactly what you were referring to. "I... I can't help it. You drive me crazy."

"I know that," you responded, stilling for a moment as you kept him buried deep inside you. "I just need you to do something about it."

He slowly shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," you assured him, your voice filled with confidence as you leaned closer, bumping your nose against him seductively. "Come on, I know how much you want to be in control."

When he didn't respond, you pushed him even further, your lips tantalizingly close to his as you whispered your seductive taunt.

"I know you want more," you teased. "Don't you want to take control? Lie me on my back and fuck me until I can't think anymore? Until I beg you to stop while you use my body over and over again?"

"Don't tempt me," he choked out, his voice thick with longing and restraint.

But you weren't finished yet. "Yeah?" you challenged, your tone daring as you buried your hand in his disheveled, sweaty hair. "Then I dare you to."

You tugged on his roots.

"Fuck me, Spencer." You nipped on his bottom lip. "Fuck me real good."

His breath caught in his throat at your bold words, his heart pounding rapidly. With a shaky exhale, he met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter than ever before.

And then, in a sudden surge of boldness, he surprised you, flipping you onto your back as you let out an amused squeal. But your laughter was quickly drowned out by the heat of his lips crashing down on yours.

He kissed you feverishly, with a messy and desperate hunger that left you breathless. He clung onto you as if you were the very air he needed to survive. He was devouring you as if you were the most delicious meal he had ever encountered, and he savored every moment, every sensation, swallowing your desperate moans.

And then he pulled out and you whimpered at the loss but any hint of disappointment vanished as you watched him shed his last piece of clothing. Then with deliberate slowness, he reached for your panties, his eyes locked on yours as he dragged them up your leg, savoring the sight of the damp fabric clinging to your skin.

When he finally discarded it on the floor, he wasted no time in grabbing one of your legs. With deliberate tenderness, he began trailing soft kisses along the inner part of your thigh, each gentle press of his lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your breath quickened as you watched him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I'm not going to be rough," he whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving yours as he planted soft kisses right at the edge of your drenching heat, teasingly close to where you craved him most. He then crawled over your body, settling himself between your legs, his gaze locked on yours.

"But I am going to use you," he murmured, his words sending a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "You'll let me do that, won't you?"

As he hovered above you, his weight supported by his arms, you watched a strand of his outgrown hair fall over his eyes. With a gentle touch, you reached out and tucked it behind his ear, a soft smile playing on your lips as you nodded in response.

"Say it," he urged. "Tell me you're mine to use."

You met his gaze, your own eyes dark with longing and anticipation. "I'm yours," you whispered, and when you felt his tip pressing into your entrance once again, you gasped. "I-I’m yours to use."

In one swift motion, he filled you again with a hard thrust that had you arching your back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you. "S-Spence..."

"Good girl," he praised, his words sending shivers down your spine as he kissed your cheek. His hips began to roll into you, setting a rhythm that drove you wild. "My good, pretty girl."

You whined in response, the sound music to his ears as he continued to thrust into you at a steady rhythm. He relished the way you responded to him, the way you surrendered to the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to use the way you were satisfied, to use the way you wanted him, to take you to the brink of ecstasy.

He wanted to use you in every way possible, to make you his in every sense of the word.

Spencer never considered himself a possessive person, but when it came to you, he wanted to be the one you surrendered to completely. And in this moment, he had never felt more in control. It was intoxicating, the power he held over you, the way you willingly gave yourself to him.

That was why when he felt you clenching around him, knowing you were so close to your peak, he stopped. He wanted to draw out this moment, to savor every sensation, every sound you made, every breath that escaped your lips. He wanted to draw out your pleasure until you were begging for release, until you were completely and utterly his.

"Why—" you gasped. "Why did you stop?"

He smiled down at you. "Because I want to make you feel good, Angel," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "And I want to take my time doing it."

Your head fell back, and you couldn't help but bite your lip to suppress a moan. His use of the term Angel always had a way of melting your resolve, and you knew he was fully aware of the effect it had on you.

"Be patient," he chided before burying his head in the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin gently. Then, he resumed moving his hips, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. It felt incredible, but you couldn't shake the desire for him to fuck you harder.

"More," you cried out, feeling as if you were in a deep haze.

"Yeah? Spread your legs wider then."

You whimpered at his simple command, your shuddering legs gradually spreading a few inches wider. It was becoming harder to breathe from the way he was pushing you into the mattress, but you welcomed the pleasure, craving more of him.

Your hands clawed at his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks from your nails as you desperately sought something to hold onto. The intense pleasure coiled tightly in your gut, making you feel as if you were gasping for air while your head swam with overwhelming sensations.

Your moans became more fragmented with every stroke of his hips, your thoughts clouded by the pulsating ache between your legs. All you could focus on was the overwhelming sensation building within you, traveling along your body. You were so close—and then it stopped.

It simply stopped right at the edge, and you couldn't feel anything but a raw need. It was incredibly frustrating as you caught him smiling down at you. You whined and bucked your hips, chasing the tight warmth you had so suddenly been denied.

Your breath came out in short, ragged gasps. "You're evil," you managed to say, your voice trembling with need. "I-I was so close..."

"Too soon," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to yours. "Just imagine how good it'll be once I finally let you come."

Spencer then slowly pulled away, his eyes tracing every detail of your trembling form—the way your mouth was slackened open, the way your hair sprawled across the sheets, the way your eyes fluttered closed yet struggled to remain open. He noticed them glistening with unshed tears, on the verge of falling, and a pang of guilt tugged at his heart.

He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he couldn't help himself. He was simply using you, just like you asked him to. But seeing the tears welling in your eyes, a wave of tenderness washed over him, and he leaned down to kiss them away, whispering soft words of comfort.

"Shhh, it's okay," he murmured. Although his words were spoken softly, there was nothing gentle about the way he continued to fuck you. "You can take it. Hold on a little bit longer, I promise."

A choked sob escaped you as he pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, murmuring soothing words. One of his hands reached between you, settling on the lower part of your stomach before pressing down gently as he felt the outline of cock moving inside you. He let out a groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"That’s it, Angel," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "You're taking me so well."

You whimpered almost pathetically as everything started to blur. You were a sweaty mess, both of you were, his skin gliding along yours effortlessly as he continued to thrust into you. The sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, so sticky, so messy, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

The throbbing between your legs was starting to burn, but at the same time, it felt so good—the way he was stretching you, the way you could feel him moving in and out of you. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, it was all too much but also not enough.

"S-Spence..." you whined, your head spinning with pleasure, almost too delirious as drool seeped down the corner of your lips. "Pl-Please, I-I can't—"

A soft chuckle escaped him as he watched you struggle to form coherent words. "Alright, alright, I got you," he murmured reassuringly. "On three now. Can you be a good girl and come at the count of three?"

You nodded weakly. "Yes, yes," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice filled with satisfaction. "One..."

Your breath hitched as anticipation built within you. Obscene wet noises filled your ears as he continued to fuck you, and with each number, his thrusts grew more deliberate, more intense.

"Two..."

You whined and he swallowed your moans, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. You couldn't form any coherent words. You couldn't even think. It was too fucking much and you were on the verge of your breaking point.

And then, on the final count, he drove into you with such force that it sent you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

"Three," he whispered as he pulled back slightly, a string of saliva connected your parted mouths.

You gasped, holding onto him tightly as waves of pleasure consumed you. Your senses overwhelmed, your vision blurred with white-hot intensity, and tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the edge of overstimulation.

T-Too much—You can't. You fucking can't.

The sensation never seemed to end and you found yourself surrendering to it,  your mind going blank. It was as if you were intoxicated by the heady sensation, your senses dulled and heightened all at once, drunk on his touch. Your body felt so wet, so sensitive, so overwhelmed by the sheer force of your climax. 

And when you thought it couldn't get any more intense, he proved you wrong by rutting his hips even harder with so much force as he chased his own high. He tucked his head in your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he moaned into your ear. With a few final thrusts, he drove into you deeply, his body tensing as he released himself inside you.

You were tired, so overwhelmingly spent, and as you both came down from the high, you gasped and trembled, your body finally relaxing from the pent-up tension. Your eyes felt glassy and unfocused, blinking slowly as you registered his murmured praises against your neck and shoulder.

He gently pulled away, and you winced as you felt him still throbbing inside you. Slowly, he searched for your eyes, his gaze filled with tenderness, and sighed in relief when you looked up at him with a tired yet blissful smile on your lips.

He smiled softly, relieved by your response. "You're okay."

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. "Hmm," you murmured, running your fingers along his damp hair. "I'm more than okay."

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You did so well," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I'm so proud of you."

You giggled. "Me? I never thought you could be tempted to do that so easily."

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours. "You have that effect on me," he confessed. "Besides, it's hard to resist you."

"I am pretty irresistible, aren't I?"

"Absolutely," he replied as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. He shifted his weight and started to pull out, only for you to wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place.

"No, no," you pleaded. "Stay inside me for a while."

He paused, looking down at you with a smile. "We need to clean up."

"And we will." You ran a hand over his shoulder. "Just... give me five minutes."

He sighed, his resolve melting under your pleading gaze. "Alright, five minutes," he agreed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "But then we really need to clean up."

You responded with a soft hum, snuggling closer to him as he shifted toward the empty space on the bed. With a gentle gesture, he pulled you on top of him, enveloping you in his arms as you sprawled across his body. 

You let out a sigh, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the rhythm of his heart beating against your own. And as you savored the sensation of him still pulsing inside you, you smiled peacefully—you have never felt so complete.

I'm tempted to turn this into a series of one-shots where he and Reader explore new kinks together... or like how they try to navigate their relationship. I'm really, really tempted.

[ddarker-dreams]

Could you do the current husband trio with cuteness aggression please? <3333

a request after my own heart ...

chrollo gets it out of his system by teasing you. his teasing comes in multiple flavors, some more subtle than others. for an immoral thief, his self-control is impressive. he likes to see where riling you up will go. especially if you reciprocate in kind. the verbal cat-and-mouse excites him as much as a heist. after denying himself long enough, he’ll pull you into his lap, chuckling as he says ‘don’t get so cross, darling,’ into your neck. good luck freeing yourself from his grasp. once he has you, you won’t be going anywhere until he feels generous enough to share. his visage remains relaxed, but his eyes betray the thrill you give him; they’re shining, with your reflection at the center.

satoru wouldn’t take his hands off you if his life depended on it. nope, you and everyone in the immediate vicinity get to witness how smitten he is. he’s mean though — he can’t just scoop you up and twirl you around. no, he has to creep up on you for the bonus of hearing you squeak. he’s grinning like a madman as you chastise him, peppering your face with kisses, each one accompanied by an exaggerated ‘muah.’ he gives the hand you’re halfheartedly pushing him away with the same treatment. it’s almost enough for him to burst at the seams when he puts you down (this step may require some begging on your part). especially because you’re fighting off a smile of your own so as not to encourage his mischievous behavior. satoru rectifies this by squishing your cheeks into a smile. if there’s anything he excels at, it’s getting what he wants.

scaramouche places heavy emphasis on ‘aggression.’ his sharp tongue directs no shortage of insults your way, although they lack their usual barbed nature. you get the sense that he struggles to know how else to interact with you. it’s humiliating! the sound of your name alone has him perking up like some mutt. he loathes what you’ve reduced him to. scara inadvertently perpetuates the cycle he claims he wants to be free from. he acts condescending, then finds your frustration so cute, that his brain temporarily short-circuits. the resulting embarrassment adds to his cruelty as a flimsy smokescreen. he’s mortified that your miffed expression made him so tempted to squeeze you. how could his pride ever recover from such a blow? then you’d know how fond of you he is, a most egregious notion.

blade denies himself until he can't. the phenomenon perplexes the poor man. he'd sooner endure every physical agony in the universe than harm a hair on your head, so why can’t he suppress these urges? and oh, when you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, he almost goes feral. his hands twitch with the desire to just… hold you. right against his chest, tight enough that his ribs might break. it’d be so easy and he’s running out of excuses not to do it. he knows he’s intimidating; he doesn’t want to accidentally frighten you off. he really would be a dead man walking without you to breathe life into him. once you encourage him that he can take what he wants from you, then, well, you have an intergalactic criminal who is impossible to pry off.

[metranart]

His Mate, finally someone to call his…

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 3)

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Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

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“Tell me,” Hawks’ voice sounded deeper, raspier almost feral, as it you were facing a darker self of the same man, and the next words that came out of his mouth made you realize how affected he was, for you have never EVER, had such a raw response.

 “...May I fuck you as your way of thanking me for saving you?”

“...W-what?” You stammered, shock dripping down your tone, an eyebrow raising almost comically. 

“Whaddya say, kid—” Hawks purred, closing the distance so much that you found yourself upholstered against the cold wall behind you, the broad chest of the winged hero pressed flush against you as your shaky hands latched onto his black, hero shirt. “You said you could handle me...”

Wrapping one of your hands in his, he guided it down so you could feel his hard rock cock through his pants, a hoarse moan accompanied his next words as the hero guided you to start to pump him. “I can't assure you that I'll be gentle....” the speed of his hand increased, letting you feel every ridge and swelled vein in his fat erection, “but I can assure that you will LOVE to give that tight, warm cunt to me.” 

The golden around his eyes was gone, completely eaten by the blown pupil, anxiety starting to take its toll on you, this was too much.... never in your life have you had such a reaction from anyone you healed... and suddenly Recovery girl's words echoed in your head again. The lack of control from your quirk can have adverse results on the wounded, especially on persons who have animal traits... don't use it at that level until you are one hundred percent sure you can master it... 

Hawks had animal traits, even his fucking hero name was one of an actual animals.... you screwed up, HARD.

“Hawks, S-sir, I...” You didn’t find it in you to move. Every single fiber of your being screamed to listen to his advice and run, but you couldn’t. 

The heat was suddenly too much when you could clearly feel his cock twitching on your palm, and lively snatching your hand, you pushed Hawks away with all your force, a wicked smile stretched his mouth, even so, scooted over so you could attempt to run to a secluded corner next to a dumpster, to catch your breath. 

His step faltered just a second before he felt compelled to trail behind, slumping beside you, unceremoniously. His head lolled, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw, like he didn't care in the slightest, that you were trying to get away from him. 

A warm hand rested over your shoulder, and you felt yourself shiver. “Usually, I don’t fancy brats,” Hawks said, and without breaking a sweat, grinded you against the wall without contemplation, “But you are sooooo cute, I´ll make an exception.” 

“Hawks, Sir!” it was so weird to call Sir someone closer to your age than that of your cousin’s, yet, your voice seemed looped on it, “you are being influenced by my quirk...it is-it is based on energy that–” He didn't let you finish when you were being caged between his arms again, soft lips peppering your face with invasive kisses. 

“—I don’t care, brat, I warned you.” The hero spatted, and a tear threatened to peek at the corner of your eye, yet you inhaled sharply and instead set your mind in hero mode, you weren’t some damsel in distress, you were a hero in training… perhaps there was still a chance for you to complete the healing loop, and satiate Hawks enough for him to come back to his usual self, at least for a moment to be able to talk him out of fucking you raw. 

Slowly, you started to wiggle out of his arms, but then paused for a second to tilt your chin up, and press a tender kiss to his lips to which he responded eagerly, flushed and awfully anxious you tried not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand snaked up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

You tried to low his libido down, but your resistance instead urged him to grind his hard rock erection against you, so ready for you to take care of it. And there was when you saw your way out, this was the chance you were looking for, the winged hero was already too lost in his hormonal brain, too affected by your quirk, too deep into his own instinctual behavior to listen to reason....so, you needed to plunge him out by force.... hard and fast, an explosion of pleasurable release.... you were going to have to make him cum, and preferably, without raping you in the process.

The first thing was to separate him a bit from you, but right now that seemed to be the most difficult... since the dirtiness of the things he whispered devilishly against your ear were paralyzing you...

“I´m gonna stuff you with my chicks, you are gonna look soooooo pretty all swelled and heavy...” he breathed into your mouth. His voice teasing, yet again, held undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion.... almost too caring. This man groping you wasn't the hero persona you’d seen on the news; this was the man behind the mask asking you to bare his children and become utterly his. 

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little wifey, waiting for me—” one of his hands dipped under the rim of your skirt, slowly worming his fingers to snatch your shirt up until the skin of your belly was exposed for him to place his big, calloused palm on top—reverently—as if you were meant to be his most prized person, “...round belly, full of my chicks and big, pretty smile on your face,” he kept daydreaming, “-SO ready for me to fill you again.”

Even using all your strength, you weren't able to move it off of you one inch, and worry spiked up when his advantageous palm keep traveling down your lower belly, dragging closer and closer under your panties—you knew what he was after, so you reduced to use a lamer approach. 

“Let me-let me do something first...” you pleaded, and thankfully it caught his sporadic attention, cocking his head to the side quizzically to then dive his face in the hollow of your neck, and breath the next words out. “Sorry, kid, I like to take the lead—”

“That´s okey!” you hurried, “it’s just- it's my... my first time... please, just let me—” you prayed for this to work, desperation really turning your voice into a pitiful sound.

Hawks thought about it for a moment, and grinning more to himself, gift you some space to do whatever you wanted to do –of course under his supervision– it would be embarrassing, and honestly, you didn't know if you would make it work but you had to try, because you refused to have a teenage pregnancy.

“Your show, kid.” Hawks spilled, sassy grin firmly on his face. 

Oh! How you wished he weren't looking so attentively.

“Could you close your eyes—”

“No.”

Well, that was fast, but expected. 

Arming yourself with courage, carefully fixed your disheveled shirt and to the best of your ability stood straight in steady legs, but then stopped for an entirely different reason. 

“Can you please.... —can you please unbuckle your pants?” The words rushed out of you, embarrassment eating you out, painfully. 

“Good girl.” He praised, nimbly unbuckling his belt, and without you having to ask, took himself out.  

Your orbs almost popped out of its sockets, you had seen a dick before but none this big, Hawks was massive, long and thick with a very pretty pink shade, and a dusting of blond hairs nesting on top. “As you can surely see, I’m pretty big, baby,” he cooed in a low rasp, “We better prepare you first, or it’s gonna hurt—like a lot,” you swallowed, thickly. 

And the moment you saw him smearing precum all over the head of his length, and dip two fingers inside his mouth to let his drool cover them to then lick his lips while wiggling the after mentioned digits at you—you didn't know what came over you. Perhaps you truly were possessed or just too determined, but you rushed towards him, and your hand reached between his thighs.

Hawks exhaled sharply leaning into your touch, letting his hot breath wash over your face and you felt him widen his stance to accommodate closer to you. Experimentally, you pumped him once and felt him brace an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the solid wall as your fingers began to slip, treacherously slow, up and down his reddened cock.

He choked out a strangled sigh when you gripped him from the base and began to coil your hand to then cup his heavy balls. His head lolled once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat.

You felt your own breath quicken, felt yourself getting bolder, nevertheless, the uneasy feeling of being jacking off a total stranger in the open, never leaving your mind.

You meshed your other hand into his golden locks and pulled him closer, pressing your body flush against his. Hawks moaned, keening, his arm now firmly around your waist. You shushed him quietly, tightening the hold on his shaft while gaining speed and precision with each stroke. 

In this position, you looked as though you were only consoling a Hero who had a rough week, simply hugging in the dim light of the lonely alley. The shadows hiding you both, that feral Golden gaze reserved only for you. 

“—Is the pressure, Okey?” You sighed into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop...” Hawks whimpered. “God, don’t fucking stop—”

You didn’t, but it wasn’t enough, your touch felt naughtily good, but he was accustomed to experienced partners, even hand jobs needed certain speed and pressure to be fulfilling. The frustrating feeling of not getting what he wanted, edged him to wrap your hand with his and pump your fist faster- it wasn’t as tight, or warm or heavenly as your virgin cunt should feel- but it did scratch the itch, ever so slightly. 

Pressing his face flush against your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent helped him get closer. He made you jerk him faster, harder. He needed more, more accurate, you, moaning and screaming for him to breed you—mate you. 

His Mate, finally someone to call his… that precious thought and your warm hand achieved the goal a little, just a few drops of pearly cum squeezed out, but enough to grant him a second of coherency. 

“I know what you—what you are trying to do.... kid,” His voice was deep, yet it wasn't the rut speaking, this was actually Hawks.

“Hawks...?” you called out. 

“In the flesh-...ngh!...” he attempted to joke but his voice cracked as he moaned, “This was—FUCK—it was very smart of you...” you could see the struggle in his features, it sounded like he was in pain, “—but I need more....much, much, muchMORE....” he smiled at you, apologetically, “-to be able to tame this fucking rut.”

He knew what he was asking, and even when hated to do it, knew as well that you would prefer that than carry his children and having him strapped to your hip for the next eighteen years, only letting you go once your offspring was able to be autonomous. 

“I-…I can´t…I´m sorry, Hawks—” you trailed, shame curling your lips down, at the knowledge that all of this was your own fault. 

“I know-... sweet girl, its fine...” He cooed, narrowed eyes locked in you cum stained fingers, “I understand… but I need you to understand as well—” 

His voice sounded more strained with each passing second, the winged hero could feel himself slipping away again, he didn’t want to ask, but sure as hell, would hate a lot more to end up taking you by force. 

“—I can’t control myself…” He confessed, “not when in rut and—” 

“I understand.” You muttered, quietly. 

“You do?” 

You nodded, unable to look him in the eye, yet you felt his hand when gently caressed your cheek once, before it latched on to your nape and yanked, hinting you. 

“Then please —please, don’t make me ask.” 

You wondered if he had ever had to beg someone before, of course not, he could have whoever he wanted. Quit stalling, your mind scolded and you felt the pull of his hand again, a little more demanding.

Taking your hand, like a true gentleman, help you to your knees. It was the least he could do, and shame reflected in his eyes when you looked up. Hard and heavy cock throbbing with need in front of your face, ready to be swallowed down. 

Your mouth quivered and before you could set your mind to engulf him, his knuckles gently traced your jawline tenderly, pampering the skin before dip a thumb into your mouth, smearing it with saliva and moistening your dry lips.

You looked as ready as you could be, for someone about to give a blowjob to the number two hero. 

COMING SOON PART 4....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this chapter and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.... Plus 'Tier reward' like: voting poll privilege for the exclusively Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple pairing and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, along with some naughty animation like THIS ONE ....and my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[emthimofnight]

We have heights, we have voices....now we need a run down on the Siblings personality! Then the trilogy will be complete...and then I can (affectionately) release Stellar from my 6 star basement of adorableness.

HAHAHA OKAY!! I will do as you ask for the safe return of my baby girl 🙏

Void

Confident, calculating, and unnerving.

Rarely without a smile on his face.

Has the energy of an apex predator. Unflinchingly comfortable in spite of any danger, having never known what it feels like to be prey.

Strongest out of his siblings and the leader of their little trio.

Manipulative and power hungry.

His creators have no real control over him. They've created a monster.

Views life as a game and himself as the main character. Doesn't recognize other people as actual people, only as pawns for him to play with. If they don't play the game they way he likes, he breaks them.

Taller than both Sonic and Shadow. Doesn't view either of them as parents, only genetic donors.

He sees Shadow in particular as his prototype.

Only acknowledges other people as important if they have great power or something that he recognizes as stand-out.

Has never known defeat nor fear. Both of these things have the power to shatter his world view.

His siblings are afraid of him for good reason.

Who is to say what his sexuality is??? Probably power-sexual. 😂 He would only ever be attracted to someone based off of strength or what they could offer him.

Andromeda

Short-tempered, snide, and bitter.

A gloomy person over all, almost always in a perpetual state of scowling.

The emotional core of the failed experiment trio. Does her best to keep Void and Polarity from killing each other.

Deeply envious of Stellar and her happy relationship with Sonic and Shadow. Wonders why she wasn't found and whisked away to a better life.

Awful self-esteem. Knows she is unhappy with her life in Cosmic Labs, but doesn't see any way out. At least she has a place she belongs if she stays inside the box that was made for her.

Cares for both Void and Polarity, but doubts if Void returns that sentiment. She and Polarity are close, getting along well when they are alone.

Pressured by their creators to get Void to behave. Since they cannot punish him, Andromeda and Polarity are often punished in his stead.

Secretly craves love, affection, and praise. Despite this, she chooses to fight Stellar whenever they encounter one another instead of accepting her offerings of sisterhood.

If she had to pick between Void or Polarity, she'd pick Polarity.

She is a lesbian!

Polarity

Hot-headed, resentful, and explosive.

The weakest of the siblings (including Stellar) and he knows it. Only outdoes them in speed.

Has an extremely tumultuous relationship with Void. He is constantly trying to prove himself to their creators, but is outshone by his elder brother.

Despite this, he trains harder than either of his siblings, and is often covered in bandages from overworking himself.

Takes the most after Sonic despite everything, and is a fun-loving, quick-witted, and gentle person at his core. If isolated and given enough time to open up, he is actually very sweet.

Only ever confides in Andromeda, and cares about her deeply. He will often step in and take punishments in her stead.

A closeted nerd. Has a stash of old comic books that were given to him by a generous lab worker that he has read cover to cover countless times. He could quote any scene from memory.

Often speaks out against Void and his methods. Void has gotten very good a tuning him out on missions.

Lowest chaos energy reading of all Project Stellar experiments, but cannot be beat in willpower and determination. Notable for his inability to ever give up.

Has constant dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep and stress. Rarely ever rests.

He is bisexual!

Original post with Stellar's failed lab sibs if they had survived:

[lizzy019]

НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

[grimesgirll]

“fuck, honey. you done yet?”

you shake your disheveled head furiously. “one more, please!”

rick almost collapses right then and there. “did you not cum four times tonight?”

“let’s make it five.” you insist with a kiss.

rick is powerless to do anything but indulge you, knowing you’ll still need more.

“old man’s ‘bout to fall asleep.” daryl chimes in from his spot nearly under the covers next to you and rick.

“just like one more and i’ll be such a good girl.” you plead, all doe eyed.

“fuck.” rick groans and you lift your hips excitedly when you feel him twitch back to life inside of you. he can’t hide the anguish on his face when you slam your hips down onto him, trying to coax him back into pounding you.

“c’mon, rick,” you whine. “ditch the self control for once and fuck me.”

“it’s not self control, sweetheart. it’s a lack of energy.” he reassures you, wincing as you swivel your hips down onto him.

you roll your eyes. this is too slow for you. pouting your lips, your eyes find daryl and suddenly you have an idea.

“fine.” you huff. “guess i’ll just have to hop off and let daryl pound me. if he’s up for it.”

you never had to question if daryl wanted to fuck you into the mattress. it’s a given, which is why rick’s eyes darken and he lets out a sharp breath.

“you sure you wanna start this shit this late at night?”

your eyes widen with delight. you give your naughtiest nod.

“well, i’ll fuck you but you gotta make it up to daryl since you’re dragging him into this.” the constable tells you.

you nod eagerly, offering little resistance when rick and daryl reconfigure you to be perfectly between them on your knees. grinning up at your leader’s best friend, you don’t need to wait for him to free his erection because it’s already at your lips before you even register the status of his bottoms.

taking your time, you kitten lick the girthy cock in front of you. the trail you’re marking with your tongue dips down to the man’s balls. without hesitation, you start your slow ministrations, going back between the two.

“damn,” daryl mutters from above you.

rick spares a glance over top of you to see what you’re up to before finally driving back into your dripping core. the way you’re immediately arching your back forces rick to adopt a more brutal rhythm.

“oh, fuck!” you’re panting.

the man behind you fists a handful of your hair, guiding your mouth from daryl’s balls to the top of his cock again and pushing your head down. “i’m not gonna let you tease, daryl,” he jests, not skipping a beat while you gag on his best friend’s dick in front of him.

daryl just snickers and cranes his head back, enjoying thinking about how he’s not far from coming down your throat one more time tonight.

meanwhile, rick lets go of your head only to deliver a reddening blow to your bottom.

“god,” you moan around daryl.

the brunette rams in and out of your sensitive cunt. you clench when he grazes your cervix. languidly you roll backwards figure eights into him, arching even further into him. you grab a fistful of the slippery sheets in an attempt to ground yourself, clutching them closer when you feel a hand on your clit.

“gonna come all over my cock?”

“of course,” you reply raggedly.

“gonna squeeze me nice and tight?” rick smacks your ass. “i wanna feel you gushin’ on me, honey.”

“yes, sir,” you promise before daryl pulls you back down to bob your head up and down on him.

the bruising grip on the back of your head is your cue.

you finish daryl off as soon as his length is down your throat again. the redneck shivers and buried his hands in your hair right before his orgasm floods your mouth, doing your best to swallow everything as he shallowly thrusts his hips into your face.

“god, you do deserve the pounding, pretty girl.”

once he lets you off of him, you just beam and hold onto him as rick fucks you without abandon.

“you like grindin’ my gears? teasin’ me just so you can get fucked one more time before you go to sleep?” rick punctuates each question with a brutal shift of his hips. “huh, pretty girl?” he moves his hand from your clit to your stomach and forces a hand against your stomach.

“ah!” you bleat at the pressure. “you’re so deep.”

the condescension drops from his tone. “i thought that’s what you wanted, darlin’.”

“i do!” you cry.

“then do what you said you were gonna do and come on my cock.” he commands.

you don’t hold back. the rubber band snaps just right and you keep leaning right into daryl. head against his chest, he and the man viciously fucking you through your undoing are the only things on your mind.

rick’s grasping onto your trembling legs and littering your torso with fingernail marks from how deep he’s digging. the grip he’s maintaining keeps your shuddering body in place when he finally fills you up, tensing and nearly toppling over you.

warm and full, you feel like you’re melting into the soft bed, especially with rick on top of you. he stays like that while daryl is mumbling about a towel and finally getting the hell to sleep. all blissed out, they won’t have to worry about you for at least another few hours.

daryl is the one who jumps to wet a towel and offer the both of you a room temperature water bottle. rick is too preoccupied with keeping you as close as possible. he even stays inside your plush walls until daryl’s almost dragging you off of him to towel between your legs.

“did so good for us, honey.” rick is rasping into your ear, rolling the two of you under the comforter. one of his hands find a place in your hair making you lean into his touch.

“thanks for indulging me.” you express your gratitude with a kiss for rick and a clasp of daryl’s hand, urging the man onto the bed.

“here, put this on,” daryl passes you one of his sleep henleys and a pair of your favorite oversized boxers fresh out of the laundry.

“yeah, and ditch the bra.” rick says in between kisses against your collarbone.

content washes over your face and your bra lands on the floor.

once your top is on and rick’s firmly pressed behind you, you feel yourself start to dissolve into the soft sheet. a hand finds your breast just as daryl gives you a goodnight kiss. you suspect the hand will stay there for most of the night but you don’t mind.

it’s owner nestles his face into your hair, whispering sweet nothings from how well you took his cock to how gorgeous you were, how excited he was to spend his next day off with you.

feeling daryl beside you and rick nearly on top of you has to be one of the coziest feelings in the world.

and you’re right; five orgasms and you were out cold.

[theresattrpgforthat]

I'm looking for TTRPGs that have... for lack of a better way of putting it, mechanics where like, your character is under a profound amount of stress, and if they don't manage it and additional stress that comes in, they'll break or snap and do something horrible and then have to deal with the consequences. So something that mechanically 'forces' your character to do something they'd normally never do due to external stressors.

THEME: Stress Clocks.

Oh this is my shit. Get ready for a Hall of Fame style of recommendations from me this week (as well as a bit of self-advertising)!

Also a note: this was (mostly) a chance for me to get very excited about a number of games that have specifically inspired me, and I am aware that it means that I’ve kind of neglected certain houses of design as a result. For this post especially, I encourage anyone who can think of a game that fits this request that isn’t listed here to give it a shout out in the reblog and the replies!

Mothership, by Tuesday Knight Games.

Mothership is a sci-fi horror roleplaying game where you and your crew try to survive in the most inhospitable environment in the universe: outer space! You'll excavate dangerous derelict spacecraft, explore strange unknown worlds, exterminate hostile alien life, and examine the horrors that encroach upon your every move.

Mothership inflicts Stress upon you with every failure, and hitting your Stress cap reduces your most relevant Stat or Save, thereby consistency reducing your chances of success with every roll. That’s not all though - your Stress cap also makes it harder and harder to stop your character from panicking, by representing the threshold you must beat every time you make a Panic Check. If you roll less than or equal to your current Stress rating, you must take on a new Panic condition.

You make Panic checks whenever you roll a critical failure, but also whenever you witness something traumatic. These conditions don’t necessarily force your character to do anything, but they represent the toll that being in a constantly hostile environment takes on your mind and body. You have to work harder and harder to prevent your character from attacking allies, giving in to the demands of whatever is haunting their psyche, or going straight-up catatonic.

You can also try to mitigate this stress and panic by resting and doing something that helps relieve the pressure - having sex, taking drugs, praying, etc. There’s even a Shore Leave mechanic for long-term games that allow your character to turn their stress into a character improvement.

In some respect, these conditions remind me of the Morality and Clarity tracks of Chronicles of Darkness and Changeling: the Lost, but with less of the errant language around mental health. The dice rolls also make the consequences much less predictable, so if you want to be surprised by what exactly causes your character to snap, I recommend Mothership.

Urban Shadows, by Magpie Games.

The streets bleed shadows as the supernatural politics of the city threaten to swallow you whole. Will you die a hero—a savior for those who have never had enough—or live long enough to become the villain? Will you fight the darkness…or give in for power?

The choice is yours. 

Urban Shadows is an urban fantasy tabletop roleplaying game in which mortals and monsters vie for control of a modern-day city, a political battleground layered just under the reality we think we know. Vampires, faeries, hunters, and wizards fight to carve out a piece of the streets and skyscrapers, ready to make deals with all those who have something to offer. 

The ‘consequences’ track for Urban Shadows is called Corruption. Each character playbook in this game has a couple of special moves called Corruption Moves, and when you start playing, you start with two Drama Moves the tie into this. The Drama Moves describe specific situations in which your character must mark Corruption. If you fill your Corruption track, you take a Corruption Move. Corruption moves give you special powers that are super-effective, but fill up your Corruption track faster. You can only fill your Corruption track so many times - fill it one too many and your character must be retired, because they’ve just become an antagonist.

I really like how this feels like a slow descent that speeds up the more you lean into it. Your character is consistently tempted to give into their darker sides in order to keep themselves afloat in this unforgiving city - but lean too far and they become exactly the kind of person they were hoping to stop.

Antiquarian Adventures, by acegiak.

Antiquarian Adventures is a pulpy tomb raiding and treasure hunting Blades In The Dark hack in the style of Tomb Raider, Indiana Jones, National Treasure, and The Mummy.

So Antiquarian Adventures is a pulp game. It’s not grim dark in any sense of the word, but I think it introduces a unique use of the Blades’ Stress mechanic in a special “ability” that happens when your character uses up all of their Composure (this is the “Stress” of this gam). Once you’ve used up all of your Composure, you cannot resist anything that comes your way and your dice pools are reduce to 0 until you do something (specific to your playbook) that usually invites a new consequence.

For example, The Veteran’s version of this is called “Not As Quick As I Used To Be,” which hamstrings the character until the player allows themself to be left behind or separated from their comrades. This kind of mechanic has directly inspired one of the projects that I’m working on, and I think that if you tweak the amount of Composure your character has, or makes the reaction harsher, you could absolutely make it work for a game that’s a bit grittier than Antiquarian Adventures.

Last Fleet, by Black Armada Games

The last of humanity are fleeing across space, pursued by the implacable inhuman adversary that destroyed their civilisation. They're outnumbered and outgunned. Supplies are running low. The actions of a brave few could be all that stands between humanity and extinction.

Welcome to the Last Fleet.

Last Fleet is a PBTA tabletop roleplaying game where you play brave pilots, officers, engineers, politicians and journalists struggling to hold the human race - and themselves - together under unbelievable pressure. The game focuses on action, intrigue and drama in this high-stakes situation. You'll fight space battles, search for enemy infiltrators, tackle supply shortages and navigate faction politics. You'll strive against your own self-doubt and sometimes crack under the stress.

Last Fleet has something called a Pressure Mechanic, which can be used as a player resource, but also activates when you take weather harm or get called out on your shit. Hit your cap? Clear your Pressure and take a Breaking Point action, which often puts you at odds with the other characters, making the situation worse. The whole situation is a designed to act as a pressure cooker, making the situation harder and harder to bear until you finally pop. I love it, and it’s also a direct influence on one of my games.

Apocalypse Keys, by Rae Nedjadi (@temporalhiccup)

Unmask your feelings, uncage your ruination… The Doomsday Clock is ticking down and emotions run high as you and your team of DIVISION agents struggle to find the Keys before the villainous Harbingers unlock the Doors of Power and bring about the apocalypse.

As an Omen class monster, you are the only thing capable of holding back the apocalypse. Combat occult threats and investigate supernatural phenomena alongside your team of supernatural agents working for the shadowy DIVISION. But in a world that shuns monsters like you, only your deepest, most heartfelt bonds can grant you the power to stop those who seek to unlock Doom’s Door.

Taking cues from Urban Shadows, Apocalypse Keys gives you a Ruin track to follow as your monsters try to stop the world from ending. The Ruin track gives you a Ruin advance every time you fill it, unlocking Ruin Moves, permanently marking character conditions, and eventually forcing your character to turn into a Harbinger if you let it. Your Ruin moves are powerful and dark, generating even more Ruin when you use them, and in some cases (like with the Hungry’s "Only Hunger Remains" move), your character can actually halt the current mystery as they get close enough to becoming a Harbinger that the entire party will have to work together to stop you from ripping the world apart.

Protect the Child, by Mint-Rabbit (that’s me!).

Humans have always been protective of their young, sometimes overly so. Humans have also always feared that which might make their young strange or different, and so insist that only humans can raise their own young. Monsters cannot raise human young. This is known.

You have a human baby. You cannot find its parents. What is even worse, is that this child has powers, powers that others covet, and so everyone wants it. If you want to prove that you’re not the heartless monster that everyone says you are, that means you’ll have to raise it, at least until you find someone who is better suited to it than you. 

You are creatures of fur, scales and fangs. You have claws that can rend flesh, faces that can crack mirrors, howls that can cause ears to bleed. 

And your charge wants a blankie.

Protect the Child is a Forged in the Dark game about monsters caring for a young human, a human who contains strange and mystical powers that make them a valuable asset in any monster crew. The setting and factions present in this game are flexible: you might be aliens in a far-flung future galaxy, fantasy monsters from rival kingdoms, or even everyday wild animals that fear human society. 

Alright, so this is my baby and I can tell you exactly how to push your character towards some really unhealthy coping mechanisms. In Protect the Child, your character is constantly battling the stress of being a parent. Stress, like in other Forged in the Dark games, is a player resource, but it’s also inflicted on you when you resist consequences, and when the kid has an emotional breakdown.

Should your stress clock fill up, you’ll have to take a reaction from the list attached to your playbook before you can take more Stress, and these reactions range from doing something for selfish gains to lashing out to your fellow monsters to being fully monstrous at exactly the worst time. Your tools to manage this stress are also limited - you have to be willing to confront your fellow monsters and be honest about your relationships with each-other if you want to stop your emotional kettle from whistling all of the time. If you want a game where building relationships is the only way to deal with the pressures of monster-parenting, then check out Protect the Child!

[genderqueerdykes]

op you're transfem? i had no idea!!! i'm so used to trans women and femmes seeing trans mascs as a threat, i had no idea there could be a transfeminine person out there who thought we were non-dangerous. that's awesome. on all levels except physical i am buying you a booster box of magic the gathering cards rn. or something

yep! i am transfem & a trans woman. due to being intersex, genderqueer, and bigender, i have other genders as well, but lately it's like if i talk about my other genders, people just don't want to listen to me anymore. i don't like how when someone is perceiving me as transfem, they'll listen to me, but the second i point out any of my other genders, suddenly i'm an unreliable narrator.

being intersex and multigender, i've literally witnessed people who know i'm a trans woman go from respecting my opinions highly and listening to everything i say, to ignoring me, belittling me, and talking over me once they find out i'm also a man. people will literally just lose all ability to care about you or anything you have to say if you mention being anything but transfem or a trans woman and it's gross as hell. i've watched the switch happen in real time, in real life.

i feel like i have to talk about being transfeminine and a trans woman ONLY in order to get people to listen to me and it's fucked.

i know it's really hard to find transfeminine people and trans women who are good to trans men right now, and it's horrible. there are so many other trans women and transfemmes wrapped up in their hatred for being treated like men that they're willing to hurt any and all men that exist near them. and it's not okay. how are we comfortable with doing this? how are we comfortable with treating other trans people like shit if we don't want to be treated like shit for being trans anymore? how does any of this liberate transfemmes or trans women from cisheteronormative patriarchy and transmisogyny?

i'm sorry it's gotten like this. i know so many transmascs and trans men who are outright terrified of trying to talk to or be around transfemmes and trans women because of how hostile this has gotten. i know so many transmascs and trans men who want to befriend, date or consider transfemmes and trans women found family, but are absolutely scared to try to meet and talk to them. there are so many people who are just straight up terrified to say or do anything at all about their queer experience because of this hostility. we have people doubting themselves for being trans, talking down to themselves, apologizing for being trans men, apologizing for not being AMAB or a trans woman... why are we allowing this to happen? this is out of control.

if we as trans women want to be accepted by trans people, we have to accept other trans people, too. we can't demand that people respect us and everything we have to say, and then we just don't do that for other people. like the lack of respect is disgusting. you can't demand respect and then refuse to respect others who are deserving of it as well.

take care of yourself, anon. we are out there, it's just the minority of really loud, rude assholes that are talking for everyone else right now. people desperately want to fit in no matter what. people will claw and fight to feel accepted into a space, even if that space is hostile and dangerous. this is taking advantage of vulnerable people with low self esteem and tricking them into thinking being bullies will make them feel better. it won't. it never will.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。AKADEMIYA GOSSIP — ALHAITHAM.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 alhaitham’s attire elicits a response you’re not all too happy with through the akademiya

☽ contents ⋮ gn! reader, jealous! reader, mentions of girls taking an interest in alhaitham but reader is unspecified, you sit on his lap, sfw + fluff

☽ notes ⋮ you had jealous haitham. now have jealous you

personally, you think alhaitham needs to get rid of that awful skin tight top of his. it’s an outrage—it’s unfair, really, always serving as a distraction for you with his sculpted abs and defined pecs taunting you at the most improper of times.

but that’s not even the worst part—recently, there’s something much more concerning than the distraction of his (very well-maintained) physique.

“you know, i think they should consider giving you a work uniform for this position,” you mumble, and there’s a slight pout on your lips that makes alhaitham pause as you gesture at his attire, “this isn’t very appropriate for a high position such as grand sage.”

he raises a brow, putting his pen down.

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “and are my fashion choices not up to your standards?”

“that’s not the problem,” you mumble, “your terrible eye for clothing is your problem, not mine.”

“well, that’s wonderful to hear. i wouldn’t want to inconvenience you with my lacking aesthetic,” he says sarcastically—because everything is always a quick witted reply with him, and you send a glare his way through a huff.

“the problem here is the way your clothes fit.”

this time, there’s a very visible and very deep pout on your face—if alhaitham wasn’t as good with self control as he is, he might even have marched across the room and kissed it off by now. instead, he only gives you a quizzical look before he turns back to his…endless pile of papers.

“and what do you mean by that?”

the question alone is all the encouragement you need to dramatically fall back on the couch you’re seated at, arm falling to cover your face as you sigh with a little more emphasis than you really need. it’s so like you—so typical to bring out the theatrics, and it’s so like him to roll his eyes and mumble about how you’re over exaggerating.

and yet, somehow, it works. everything about you and alhaitham works—even as you glare his way while he rolls his eyes, even as you whine about everything while he always has that same dry tone, even as you jump to conclusions while he thinks through everything meticulously. somehow, it always works—which is why you refuse to let those filthy, home wrecking girls from the akademiya come anywhere near your (slightly irritating, but very attractive) boyfriend.

“today i overheard two girls talking about your abs. two! only archons know how many other people have been talking about them—”

he clears his throat, cutting you off and silently hoping you don’t notice the slight blush on his cheeks as he mumbles, “well, there’s not much you and i can do if other people—”

“and just imagine if they’ve stared at your tits! this is horrible—”

“i don’t have tits,” he hisses, “why must you always insist on calling them that—”

“oh no,” you croak woefully, cutting him off as you ignore him, “they can’t have your tits. you have to stop wearing that tight shirt, our relationship depends on it,” you insist.

“you can’t be serious—”

“in fact, i think you should just wear the akademiya robes. they won’t be able to stare at much of anything if you wear those.”

“and if they stare at my face?” he raises a brow, lips quirked slightly in amusement even has the lingering flush of pink still grazes his skin.

and he looks beautiful like that—soft rays of sun kissing the silver strands of hair so they look golden, flowing over his skin and letting shadows nestle into the sharp slopes of his cheekbones. you can’t see from where you are, but you know there are flakes of gold lit up in those teal eyes of his—the same eyes you glare into when you’re mad, the ones you meet first thing in the morning, the ones you can’t look away from as you whisper i love you like a secret you’ve held onto in this life and the last.

you crinkle your nose, clearly distressed at the idea of people fawning over his features, and he can’t help but smile gently at the sentiment.

“you’re right,” you nod, “you face is also very attractive. maybe you could—”

“i think you’re looking too deeply into this,” he says, making your face twist into a scowl.

“this is serious,” you hiss, and the way he blinks at you like you’re crazy earns him a harsh glare, “have you not listened to people speaking of you? grand sage alhaitham looks soooo handsome today,” you mock in a high pitched voice, “i think his muscles look larger than yesterday.”

“i don’t concern myself with akademiya gossip,” he shrugs, “as long as it causes no trouble for me—”

“well this time it will cause trouble for you,” you narrow your eyes, “acting grand sage or not, you aren’t immune to sleeping on our lovely living room couch.”

and you’re stubborn like this sometimes, irrational and just a little flawed in your logic, but alhaitham finds his chest constricts anyway, finds that even when he can’t make sense of you, that faint thrum of his heart tells him he doesn’t need to. so he rolls his eyes, holds out an arm for you that makes you scoff even as you instantly make your way over.

and when you seat yourself on his lap, arms twisting around his neck as his settle for your hips, you faintly think that the akademiya girls would lose their minds if they saw you like this—like you’re the earth’s core pressed to his hands, like you’re the center of his entire universe.

“it’s a bit unfair to punish me for what other people say,” he hums, making you huff.

“and it’s unfair walking around like this when you’re heavily committed in a relationship,” you accuse, poking at his chest as he chuckles.

he presses a gentle kiss to your nose, lets his eyes close and his breath exhale softly as you cup his cheeks. and even with the endless pile of paperwork on his desk and that meeting he’s forced to join after this, alhaitham enjoys being the akademiya’s grand sage just a little bit if it gets you worked up like this—if it gets you to pay a little extra attention to kissing him and tugging him closer.

and when your fingers slip into his hair, and his thumb rubs circles into your hips, there’s an unspoken truth between you that makes you smile to yourself.

i love you, you think.

i love you, he knows you know.

© saetoru do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hiii so I was reading your posts about how confusing the dreams are and I was trying to come up with an explanation of my own. What if both Malleus and the dreamers are subsconiously influencing the dreams and that's why no one really understands what's happening? Because we're not always aware of what's going on in that part of our minds.

[Referencing this post!]

That might be the case?? I really wish this was the lore we received from the beginning; it would have saved us a lot of trouble in the long run if the devs had chosen to go with a looser, more vague explanation of the dream worlds.

@/twistedminutia suggested in this post that the dreams may operate like an AI algorithm, which I thought was an interesting concept + is similar to what anon is pitching too. The idea is that Malleus isn't directly influencing the dreams or determining explicit details within them, but rather he has set a definition for what makes a person "happy" and his autonomous magic (ie the AI) is running off of that definition to determine what would be the most efficient path to "happiness". However, the end result tends to be shallow because of this. The commentor then proposes that Malleus might associate "happiness" with being in control, and because of that, it accidentally "colors" or influences the dreams of those touched by his magic. Thinking back on what we've witnessed so far... Malleus associating control with happiness might not be that far-fetched. Several of the dreams we've witnessed so far involve granting the dreamer a sense of control or outright places the dreamers in positions of power. Lilia is restored to his days as a war general, Leona is the unquestioned king of the savanna, Cater is Heartslabyul's dorm leader, Azul leads a Coral Rush team, Vil is Neige's boss, Jamil is student council president, etc. Malleus himself expresses being insecure when he lacks control over a given situation. In 7-29, he confides in Silver:

"There's something my Grandmother has often talked to me about. It's the reason why our family, with our draconic lineage, is so exceptionally powerful even among the nocturnal fae. She said it's to ensure that nothing ever diminishes the happiness of our people in Briar Valley. Yet here I am, incapable of dispelling the sorrows of father and son alike. What good does all this magic do me? ...I'm completely powerless."

Malleus has also previously acted in ways which suggest that he interacts with the world by projecting his own experiences onto others and relating to them that way. For example, he helps out the late ghosts in Endless Halloween Night because he feels a kinship with them as someone who also misses out on celebrations. In his own dorm uniform vignettes, Malleus thinks of what would be most convenient for him to attend dorm meetings and disregards how his classmates would feel at being summoned like objects. This makes sense, as he has a limited understanding of the world beyond his castle walls and of non-fae societies in general. Malleus only has his own experiences to go off of.

Thinking of it like that, it does make some semblance of sense. Malleus's subconscious desire for control might be trickling into the dreams and either influencing or overriding what the dreamers truly desire in their hearts. And while we're on this topic, maybe it also depends on the dreamer...? Like maybe the more emotionally vulnerable the dreamer is, the more of Malleus's subconscious impacts them? For example, Cater has demonstrated confusion over his identity and what he wishes to do for his internships. This lack of self could mean that Malleus's influence projected more strongly on Cater's dream in order to fill in all those cracks, thus resulting in a dream that is very far away from, even the opposite of, what Cater wants. Azul and Vil have had histories where they were judged and rejected by their peers. Leona and Jamil have their "second place syndromes". And Lilia has to deal with the inevitability of aging and leaving behind his loved ones for a foreign land...

But hey, that's just a theory ^^ A gaaaaaame theory--

[the-crooked-library]

You made such excellent points- in OG book vampirism is imposed on Mina by outside force and Mina actually can be cured from it if they kill Dracula. But if not Jonathan is ready to become vampire himself. Ellen meanwhile was born like that - with her psychic paranormal abilities. Orlok didn’t make her like that, that’s her forever part. But Thomas essentially wants her to be normal, while she never was in the traditional sense and can’t be normal and in his hunt for Orlok seems to believe that killing him would not only save but cure-fix Ellen too. It won’t. I mean Thomas is the one, who proceeds to have sex with Ellen when she’s not even feeling perfectly coherent, not entirely self, because he wants to show his masculinity or idk. Imagine if after Dracula’s attack on Mina and Mina telling about it Jonathan would immediately proceed to have aggressive sex with her instead of just comforting her, because he needs to reestablish his husband’s rights or something? Like that’s not. But that’s the part of why book Jonathan and 2024 remake Thomas are different characters.

Thank you - I'm glad you've enjoyed them, and they do actually connect to the scene you're mentioning here!

There is a lot to say about this particular sequence, mainly because it forces two characters to deal with each other and face the reality of their marriage, while both are emotionally stripped to the bone and unstable. The result is an incredibly revealing scene. It digs into the Hutters' insecurities, fears, hurts - and even though they largely fail to communicate within their fictional framework, the viewer gets a veritable feast of information regarding them both.

Throughout this scene, Ellen is evidently in a psychic trance; as demonstrated by Von Franz and his needle, during these "fits" she is at least partially astral projecting; her soul is not entirely housed in her body and she often appears to be sleepwalking (which might be a reference both to the original 1922 Nosferatu and Eggers' earlier project The Witch). In this state, she is also not in control of the baser, more physical, less rational passions and desires; she is unbound, stripped of her usual repression - and what lies beneath is a lifetime of neglect, loneliness, and disrespect, as well as all the pain and rage she consequently feels. This is not a surprise for the viewer, who has already witnessed her suffering, her lack of autonomy, and her argument with Harding; but it is absolutely a surprise for Thomas.

Thomas cannot fathom why Ellen would be angry with him; in his mind, he has done everything right - provided for her, prioritized their financial advancement, came back to try and save her from the monster he knows is after her. However, what he fails to understand that he has also cut their honeymoon short, that he left her right after that to travel to another country, that she never cared about wealth beyond being able to afford a somewhat stable existence; what Ellen wants, above all else, is to be known, understood, and respected - and Thomas has failed to give her that. He discourages her from talking about her dreams, he does not understand her priorities in life, and he cannot help but patronize her, even when he is attempting to express his affections. Her visceral anger is a shock to him, it catches him entirely off-guard, and then she drops a final bomb - "you could never please me the way he does."

What Ellen means here is that Orlok, a monster, is the only one who has ever understood her - because she is herself a monster. What she is trying to do is bait Thomas into exposing what she believes he truly thinks of her, now that he has seen what she becomes, liberated by the nightfall.* This is obviously a toxic thing to do, but Ellen is not a healthy or balanced individual, and this is a gothic story, so yes, she baits him (rather blatantly, in my opinion; but I've seen people confused about it, so who knows. Admittedly, I have a rather specific sort of practical background, as far as relationships go). Point is, what she expects from him is a rejection; and what she craves, desperately, is his acceptance.

What Thomas hears, however, is that another man has infringed upon what is legally his - and that his masculinity is in question, rather than Ellen's humanity; which lands a critical hit against his already damaged, patriarchal, 19th-century-misogynistic ego.

To fully understand his reaction, we must really dig into his overall narrative context. From the very beginning of the film, and throughout the story, Thomas Hutter's struggles revolve around his continuous emasculation. He is a low-level part-time employee at a real estate firm that is run exclusively by older, well-established men. He is played for a fool by foreigners who steal his horse (they were just trying to save his life, seriously, they didn't think he'd hike the fucking Carpathians on foot in the winter, but that's not how he perceives that situation). He is trapped in Orlok's castle - and, given the sexual allegories of vampirism, arguably assaulted. I'm not going to go into the full background of queerphobic stereotypes and opinions; still, suffice to say that not only would that experience have been traumatic (understandably so), but also that the act of submitting to penetration (here, biting) by another man has been historically seen as inherently emasculating and degrading. In the context of Nosferatu (or Dracula, or Interview with the Vampire, and others), this scenario is, on a largely Doylist level, a bodice-ripper fantasy; however, that doesn't make it any easier for Thomas to accept. To submit to another (even a richer, older, infinitely more powerful) man is a problem - but to enjoy that position is unforgivable.

All that to say - by the time Thomas returns to Wisborg, his sense of self-worth is in shambles. The narrative has assigned him the role of a Damsel in Distress, which he fits perfectly and obviously resents. Thus, when he hears yet another insult from his wife - who may be higher-born, but still his wife, and thus below him - he reacts accordingly, with fury.

Again, in anticipation of discourse wank - this is not a good thing; his reasons are clear, I understand them, I do not excuse him. What Thomas does at this point is attempt to aggressively reassert his claim and right to Ellen as her husband. He's rough, but uninventive; he also doesn't worship her the way Orlok did; and, ultimately, even as he tries to demonstrate his continued interest and desire for her, he ends up proving her anxieties. When faced with a hallucination - a fraction of her psychic gift - he flings her away. Crucially, he cannot "show" Orlok their love.

After that, he does try to reassure her, be gentle with her, declare his love - but, really, he might as well mark that off as another failure. She has seen how terrified he looked, and she will not believe a word he says.

The whole scene is a distillation of their dynamic. It's one disconnect after another, strung together by his inability to listen, her lack of trust, and their shared resentment. Thomas and Ellen's relationship is hindered at every turn by the misogyny, queerphobia, and repression that are built into the cage that is their society. The film is an exploration of that cage. Its bars are the driving force behind the plot.

* NIGHTFALL - the diurnal, or gas-lit (it's on the nose. it's SO on the nose) scenes are a visual shorthand for the "normal" accepted society. It is Rational (hence the scientific "gaseous" light), it is godly (sunlight), it is the domain of the Hardings and Sievers of the story. The moonlight and firelight provide a similar distinction to the scenes that delve into the Emotional and the demonic, removing the subjects from the usual societal restrictions; those light sources are generally considered to be magical, primal, raw. It's fascinating, seriously - if you ever watch this film again, try to pay attention to the lighting!

[ghostiequill]

Sanji x anxious eater reader

No, shut up this is not me projecting (but i know he'd be so sweet about it)

You have a troubled relationship with eating your whole life

No one was the pinpoint cause of it, but seeing all the other people with their ripped abs and perfect hourglass figures caused hesitation everytime you decided to indulge yourself in food

With your sweet tooth, it was even more difficult. Everything delectable delight you would indulge yourself in, you felt a tsunami of guilt afterwards staring at the empty wrapper, devastated at your lack of control

When you decided to join the Straw Hats, you were shocked to see how forward the cook was, despite how you felt about your figure. He would constantly gush over you, how well you fought, bending to your will and would lather you in constant compliments 

The problems came when he tried to spoil you with his cooking, he would go out of his way to serve you first, despite the various teasing protests by the rest of the crew . Every bite was sinful in every sense of the word, the flavors dancing on your tongue as you swallowed both it and the anxious feelings threatening to bubble up. You could feel your stomach rebelling against the contents as you excused yourself early from dinner, not the first time

Unknownst to you, Sanji was hyper aware of your presence on board. He would notice every time you would leave the table early and the smaller portions you would give yourself compared to every else’s, your furrowed brow and anxious looks when he would cook something more decadent for you

He finds you alone one night after he finishes tidying his kitchen and kicking out Luffy for attempting to steal leftovers. He walks up to you gently laying a hand on your shoulder to try not to spook you.

“Hey, are you ok?” He asked

You forced a smile, “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”

“If there's anything you want to talk about, you can come to me. We’re a crew, we can confide in each other, you know that right?” Sanji’s eyes are full of concern as he squeezes your shoulder 

“Of course, I know that. You've always been so sweet to me, I really feel like we’re a family here” You claim

“I've just noticed you seem really anxious around food, anything I can do to alleviate that pain for you I will do in an instant” Sanji says, his voice eager to please and full of care 

“…It's just been really hard sometimes. I can't help but feel every calorie that passes my lips and I feel like I haven't done enough to earn it”your eyes looking anywhere but his as you force out the confession

Sanji looks taken aback, grabbing your shoulder and gently making you face him.  “You don't have to earn food. You need calories to do things you love. Your body deserves to be nourished and cared for. You don't earn the right to eat. Every meal is an opportunity for self care. There's no conditions to self love. Food is a vital source of life and love that we shouldn’t take for granted. It is my sworn duty as your friend to help protect you from any enemy, including yourself. If you’ll allow me, I can do my best to help” 

Your eyes are full of tears as you finally break down, head in your hands as you start crying. Sanji doesn't say anything else as he rubs your back

The next day for breakfast, he prepares for you an easier meal of eggs and sausage, healthy but still getting in vital calories. It’s like that for every meal, just for you. He would gently introduce richer ingredients in your meals, easing you in with words of affirmation, small touches and toothy smiles

You couldn't help but feel the love prepared with every meal prepared specifically for you and witness Sanji’s affection and see his smile with every bite. 

The following days were filled with nothing but affection, tender gestures, and thoughtful culinary choices. Through his actions, he conveyed a deep love of your body and soul, easing you into a life of indulgence.

[ddawn111]

A New (And Improved?) Weapon

ROTTMNT Donatello x Reader

I just love to think that Donnie would go all out when fixing or upgrading things for reader. Total showoff mode.

Also, I’ll admit I might have gotten carried away with the schematics a little, so the chapter is pretty long. I got excited.

The lair buzzed with its usual controlled chaos, but your mind was locked on the new weapon in your hands, a mystic staff you’d claimed after Donatello so graciously (stubbornly) declined it. The concept of wielding such a powerful artifact was exciting, but the reality? Far more complicated.

Surprisingly, the weird looking staff with a small scythe blade on one end and a mace on the other was a shapeshifting weapon. The staff never changes, but different weapons or weapon attachments can materialize off of the ends.

Every time you thought you had a handle on its abilities, it would surprise you with some new twist, like a blade materializing randomly or the entire thing transforming into a flail mid-spin.

You stood in the middle of the lair, staring at the mystic staff in your hands. The smooth, wooden surface pulsed faintly with energy, the ends glowing intermittently as if mocking your lack of control. No matter how much you tried, the thing just wouldn’t cooperate. It felt alive, almost sentient, and you weren’t sure if it wanted to help or hurt you.

“Great,” you muttered, tossing it onto the couch beside you. “I’m going to accidentally vaporize someone at this rate.”

The staff rolled slightly, stopping just before it fell to the floor, and you sighed. You needed help, but the only person who could actually make sense of it was currently holed up in his lab, probably creating something absurdly genius and unnecessarily complicated.

Donatello.

Just the thought of him made your heart do that annoying flutter thing you’d been trying to ignore for years. Ever since you’d met him, his quick wit and confidence had a way of getting under your skin in the best (and most infuriating) way. Not to mention his ridiculous ability to make the simplest things sound like a declaration of brilliance.

You glanced back at the staff, biting your lip. Taking this to Donnie meant subjecting yourself to his relentless sarcasm and that infuriatingly smug smile. But it also meant spending time with him - alone.

For a moment, you debated leaving it be, but the idea of another accidental self-inflicted injury won out. You grabbed the staff and made your way to the lab, rehearsing what you’d say to avoid sounding like a complete idiot.

Frustrated but determined, you made your way to Donnie’s lab.

Donnie’s lab was exactly how you expected it—organized chaos. Tools, gadgets, and half-finished inventions were strewn across the room, glowing softly under the overhead lights. At the center of it all was Donatello, hunched over his workbench, his back to you as he worked on something at his bench. Sparks flying as he welded something you couldn’t identify, the sound sharp but rhythmic. Naturally, he didn’t notice you.

You hesitated for a moment, leaning on the doorway and watching him work. He always looked so… focused. Determined. It was one of the things you admired most about him, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

“Don,” you called, stepping closer. He didn’t respond.

“Donnie.”

Nothing.

“DON. Hey! Donnie boy!” Still nothing.

You sighed and leaned against his desk chair, twirling the staff in your hands. “Donatello!” you tried again, drawing out the name for emphasis. Still nothing. You rolled your eyes, flopping down sideways onto his desk chair with all the grace of a cat on a lazy day. “DonTron!”

Finally, the welding stopped for a beat, but it wasn’t until you called, “Mr. Genius!” with feigned exasperation that he finally turned around.

“I hear someone acknowledging my proper title,” he said smoothly, a small grin tugging at his lips as he lifted his welding mask and rubbed his forehead, finally making eye contact.

You burst out laughing. “Really? That’s the one you respond to? I’ve been calling you for, like, five minutes.”

“But of course, sweet maiden,” he replied with a theatrical bow. “I only respond to the sweet, sweet truth.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You tried not to let your face heat up at the “sweet maiden” comment, instead crossing your arms with a smirk. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously accurate.”

“Sure, sure.” You straightened and held up the staff. “Anyway, I have a formal request.”

“With what, exactly?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms in a way that made him look far too confident.

You resisted the urge to look away and held out the staff. “This thing’s… complicated. I still don’t know what half of it does, and I’d rather not find out the hard way, sooo... Think you can analyze it and share your genius knowledge?”

Donnie’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Oh, so now you’re coming to me for help? And here I thought you were Miss Independent.”

“Don’t push it, DonTron,” you shot back, though the nickname made him grin even wider.

You batted your eyes at him for extra effect, and Donnie sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. He took the staff from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. You pretended not to notice the way your stomach flipped at the contact. “Well, since it’s a formal request,” he said, examining the weapon with a critical eye. “I suppose I can spare a moment. For you.”

“Thanks, Don-tron. You’re the best.”

“Obviously,” he said, taking the staff and walking off with it, already muttering calculations under his breath.

You lingered for a moment before leaving, wondering why it was so easy for him to fluster you without even trying.

When you returned to the lab a few days later, it was with equal parts excitement and dread. The lair buzzed as usual, but your mind was elsewhere; on the mystic staff you’d claimed and the guy who was currently tweaking it. It had taken every ounce of courage you had to hand it over to Donatello without fumbling over your words.

You’d been thinking about Donnie’s upgrades ever since you handed over the staff, but mostly, you’d been thinking about him. Every smirk, every comment, every fleeting moment spent in his orbit replayed in your mind with maddening clarity.

You’d been crushing on him for… well, longer than you cared to admit. Of course, it didn’t help that he was infuriatingly brilliant and confident in ways that left you simultaneously exasperated and weak in the knees. Still, you weren’t about to let that show. Not to him, anyway.

And now, here you were again, standing at the entrance to his lab with your heart doing somersaults.

Donnie turned as you approached, holding the staff in one hand like it was a trophy. He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Ah, my esteemed client returns,” he said, his grin widening as you stepped closer. “Prepare to be amazed.”

“Already prepared,” you quipped, crossing your arms to keep from fidgeting. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Genius.”

“Behold! your newly enhanced mystic weapon,” He handed you the staff with a flourish, and you immediately noticed it felt lighter and sleeker…and…metal? The surface was smooth and silver, with faint etchings that glowed when you touched it. It hummed softly in your hands, almost as if it were waiting for your command.

“Uh, Don, this looks… different.”

“Different?” he repeated, mock offense lacing his tone. “Try better. I’ve optimized it in every way imaginable. Allow me to demonstrate,” Donnie said straightening up.

“What exactly did you do to it?” you asked, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever he looked at you like that, like he knew something you didn’t.

“Behold!” Donnie gestured dramatically as he launched into a rapid-fire explanation. “The staff now splits down the middle for dual-wielding combat. Blades can eject from the ends for melee attacks in case the mystic properties fail you—which, let’s be honest, they might.

And this!” He reached over, pressing a subtle button near the middle of the staff. With a soft whir, the entire weapon collapsed down to the size of a drumstick. “Collapsible design for maximum portability. You’re welcome.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that’s… actually pretty awesome.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Donnie said, clearly relishing the moment. He pressed the button again, and the staff extended back to full length with a satisfying snap. “The exterior is reinforced with an alloy of my own design, making it nearly indestructible, and the mystic energy is now perfectly stabilized, so no more misfiring while you wield it. But wait - there’s more!”

You couldn’t help but smile as he tapped another button near the base of the staff. Instantly, small engines popped out of the back end, sleek and perfectly integrated into the design.

“Boom! Jet engines”

“Wait, jet engines? Are you serious? They’re so tiny,” you gawked, twirling the staff experimentally. It felt perfectly balanced, the mystic energy now harmonizing with Donnie’s tech.

“Silent jet engines, and yeah I’m awesome, I know,” he corrected, his grin widening, gesturing like a game show host revealing a prize. “They allow for broom-style flight. The controls are balance based, the speed and steering are controlled by your movement, so it’ll take some getting used to.”

“Wait, so you’re saying I can fly with this?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Precisely,” he said, nodding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I noticed you struggle with keeping pace during missions, so this should level the playing field.”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” you said dryly, though your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness behind the upgrade.

Donnie chuckled, but there was something softer in his gaze when he replied. “I just wanted to make sure you could keep pace with us,” he said, his voice quieter but no less confident. “Can’t have you falling behind.”

You stared at him, equal parts impressed and suspicious. “And you’re sure this is still mystic? It kind of feels like you rebuilt the whole thing from scratch.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Never question the tech man. Just enjoy the masterpiece.”

Shaking your head, you gave the staff another experimental twirl. It felt incredible in your hands, sleek, powerful, and undeniably you. The mystic energy now perfectly synchronized with Donnie’s tech. You had to admit - it was pretty awesome. “Fine, I’ll bite. What else did you add?”

Donnie smirked, tapping a finger to your temple. “That, my dear, is for you to discover.”

You tilted the staff in your hands with a smile, testing its weight. It felt perfect, like it was made just for you. “This is amazing, Don. Really. You outdid yourself,” you said in a soft voice.

“Obviously,” he quipped, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. He turned away quickly, pretending to fiddle with his tools.

You smiled to yourself, watching as he worked. For all his bravado, there was something undeniably endearing about moments like this, when his confidence wavered just enough to show the person underneath.

“Well,” you said, leaning the staff against your shoulder, “I guess this means I owe you one.”

Donnie glanced over his shoulder, his smirk returning full force. “Oh, you owe me several.”

Before leaving, you couldn’t resist poking around his gadget cabinet, no visit to Donnie’s lab would be complete without poking through his latest inventions. Your eyes landed on a long, sleek metal earring that stretches up from the earlobe and hooks over the helix, the design too intriguing to pass up, and you couldn’t resist trying it on.

“What’s this do?” you asked, holding it up.

Donnie looked up from his work, a frown already forming. “That’s not finished yet.”

You grinned, fixing it onto your ear. “Which means it’s fair game.”

Feeling at the metal, the moment you swiped your finger upwards from the bottom of the earring to the top, pink holographic glasses materialized over your eyes, showing holographic statistics of everything around you. “Whoa.” You waved a hand in front of your face, and the display followed your movements, like an augmented reality interface. “This is so cool.”

“Careful!” Donnie rushed over, his hand brushing yours as he adjusted the earring. “That’s still in beta.” You tilt your head to give him access to your ear and smile.

The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and for a second, neither of you moved. Then Donnie cleared his throat and stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“It’s mine now,” you teased, feeling around until you realized swiping your finger up or down the earring adjusted the transparency of the holograms clouding your vision, which, in tandem, adjusted the transparency of the glasses so your eyes were more visible as you dimmed the holograms. “I’ll take my chances. Don’t worry, I’m just ganna borrow it… indefinitely.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if it malfunctions, don’t blame me.”

You also snagged a pair of fingerless gloves that, when activated, transformed into sleek gauntlets. They felt light but sturdy, and you could already imagine how useful they’d be in a fight.

“Those too?” Donnie asked, trying to look irritated, but smiling watching as you flexed your fingers in the gloves.

“Hey, if you didn’t want me to take them, you shouldn’t leave them lying around,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Of course, you’d find out later that all your gadgets included Donnie’s hardware, giving him way too much control when he wanted to mess with you. (Cue the time he reversed your gauntlets mid-battle just to prove a point.)

You twirled your newly enhanced staff and glanced over at Donnie, who was already engrossed in another project. “Thanks, DonTron. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said without looking up, then added with a smirk, “Seriously, don’t mention it. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Mr. Genius.”

As you left the lab, staff in hand, gloves fitted to your hands, and earring firmly in place, you couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your mind. The way he’d smiled, the way his voice softened when he talked about making sure you could keep up, it all felt… different.

Maybe he cared more than he let on. Or maybe you were just imagining things. Either way, you weren’t about to let this crush win. Not yet, anyway.

But as you glanced back, you caught Donnie watching you leave, his expression softening for just a moment before he turned back to his work.

As you filtered out of the lab Donnie chuckled to himself thinking of how you didn’t realize your “stolen tech” was a perfect fit.

Thanks for reading! I'm so happy to finally post my first fic. Sorry for any typos.

I was thinking about expanding on this with a oneshot series, let me know your thoughts.

Feel free to request.

Page divider credit: bunnysrph

[cushfuddled]

When I first started shoveling Jayvik fanfic into my mouth a month and a half ago, I was shocked and delighted at the avalanche buffet of top Viktor and dom Viktor content. But I've started to feel like the detective who kneels down and touches some footprints in the dirt like, "Something happened here..."

Because I can't remember the last time I saw a fanon concept become...so ubiquitous? Even in fics where Viktor bottoms, he's a power bottom/topping from the bottom. Spotting a fic with an overwhelmed sub bottom Vik in the Ao3 tag feels a bit like the moment a snow leopard graces your Himalayan trail cam.

I DO NOT mean to suggest anyone "should" write more inexperienced/bottom/sub Viktor! It's just...as someone who likely missed whatever ancient discourse might've plagued the Arcane fandom years hence, I've been through this fandom song and dance enough times to recognize the smell of...what say, capital-O Obligation.

I just want people to know they can write whatever kind of fanfic they want. That's the point of this post. I hope someone somewhere reads this and feels emboldened to let loose/goof off/get freaky/whatever.

Because I can see why people would feel Obligated to portray Viktor as a top/dom/the sexually experienced one. He's physically disabled and chronically ill. Ableism so often takes the form of paternalism and infantilization. There's this pervasive notion that disabled people don't have sex. People think we're too "pure" for sex, or assume we're "undesirable" as romantic partners/that our physical or mental disabilities would make sex impossible. With that cultural context, it's a radical act for so many people to come together and choose to portray Viktor—a disabled, terminally ill man who struggles with suicide ideation—as a sexually experienced top.

One of the hardest things about being disabled/ill is the lack of control. You can't plan for the future; you don't know whether your pain levels will be better tomorrow or demand another trip to the ER; your life is totally in the hands of overworked doctors who don't care about you. So it feels kind of like an act of reclamation to put Viktor in a dominant position. In a safe, sane, consensual arrangement, all parties have control over the situation, but with topping and/or domming comes the Role of authority/power. Making Viktor an experienced, sly top/dom gives back Viktor's autonomy and agency.

So yeah. I get why this trend is pervasive within the fandom! It's fantastically subversive. I just hope nobody feels like they HAVE to fall into this dynamic.

I remember a Tumblr post from years ago where someone described the drawbacks of a supposedly "feminist retelling" of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, wherein the heroin saves herself by her own strength and wits. This, I would argue, is a perfectly fine story to tell...but its lack of intersectionality betrays a shallow definition of feminism. In casting those retold fairy tales in a feminist, "empowering" light, one ignores the realities of the people who found escapism in those helpless damsels.

In a paradoxical way, when my MCAS knocked me flat on my ass for two years, I was always out of control of my life AND forced to take control all the time. All those overworked, traumatized, apathetic doctors meant I had to be my own patient advocate. I had to do my own research; figure out which treatment plans made the most sense; find doctors who took my insurance and could see me within six months; argue with Medicaid when they didn't want to pay for one of the drugs I'd been prescribed; find new and creative ways to feed myself when my body reacted like it was allergic to everything other than water and Cheerios. And god, I had to self-police myself all the time. At the doctor's office, you have to look sick enough that they believe you when you say you're hurting, but you don't want to seem TOO sick because the desperation will make the doctor diagnose you with "hysterical woman" (or they'll just assume you're fishing for drugs). At home, you want to project some amount of strength so you don't worry your loved ones or make yourself too much of a "burden." (You also don't want to have to manage other people's anxiety on top of your own.) My disability (autism) and chronic illness (MCAS) are invisible, but I imagine there's a lot of masking that goes into navigating public spaces with a visible disability/illness, too.

So...when everything's this constant battle for control—when you're forced to project strength every day regardless of your pain level—of course some people are going to find relief in stories where they're allowed to shut down. I think it's important to let disabled characters be vulnerable and overwhelmed and even dependent on someone else, because as often as disabled and chronically ill people are infantalized, so too are we expected to "overcome" our disabilities/illnesses through miracles of resilience and cunning. We're pushed to perform strength, cheer, and "normalcy" for the public, who find our disabilities "sad" and "uncomfortable." Every time someone refuses to put on a mask, or a relative tells us to simply get more exercise, or a politician rails against "wellfare queens," or a bus route gets cut or a bench gets removed or our doctors hand-wave our symptoms, our world reinforces the message that we are Too Much; that our needs are exorbitant, our very existence a drain on society. So many of us throw ourselves into self-sabotaging grasps at independence. We work ourselves far past our limits to prove we aren't a burden on society. We refuse help just to maintain that tiny sense of control over our lives.

I find it deeply comforting to read stories where ill and disabled characters are...allowed to be helpless, I guess. To break the fuck down and let someone else finally take the reigns for a while—to lift some of that burden off their shoulders. I love when ill and disabled characters trust someone enough to take off that heavy armor, revealing the pain and weakness beneath the facade they were forced to take up to survive, and are rewarded with warmth and reassurance and care.

At a certain point...is it not a little ableist in itself, to restrict a disabled, chronically ill character to one specific role? To essentially lock them out of a position where they're allowed to relinquish control and be taken care of?

In essence,

Disabled and chronically/terminally ill people are not a monolith. As I always say, what offends one person will uplift another. It's an uncomfortable reality, but there's really no such thing as perfect representation. I think part of intersectionality is being willing to accept that multiple things can be true at once, because everyone's lived reality is different. It's absolutely fine to prefer one trope over another. But if I find a fanfic offensive or uncomfortable, I can always click the back button with the knowledge that there's almost certainly someone out there who'll find that same so-called problematic content empowering. Whether fic writers prefer top Viktor, power bottom Viktor, bottom Viktor, switch Viktor, sub Viktor, dom Viktor, experienced Viktor, virgin Viktor, omega vs. alpha Viktor, and every niche in between...I just hope they go where their heart tells them and write what they want.

[braindeathaoe]

Brain Death - An Oracle's End

“Welcome back, Oracle.”

Upcoming content will include but is not limited to: - Descriptions of extreme violence, gore & death - Substance Abuse (mainly consisting of alcohol)  - Parental Abuse/Neglect - Bullying/Ableism - Suicidal/Homicidal thoughts & tendencies  - Complete loss of self  - Brain Death This IF is rated 18+ and not suited for the faint of heart. The above content isn't condoned/glorified in any sense. Proceed at your own discretion.

~In continuing, I hereby acknowledge any exposure to that which I cannot handle is to the fault of none other than my own.~

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Synopsis

It is the year 2099.

Encapsulating the very definition of Utopia, the city of Paradise is revered as a shining example of North Amerikas. And in 2 hours, it'll be destroyed—alongside every soul living within its walls. For anyone else, this would've been the ending to a pretty meaningless story.

Unfortunately for you, it's only the beginning.

The universe must hold a heavy grudge, as it's decided to trap you in a never-ending loop. Reduced to an unwilling observer, all you can do is watch helplessly as everything you care about is destroyed over, and over, and over. No matter what you do. In spite of what you say.

~Regardless of what I think...~

Forever.

You are an Oracle; a cursed soul doomed to live, perish and repeat your miserable existence in an eternal limbo. Alone, forgotten, disregarded. You've witnessed the carnage countless times, explored as many avenues as humanly possible... The outcome never changes.

~It'll only get worse from here...~

Your end is fast approaching, and it doesn't look pleasant. Time is no longer on your side. Being trapped in this vacuum for as long as you have, you've started experiencing some horrifying side-effects. How many years of memories can the brain truly store?

That question may be answered soon.

S̴u̸c̵h̸ ̴a̷ ̴s̶h̴a̷m̷e̴ ̵t̶h̸a̵t̵ ̴n̷o̸b̷o̵d̵y̶ ̷w̵i̴l̴l̷ ̶b̷e̷ ̷a̷r̶o̶u̶n̷d̶ ̴t̵o̶ ̷h̷e̸a̷r̴ ̴i̷t̵.̷

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Features

Create and customize your Oracle, developing their personality through dozens of choices!

Be AFAB or AMAB—decide your gender, appearance and pronouns!

Spend your 2 hours wisely by exploring the city of Paradise, meeting new people and utilizing your knowledge of past lives.

Eat a burger! (or multiple, who cares?)

Attend a cool festival and win mediocre prizes!

Uncover lost memories, and discover their relation to the present.

Solve the mystery keeping you trapped in this loop, or try to enjoy what little time is left.

Succumb to Brain Death.

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Demo Release: Sometime 2025 (I FUCKIN HOPE)

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Author's Note

Hello!

My name is Ricey! I'm the one writing this thing.

This is a passion project that I started out of discontent. In my personal opinion, there are a lot of interactive fictions out there that share similar problems.

Whether it be deciding for you how your character feels, what they say and do, or punishing players for not having the correct stats... It all feels so hollow and sometimes even immersion breaking.

(Don't get me wrong, sometimes there are plenty of upsides to a story to justify these "flaws". But the execution can be lacking, and unsatisfying. No hate!)

The goal of this IF is to give you, my dear reader, full creative control on how your character reacts, what they do with the information provided, and MOST IMPORTANTLY! To not tell you how they're feeling. That should be up to you to decide.

Of course, there will be exceptions to this rule. Some choices will trigger what I'm calling "Emotional States". And for narration purposes there may also be times that your Oracle feels frustration over something. But I will do my best to limit that.

Anyways, I'm done yapping for now. Stay hydrated! And stay tuned!

[hrizantemy]

One of my main issues with A Court of Silver Flames is how Nesta’s growth contrasts sharply with the stagnation of those around her. Throughout the narrative, Nesta undergoes significant development—she confronts her trauma, embraces her identity, and learns to wield her power. Yet, the characters who surround her often remain unchanged, oblivious to their own flaws and mistakes. This one-sided growth creates a dissonance that undermines the collective dynamics of the group.

For instance, while Nesta battles her demons and strives for improvement, characters like Rhysand and Cassian fail to recognize their own shortcomings in how they treat her. They focus primarily on Nesta’s faults, overlooking the ways in which their actions contribute to her struggles. This lack of self-awareness not only frustrates me but also diminishes the authenticity of their relationships. It raises questions about accountability and the nature of support—how can one truly aid another’s healing journey without reflecting on their own behaviors?

The narrative’s emphasis on Nesta’s journey can feel isolating, as if she is the only one held to the standard of growth. This imbalance detracts from the overall themes of healing and community that the series strives to convey. In a world where characters are grappling with their own issues, it seems unrealistic that only one person bears the weight of change, leaving the others complacent in their unresolved issues.

Nesta’s journey towards healing reveals the profound impact of having a supportive environment like with Emerie and Gwyn—one where she isn’t constantly provoked, threatened, or manipulated. For much of her life, she has been in a cycle of fear and control, with those around her often pushing her buttons or forcing her into situations she wasn’t ready to face. It’s only when she finds herself in spaces where she feels safe that her true nature begins to emerge.

In the absence of external pressures, Nesta’s growth becomes evident. She starts to show genuine care for others, not out of obligation or the need to protect herself, but from a place of empathy and understanding. Without the weight of manipulation, she can forge meaningful connections, allowing her to explore her own emotions and desires. This nurturing space becomes crucial for her development, fostering her ability to love and trust without the fear of betrayal or loss.

When Nesta is not under constant scrutiny or threat, we witness her capacity for kindness and compassion blossom. She learns to advocate for herself, setting boundaries and making choices that align with her true self. This shift highlights the importance of supportive relationships—those that encourage rather than provoke, that uplift rather than manipulate. In this healthier dynamic, Nesta finds the strength to heal not only herself but also to extend that care to others.