#you better have done some work to warrant that

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[grunge-mermaid]

if you're gonna list your house for $1.2 million more than you paid for it 2.5 years ago, you're gonna have to show me some pics of what it looked like when you bought it to justify that

tbf the house *is* stunning and the price makes sense for the neighbourhood. way too neutral and modern (and too many pot lights) for my personal style, but it really is stunningly done and maintains the original character of the house

but an increase of $1.2 million in under 3 years is...hard to comprehend

[foldingfittedsheets]

The mattress company I worked for previously holds the record for my most overt macroaggressions to date. The company is in a somewhat better state now after changing hands but eight or so years ago I had some deeply heinous shit said to me.

Like a coworker who came up to me and spat out, “Why are dykes always wearing their keys on their belts?”

I stared at her in outrage and said, “My girlfriend wears her keys like that.”

“Well is your girlfriend a dyke?”

I reported it to my manager- a man who had once referred to trans people as “it’s”- but somehow, shockingly, nothing got done.

There were several extremely devout men in the stores nearby and one who I worked with in my store. He was called Keith and looked like a Tom Hanks ripoff. Name not redacted cause fuck him.

I loathed Keith from the second or third day of our acquaintance when he said, “You know I just respect the hell out of you, but I can’t abide by your choices.” Meaning, gosh you’d just be wonderful if you were in fact a different person who wasn’t gay.

Keith’s homophobia however turned out to be the most warranted I’ve ever heard when his backstory finally unlocked. You see, Keith was divorced. He’d met his ex-wife at church and they’d been married several years when one day he came home to find her sucking and fucking it up nasty style with her best friend in the middle of the living room.

When he accused her of cheating on him she scoffed and said that what she was doing wasn’t sex, because in fact, two women were incapable of having sex with each other. This seems like it could have been a solid argument based on Keith’s belief systems, but he did in fact think it was cheating.

They divorced. His ex-wife moved in with her best friend without an ounce of introspection and they attend church together regularly while she maintains that they’re just friends despite going to pound town on the regular.

[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley, Part 2:

Thinking Simon is asleep when he isn't. Or so he says. Case in point: Simon in all his cattiness made you his pillow. Your nails were working miracles scratching along his scalp which had him dozing off and lightly snoring. Or so you thought. You heard him grumble, "Why'd you stop, luvie?" when you moved your hand. He'll deny he was asleep, too, like the peepaw that he is.

To piggyback off the first point, Simon will sometimes quietly grab your hand and put it back on his head if you stop scratching his scalp. If you stop a second time, he will have experienced a betrayal man and cat were never supposed to know, and it's Affection Denied™ for the rest of the day lmao.

Texting each other when you're in two separate rooms because you don't feel like talking out loud. Sometimes, you'll text him some crazy shit that'll warrant him leaving the room he was in to silently judge you.

Absolutely loving to watch him shave in the morning because Simon is so sexy when he's concentrating, eyebrows furrowed, and those brown eyes staring intensely in the mirror.

You and Simon shit-talking each other in bed because you'll complain about being hot with the covers and cuddle pile you two have going on but never really doing anything to change it. You two actually can't get a good night's sleep without being up under the other.

Simon banning you from watching horror films because, for the hundredth bloody time, he didn't hear shit, love. He actually did and it was the neighbors but he can't be arsed to get out of bed.

Speaking of neighbors, it's you and Simon lying in bed, listening to the neighbors make sex and when it's done, Simon goes, "Mm. A new record," and he sounds so unimpressed which causes you to guffaw. Oh my fucking god—

Getting in the dog house with Simon because when your hands are cold, you stick them down in his pants to rest on his thighs because it's hilarious to see him jump and that's what he gets for not turning the heat up. Simon counterargues that he did turn it up. Three degrees.

Introducing Simon to the wonders of Spa Day at home because his skin needs some TLC. Simon looking like someone's stressed auntie with a ciggie dangling from his lips, wearing a really comfortable bathrobe you got him, and eye masks on.

You two treating it like the end of the world whenever one of y'all gets sick (Simon to a lesser extent) because how in the hell will you get your daily dose of affection?

Going all out and having a whole-ass reveal party for your newest edition to the family, Pup. You gave the boys shirts to wear in celebration. You wore Dad, Simon wore... Mom????, Kyle got Uncle, Soap got... Big Brother??? and Price got... Grandfather. Grand. Father. "Congrats, Cap'n." "Shut up."

Pranking Simon by calling him some random guy's name just to see his reaction. Simon stops what he's doing, judges you in Ghost, and goes, "Who the fuck is Anthony?" After that, it's on sight for Anthony. Whoever the fuck that is. Simon gets you back, though, and he's all, "Ask Anthony" "Oh? You love Anthony, too?" "Sorry sweetheart, Simon is taken. Better go to Anthony." Real funny, asshole.

Simon thinking you're about to go down on him. Not the way he thinks, though. You've situated yourself between his thighs, put his legs on your shoulders, and lower your head to... blow raspberries in his tummy. Like... whole-ass tunes. The disappointment on his face is immeasurable. But then you have him chuckling because you're fuckin' adorable looking up at him like that and your raspberries are ticklish.

[bigfatbimbo]

Take a Bite

1.5k words,, Bill Cipher x Reader

summary — Bill and the reader have sex, which has proven to be very difficult seeing as he isn’t doing anything, and, of course, things are never easy with that insufferable brat.

warnings — SMUT, bill being annoying and toxic, dom!reader, sub!Bill, heavy pain kink, bill’s human form, the fat fuck not the twink

a/n — Admittedly, this fic only happened because I never see Bill sub in fanfics and i’m very interested in what the dynamic would be. You’d be like… domming with a risk of death.

“Well, slick,” Bill leaned back and gestured up and down his body, “Give it your all.”

Amusement was thick in his voice, along with bubbling giddiness. He fumbled with the seams on his pants, not out of nervousness, but as if he had forgotten how to take them off and was looking for some kind of zipper. One, admittedly, that he would not find on slacks. 

“Wow, human clothes are just as bad as the fleshbags. So needlessly complicated,” He sounded on the verge of a laughing fit, “Oh, and toots? Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.” 

His amusement was not matched on your part. The situation invoked dull curiosity at best, in your opinion. The idea of harboring a wanted criminal, ex-overlord, god-like demon in your house challenged your idea of a good time. Having sex with that demon was even harder to swallow.

Then again, any situation with bill warranted an ungodly amount of stress. 

“Whatcha’ thinking about over there, sweet-cheeks?”

You smiled at that; of the few advantages you have, being in gravity falls for weirdmageddon proved to be one of them. You know of his powers, and with that, vague guesses on how to prevent them.

Tinfoil-lined bobbie pins were one of them. A guess, granted, but a good one at that. Really, not that complicated when you recall every alien movie you’ve ever watched. 

“Upset you can’t tell?” 

He laughed, “Upset for you, maybe. Trust me, it’d be so much easier for both of us if I could just read your thoughts. I’m already your roommate, how much closer could we ge- Ah.”

You brushed his pants crotch, and began to unbutton. For all his mightiness, the guy couldn’t work pants. “Careful, human body’s are touchy.” 

“Touchy,” He repeated, “Tell me about.” 

Getting his pants off was a task harder than it should have been, no thanks to Bill, who seemed to have taken to just lying there, occasionally flicking you, and then himself. 

When you finally peeled all of his clothes off, you warned him to brace himself, to which he ignored you. On top of that, the entire time Bill had been talking, droning on about ‘the last time he’d been in a human body.���

You wondered vaguely if he’d ever done this with someone else. In the time he’d been at your house he’d mentioned some ‘sixer’ ex-thing-ish of his. But you doubt he’d done anything with him.

As he’d mentioned, he hadn’t perfected his human form until very recently. Perfected is a strong word, he was pudgy and short, remanisent of a human peanut. And his teeth were terrible. 

Either way, you’d gotten him ready, and began your work. Laying a light finger on the tip of his dick, and running it down the base of his length, you got Bills first reaction: a short sniff.

Recovering fast, he adjusted his seat, “Yeah, tick tock, toots. This better be good.” 

It was his idea, you thought, but continued. Your fingers wrapped around the entirety of his cock and you began to stroke it. 

A sigh left Bills mouth, “Oh, this does have a kick to it. Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, you’d grow angrier and angrier. Although you were clearing making him feel good, he’d never shut his snide mouth for two seconds. 

“Jesus, slow down, pal— I just perfected this flesh-bag, at this rate your gonna break something—“ 

You didn’t realize how much your hand sped up. You thought for a moment, before completely stopping. Bill looked taken aback.

“Hey! what’s the—“

Without warning you grabbed his dick with full force and squeezed. He yelped, before giggling at the hurt.

This made you more mad, “God, do you ever shut up? I wish you’d lost your voice when you lost Gravity Falls.”

He stopped giggling. “I’d watch what you say, if I was you, kid.”

You threw your head back and laughed, running your hand slowly up his dick and then slamming back to the base of his cock. Finally, a reaction other than knowing bliss: anger. Weakness.

“Oh dear god, rearrange the features of my face then, Billy. See if I give a shit when you don’t have a place to live.”

His face turned red with rage, and he recoiled at the mention of your upperhand. And then, finally, at the slowing of your hand, a small, wavering whimper. 

You both caught it, and he was quick to put a hand of his mouth, “Sensitive human bodies - Hey, don’t look at me like that, that was not my fault.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Oh please, what are you gonna do about it?” And he was completely serious.

Without much hesitation, you took the moment as an opportunity to abruptly sink yourself onto his dick. He sucked in a breath but you didn’t give him much time to do anything else.

“Ah- Now we’re talki—“ You slapped him hard across the face, and grabbed his cheeks with your hand, squishing them together, mockingly. Stifled laughter from Bill. 

“This is the form you spent all that time perfecting? I can barely feel anything. It’s worthless!” You sped up riding him, loosening your face to give the illusion you were bored, “You’re worthless.” 

His eyebrows arched down and his eyes widened, “I can kill you with a snap of my fingers! You think I need this sex— You think I need this hous— ah, ah—“

The unknown pleasure was getting to him, making his brain foggier than usual, and it was showing. Human senses were a key factor in your ability to keep the high-ground. Just as long as it felt good enough, he wouldn’t go back to his original form and… well. 

You wondered vaguely if you were actually going to be in mortal parole after this. But then again, the look on his face was almost euphoric, despite the anger. Thankfully, Bill was selfish, he’d probably chase the high again

You sighed, “Oh, you do need this house, Billy. Where else would you go? Everyone else in town has already forgotten about you, and your little maniac friends are no where to be seen.”

You sped up once more as your hands danced up his body, and continued, “With this whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind routine, i’m giving you something you won’t be getting anywhere else: attention.”

“You— Ah, curse this feeble human body! I’ll make your life a living hell-“ He whined, actually whined. 

Slamming yourself down on him, he cried out and then scowled. You raked your nails down his chest, deep enough to bleed, drawing out a  giggle from Bill as he felt the littlest bit of blood start to pool.

“You’re lucky this meatbag is— ah— funny enough—“ He was cut off with a gargle as a your hand sharply wrapped around his throat, and squeezed tight. 

“It’s not luck, i’m good at what I do, Billy. Not that you would know what that’s like, you pathetic shitbag,” although that insult wasn’t particularly true, you didn’t give him a chance to snap back, and instead put your other hand on his neck as well. 

You rode him with more speed than ever now. His eyes fluttered open and shut slowly, and he leaned into your hands. 

His face flushed, but a dreamy smile spread to the edges of his face as you made sure to leave bruise marks on his throat, still slamming against him. 

Although, you didn’t want to actually break him, so when his face began to turn purple, you let go. He gasped for air and let out a raspy, crazed giggle that went on for too long, and ending in a moan.

“I’m— “ Bills eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher what the amusing thing the human body had planned next, “Somethings— somethings happening.”

His voice was broken, neck bruised, cheek red with a slap mark, eyes foggy, and chest bleeding from your nails. 

Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.

Clearly you’d kept your end of the deal, and from what you’ve gathered it was time for the finale. You chased your own climax now as well, even though, admittedly, you hadn’t been thinking about it the whole session.

Annoying as it was that Bill still managed to make something all about him —and he definitely knew, mind reading or not— you still kept up your pace. 

“You’re close?” 

He smiled blissfully, and nodded.

What the hell. You smiled, “Good boy.”

His reaction was… startling. He leaned his head back, let out a small half-whine half-laugh, and arched off the bed. Finally, he released.

[radiant-reid]

Code-Switching

super small blurb but this idea came about because of mom on tiktok raising her kid in french and english.

There's nothing better after a long day of work than coming back home to your family. You couldn't want much more in your life than living in the perfect townhouse with your beautiful little girl and handsome husband.

Spencer stayed home today and you can hear jazz music in the living room while you slip off your shoes at the front door. Having a baby is a good look on him, but so is his modified work schedule that allows him to do all his paperwork and consults from home.

You hang your coat on the coat rack. It's not yet warm enough outside to go without one, but the sun is quickly coming.

"Bonjour." You greet Spencer with a kiss as you walk into the kitchen.

He's cooking something that smells amazing, as usual. Although many people wouldn't believe it, his culinary skills are impressive.

"Hi, beautiful." Spencer smiles just seeing you. "How was your day?"

"It was great." You tell him. "Being home is better though."

He nods. "We missed you. Can I get you a drink or do you want to go change?"

"I'm okay." You assure him. "Where's Eloise?"

"She was in the living room." Spencer frowns slightly, looking over the kitchen island counter for the little girl.

Her building blocks are still there but before either of you can start worrying, two hands wrap around your ankle, and a little giggle leaves her lips. "Mamá!"

"Hola, bebé." You cheer, reaching down to scoop her up to rest against your hip in a hug. "Cómo estás?"

"Bien." She replies with a nod.

Before you can press some more Spanish words out of her, Spencer speaks, directing her attention to the dinner cooking. "Excusez-moi. Voulez-vous du riz ou des pâtes avec votre poulet?" He asks her. You can tell his speech is slowed, allowing her to hear each syllable and understand it.

Eloise looks at you instead of her dad. "Quiero pasta, no arroz." Then she looks to Spencer. "S'il vous plaît."

You grin at Spencer, who's matching your excitement. He'd done the bulk of the reading about how to properly raise a baby to speak multiple languages. He speaks French to her, you in Spanish, and everyone else she is around in English. It isn't a perfect system but you've stuck to it. Her level of fluency and words in each language fluctuate, but it's not bad enough to warrant concern.

Until now, she has barely shown any code-switching. Occasionally, she'll throw in English pronouns to Spanish or French sentences, but until now, there haven't been any combinations between Spanish and French.

"Eres una chica inteligente." You tell her with a smile. Eloise can't tell exactly why you're so pleased with her, but she mirrors your expression.

"Très intelligent," Spencer adds, kissing her cheek. He follows her direction, reaching up to grab some pasta to cook for tonight's dinner.

"Smart." Eloise translates the word like it's second nature to her. You suppose it is. And it's a word that describes her to the fullest.

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

[alchemistc]

Everything's so damn dark when the blindfold slips off that for a second she can't see a thing.

Don't panic. Don't scream. Don't hurt the baby.

Something groans at her feet and she startles straight into the pipe behind her head.

"'lo?" A voice asks, familiar enough to give her pause, and she wonders for a moment if this is a joke, if this is a trick, if this - "s'there?"

His words are slurred. A concussion, maybe, then. Great. Biggest man she knows and he's gonna be a useless pile of puke to her.

Don't panic, Maddie reminds herself, and then she starts giggling.

"Tommy?"

He groans an affirmative.

"Oh good. I feel a lot better about getting overpowered, now."

A hand grabs for her ankle and Maddie bites back a scream. It's Tommy's hand, big and warm and - fully unbound, which feels a little unfair. "Cunt drugged me," he says, then pauses. Squeezes her ankle. "Sorry for the language."

"No, it's, uh - I think it's warranted this time."

Maddie can't remember exactly how it'd happened to her. Had she been hit? Is she injured? She does a mental tally. Her lip feels swollen. Nose and eyes feel fine, though, so maybe she bit it? Neck, shoulders, all good. She's been bending her elbows and wrists just fine, she just doesn't have the leverage to do anything about the zip ties keeping her affixed to the probably pipe behind her. Hips, legs, knees. She wiggles her toes and in the darkness Tommy chuckles. "Everything accounted for?"

He must have done his own check while she was working through hers. She can hear him rustling around. "I'm still incredibly mad at you, but it's nice to hear your voice," she says, and Tommy goes still. "Tommy? All good?"

"...why are you mad at me?"

"Like you don't know?" Oh. Actually maybe she is more mad than she is glad. "You broke my brother's heart, idiot. I don't have any more room in my entire house for the coping mechanism he's come up with." She kicks, a little. Tommy grunts and shifts. "I hope that hit something painful and non-essential to our escape."

"He's - he'll be fine."

"What exactly is your definition of fine? Because it's been a few months and he's still bringing me baked goods on a bi-weekly basis."

"Bi-weekly like -."

"Do not get pedantic on me, Kinard. Two times a week. What's your status? Moving parts all still moving?"

"I think my balls have taken a vacation, but that's more a reflection on how terrifying you are than on this current situation."

Flippant. Sarcasm in the face of Maddie trying to get a full picture. Buck had called him funny and charming. Maddie's second kick doesn't land, but only because he's got a hand wrapped around her foot. "Once we're out of here, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

He hums. "For the balls comment, or the cunt thing?"

Maddie shrugs. Remembers that he can't see it. "Which part of 'broke my brother's heart' are you not getting?"

He sounds like he's moving gingerly. She can hear heavy bulky fabric rustle and she wonders if he's in three layers like usual. She could use something warm. "I - figured he'd be over it by now."

Maddie snorts. If she had to make a guess, Tommy glowers at the noise. "Dumbass."

And then it hits her. "The cunt? Skinny, brunette, pretty? Kind of...angular face?"

Tommy hums and takes her weight as she tries to kick again. "Sounds like her."

"Oh, Buck's gonna be pissed and embarrassed. She's rebound attempt number two."

Tommy's silent long enough that Maddie has to check in. He hums, and goes back to silence. "Rebound attempt?"

"If you hadn't noticed, we've actually been kidnapped, so maybe I can save your relationship afterwards?"

"I think she was trying to kill me," Tommy admits. "Otherwise why am I unbound in this shitty Saw knockoff?"

Maddie feels some extra pieces dropping into place. Oh, Buck is never gonna live this down actually.

"Can you overpower her if she comes in?"

"If she's not quick to try to drug me again. If I can figure out where the fucking door is. If -."

"A yes or no is fine. Pretty sure she's the Bay Butcher, if that helps you answer."

His pause is long. "...maybe," he says, and accepts the kick this time without block or protest.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

A Changed Future (2) | Yandere Isekai

Part 1

It’s so irritating for Haruko 

He remembers how he used to try and make noise in the beginning, when the same thing happened to him

But even without your struggling, he’s got more obstacles than he thought

“Tch all these guys getting in our way, maybe I should just kill them.”

“Haru no!”

“Why not, I'm sure you did it when I was trapped.”

“That…that doesn’t make it right!”

“So? Who cares about right when we’re in love? I think it was you who said that.”

Either way with or without your approval he’s figuring out a way to take down his newfound rivals

He kind of hopes they are as ambitious as the friends who recently abandoned him

Too bad they aren’t

In the original story, the crazy thing about the protagonist was that despite their obsessive love for Haruko and general disregard for those who got in the way of that was otherwise really inspiring

Breaking away from their elitist family for their violent morals ironic right

Joining the workforce, easily rising because of their work ethic and intelligence

And all that while beautifully evading a less-than-clean detective trying to pin the blame of random crimes on them

Which of course got them their own male leads attempting to pursue their affections

Always doomed to fall short because of circumstance or the protagonist suavely crushing their hopes to gush about their love

It was a uniquely terrible tragedy for their characters to be written this way

That’s what the random reviewers would say

Which is why you did feel inclined to maybe entertain them a bit more than the original protagonist would have ever done

“Since you are quitting….I hope you’ll let me treat you to dinner. For all your hard work of course.”

“Uh sure but I have to be home by sunset.”

“That’s a shame then we’ll have to—Wait. Did you say you would?”

“Yeah, are you okay?”

“YES! Ahem I mean yes I’m fine! I look forward to a nice evening together!”

Unknowingly furthering the obsession the protagonist was barely keeping at bay

“So mind telling me what you ordered that day at the restaurant?”

“I think it was my favorite dish there called the berry delight but I’m not sure. I think they changed the menu since I was there.”

“Why not confirm it later today? That way you can tell me if you did see the missing classmate of yours.”

“But I don’t remember exactly where I sat–”

“Then we’ll just have to sit in every spot until it rings a bell.”

“I don’t know if that’s–”

“Don’t fret. I’ll be paying but there's no way we’ll get to try every table. We’ll have to come back multiple times.”

“Okay…”

“No worries I’m sure you’ll get tired of eating there so we’ll go to some other places to give you a rest. Anywhere you wanted to try?”

You’d be foolish to think you could escape them by agreeing to Haruko’s entrapping of you 

It only takes a day of you not responding to messages that they both eagerly awaiting you at your door

And after the first few times, Haruko shooing them away they begin to get resourceful

“Yeah bud nice try their still out.”

“Hm well say that to my lovely warrant right here.”

“Wait! H-h-hold on! Geez I-i’ll go get them now but they are not going to be happy with you!”

It really doesn’t get better as the guard against the protagonist’s secrets begins to be let down as interested parties slowly make their way in

You don’t have the same ruthlessness or ability to deceive as the protagonist you took over for 

On top of that you never actually read the webtoon so you’ll be left trying to piece together whatever few weak points the protag has

Where if you hadn’t already started to make your pursuers interested all those faults are fuel for their agenda

“It’s so unfortunate that the company can sign off on your absence during this suspicious crime but I don’t mind editing records if you wouldn’t mind spending time with me. That way I can vet your personality myself. Over wine of course!”

It’s overwhelming constantly being pulled in 3 directions 

What’s worse you’re completely oblivious when the latest obstacle in the protag’s perfect life finally makes themselves known

“Hello darling, it took us years to find you but we did it!”

“Don’t look like that come give your Mama a hug!”

Part 3: Coming Soon

[itsmealaiahh]

"Much Needed Release"

TW: tom being pussymuncher69, pussy eating, clit stimulation, minor profanity, some angst in the beginning, head (fem rec obviously), praise, some overstimulation, somnophilia

Request: older Tom X younger petite reader. reader had a bad day and Tom was tired of hearing abt how bad she was being treated. when r (reader) went upstairs for a nap, Tom woke her up with his face in between her thighs. He makes r cum A TON! Yea. Thx baeee!

IM ACK 😚😚`😚😚😦😦😦 NON T DEAD

Rating: under 15 dni!! explicit situations lie ahead!!

"I hate weekdays"

You complained to tom the minute you walked through the door, tired and spent from the hellish day you had just went through. It just wouldn't stop! The terrible treatment from certain co-workers, and even your boss was unbearable, to say the least.

Each day, you always came home, your mood miserable, and tom wanted to fix it. He was honestly getting a little bit annoyed at how every day at your officeplace was going. Why were your co-workers so rude towards you? Hell, why was even your boss so rude? He was sure you hadn't done anything to warrant the treatment. You were sweeter than anyone he had ever met, and it took a lot to get you angry or upset.

He wanted to help you out and give you a break from the tough week, but how so? You would surely fall asleep during a movie or an activity where you both just sat on the couch together, so how could he possibly help? He didn't notice you were no longer in the living room until he snapped out of his thoughts, and he knew you were taking a nap. He could try to..no.

That would be wrong, and quite frankly, disgusting, unless...

Tom made his way to the bedroom, seeing you napping on his pillow, your body covered by the duvet. Quietly closing the door behind him, he padded over to the mattress where you slept, picking the covers off. His eyes widened just a bit at seeing your underwear the only thing that you were wearing, and his cock twitched in his pants, slowing coming to life. His lips parted a bit, his tongue swiping over his bottom one as he gazed over your sleeping frame, drinking you in fully.

The more he looked, the more turned on he became, his member now straining almost painfully against the restraint of his pants. He pulled the covers over himself, stripping you of your remaining clothes, throwing them to the side; your precious cunt now exposed.

He groaned a little at the sight, placing a gentle lick on your clit before delving into your pussy. His hands held your hips down as you squirmed every now and then in your sleep, letting out little whines as well. He closed his eyes, lapping up and down your core, ravishing your taste on his tongue.

"so fucking sweet" he murmured, his tongue flicking up and down your little bud occasionally, working wonders on you. More moans and other small noises escaped you, slowly coming to from your sleep. Tom didn't see your eyes opening up as he continued to bury his face into your pussy, now sucking tastefully on your clit. You let out a loud moan, your vision no longer blurry. Your legs wrapped around tom's head, squeezing just a bit. You didn't have any time to adjust, your body overcome with pleasure.

Breathing in slowly, you met eyes with tom, who looked up at you with a grin, his beard glistening with your juices. "w-what are you doing?" You questioned, pulling yourself upright with your elbows. "Well" he started, giving another small lick to your core, before going back to speaking. "You had a rough day, so I wanted to make it better. Just sit and relax and let me please you, okay baby? I'll make it worth your while"

You laid back down with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of tom's tongue lapping insistently at your pussy. The tongue was a very wet and strong organ, and having tom's on your core? Fucking heaven. Your legs squeezed his head again, not too rough to cut off air supply, just enough to let him know how good you were feeling. "You like that baby? My tongue on this pretty little pussy?" He smirked. You nodded, giving another small whimper. Your hips bucked up against his mouth, already giving way to your orgasm. "To-tom"

Many, many, many, delicious orgasms later, and now you and tom were snuggled up together in bed, his hand stroking your hair softly. After being so spent from simply his tongue, he was calming you down and letting you go back to sleep, no more tricks up his sleeve for the rest of the night. He was going to let you get some much needed rest, and he'd try to convince you to stay home tomorrow so you could regroup and hopefully ease up from all of the tension your work was putting on you. But that was for tomorrow, right now, it was just about you and him, snuggled up together, happy and content.

also sorry jordan if this isn't what you wanted pookie lmk if you want some diff and i'll try to fix it 😋😋😋

[theangrycomet-art]

TFA Redesigns Part 2: ft Team Athenia, the "new" Protectobots and Rescue Force Sigma-17

Part 1

still annoyed that drew i drew team athenia is facing the wrong way

COMMISSIONS OPEN:

Random Lore Dump Ramblings Below the Cut:

Team Athenia is not disbanded, but they are stationed back on cybertron security while Rodimus recovers from the Cosmic Rust

Rodimus is a terrible patient and keeps trying to sneak out of the hospital and get back to work (not that he's very successful considering the damage hems undergone; there's been talk of a total reframe and that kind of scares of him)

Red Alert (as second command and technically now in-charge of the team) is VERY stressed out and struggling not to fall back into old habits and paranoia (it doesn't help that one of her conjuxes is MIA too)

Ironhide is NOT joining the Earth Team but he did visit there with Hot Shot checking a lead on an old bootcamp buddy, where he picked up his new alt mode

Brawn is... well if you ask him he says he's fine but he's as stressed as Red Alert about everything going on without a nice outlet of 'con bashing to let it out with

The Protectobots' were picked more off their frametypes then their skillsets; Sentinel got REALLY lucky there that these guys are all highly competent, quick learners

They were all required to get new paint jobs with a white base with single color accents, with the exception of First Aid (who already met the color requirements) and Hot Spot (who had the reverse- single color base with white accents)

First Aid is putting his 200% into Ultra Magnus' recovery because he does NOT want to be Sentinel's poster boy. These mechs are nice but First Aid is a doctor not some mascot. It's hard enough being taken seriously as is.

Streetwise was actually partners with Chase. In contrast to the latter's by the book attitude, he was more focused on working with people to keep them out of trouble.

Blades was another "expendable" "volunteer" for the Aerialbot project after getting bashed in treating a patient in field. (His previous frame being the same mold of Ironhide and Ratchet.) Unlike the Twins, he is not taking his forced frame change with much grace, a bit divided between fear of his new body/being forced to use it and fury for what was done to him...

Hot Spot, the unofficial "leader" of the protectobots, is trying to keep a cheerful outlook with the group of mech's he's been assigned. Honestly, he liked his previous job better, but this can't end up THAT bad, right?

Groove is the only one that signed up for the protectobots, even if he was technically trying to apply for a traveling permit to explore more organic planets with his buddy Boulder. He's testing the waters to see whether he's gonna stick around or not.

NGL, I don't really have too many ideas for the Rescuebots in TFA pre-Earth beyond "and they did their specific jobs very well" sort of thing

Chase wasn't very popular amongst his fellow cops because he was such a stickler about the rules and didn't hesitate to report any misconduct amongst his peers (taking bribes, initiating a search without a warrant, arresting without a warrant, etc.)

Heatwave and Hot Spot both trained under Inferno (Hot Spot may or may not have had a tiny, miniscule crush on his barrack buddy while they were training...)

[theoddest1]

Let's Actually Talk About The Issues With Vivziepop

Okay, first off, hello you beautiful people! Sorry about this foreboding title, but I needed to catch y'all attention on this so I can break down the issues that I and many have with "Hazbin Hotel" and "Helluva Boss" creator, Vivienne Medrano. Now I am sure you all on here are already aware of at least a couple of the controversies that revolve around this particular creator and if you have seen my posts floating around already, some have been greeted with the problems surrounding her social media presence and just her overall as a person. I know seeing another callout on her seems very very tiring at this point, but I felt that a lot of the current callouts missed key details that were not at all addressed or properly delved on. I plan on shedding light on my issues with her and I hope you get where I am coming from when I say that she sucks.

BULLYING

Okay, I am starting off with Vivienne's blatant use of bully mentality, her agreeing or encouraging her fans to call people who see flaws in her works sub-humans or harass those who find issue or simply jest about her works trademark cussing and and overcrowded designs. She has had this issue for YEARS and refuses to grow up and act her age despite many telling her, even her own fans at times, that she shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. Clearly, she doesn't care and thanks to her fanbase caring more about her feelings than her being better she feels as though she doesn't need to change or do better. This goes for her friend group as well, who defend her tremendously and act as though she is never in the wrong. Name one time a friend of hers called her out for acting childish, I'll wait.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Wtf could they have done to warrant such a response?"

Criticism...That's all they did. (White Text is random peeps they would speak with or maybe mutuals)

Keep in mind...they used to be a fan as well. They were also a minor at this point

But, Viv doesn't care, this person's critical yet harmless tweets about her shows is what lead to her painting them in a horrible light and making them out to be someone who has attacked her personally and as "nasty".

Rich coming from Viv since she is completely fine doing exactly that for "Ava's Demon". Not only does she criticize it, she takes a shot at the creator as well, but GOD FORBID others do the same towards her.

And according to someone who knew her well, it's all cause they felt creeped out by her.

Her hatred for criticism is so prominent that Ima makes that a section of its own. But let's get back on the topic of bullying.

Vivienne has a fanbase filled to the brim with pushy and overall annoying individuals who have harassed, threatened, disrespected, and wished harm on many people, all cause someone had a negative thing to say about Vivziepop's mid af show. One of the earlier known instances is the one revolving around a MEME of all things.

This was what started it all, and it led to both parties blocking each other and people being mad pushy and calling them an idiot and the like over their opinions. Now look, their take and you're opinion on said take is fine so long as you stay respectful and humane about it all, but don't dogpike someone all cause they think HH sucks. And while Viv can not control her fanbase, for they are not a hivemind (some of y'all act it tho, ima keep it real) she is seen here ENCOURAGING the behavior. Tell me how someone who doesn't even like your trash ass show has the sense to tell people not to harass others, someone with a smaller following, but not your grown damn near 30 year old ass?

Oh, but people wanna act like she can handle criticism, is a sweet person, and grew from her past experiences. Fam, she was 27 in this screenshot [December 16, 2019] and has shown no change from 2013 to fucking 2024. Over a decade of the same petty ass behavior, and keep in mind, according to several of her old friends and workers, she is worse behind close doors. WORSE. She's already acting like she got no damn sense out in the open, imagine behind closed doors.

Last but not least, a glimpse into her outright blatant slander towards Dollcreep, a once good friend of hers that she even visited and spoke with frequently!

She stated that they fetishized pedophilia yet according to the victim and friends of the victim who were once friends with Viv as well, Viv actually threatened to end their friendship if he hadn't drawn NSFW art of her character and his character having sex [Addi was 15 at the time this was drawn]

On top of that, she liked the post, something she didn't need to do. The art also depicted things she had regularly drawn on her own. Addi being tied up forcefully, being sexualized, being harmed to some degree through bondage, etc. The claim that she forced DC to draw this out is backed up by her own art depicting similar elements. Also, if my memory serves me well, Viv and Doll were 17-18 years old [Doll was 17 Viv 18] and have a 1-year age gap. The way Viv frames things here is as if DC was way older and imposed some sort of power over DC, which sources say otherwise. If anything, Viv had a LOT of control throughout all of this drama, which deserves its own section.

I'll be making posts that talk about the different issues regarding Viv, so one post isn't too long (this one is already lengthy enough) and that you can just pick at one post targeting certain issues around this creator.

[keferon]

Why’d monster hunter brainstorm timetravel to the specific era the story takes place?

Will the others ever see his alt mode?

The reason is the same as in canon - he wanted to save Quark.

Okay, I'll try and keep this short and sweet.

Brainstorm lives in the far future and is happy with Quark, until one day it turns out that Quark has a fatal spark disease that will kill him if nothing is done about it. They of course go to the hospital, but it turns out that only certain types of the disease are treatable and modern science still can't do anything about it.

Long story short, no one knows how to cure Quark's spark.

Brainstorm, as a true scientist and a good conjunx, naturally begins to research the subject himself and stumbles upon some strange information. All the sources, studies and records on the study of this disease go back a long fucking way. All that modern scientists have been doing for the last million years is just improving and refining the method of treatment, which was invented in absolute antiquity.

Brainstorm investigates further.

He discovers, all the original research records belonged to a mech named Perseptor, who amongst many other things was studying sparks. And it's when Brainstorm manages to get his hands on copies of these very original records that he finally realises why no one has been able to take this research any further. The records are very well structured, detailed and accurate, but half of the information is taken out of nowhere. The Perseptor specifies the types of sparks that certain substances affect in certain ways, but nowhere does he mention where he got this information from. He might, for example, write that certain types of sparks tend to develop internal micro-cracks when exposed to certain factors for long periods of time. And Brainstorm, having read that, can only stare blankly into space, because yes, micro-cracks in sparks is something that exists. But even in his time, there's no equipment that can detect them if they're INSIDE. So how the hell did an ancient mech with his primitive tools figure all this out???

His curiosity isn't satisfied. The research just cuts off in the middle, as if the mech that did it just abandoned it or died suddenly.

Brainstorm, like many scientists before him, tries to start his own research based on the information pointed out by Perseptor, but finds himself at the same dead end as all the medicine of his time. He just doesn't have the same mysterious way of collecting data that this...Perseptor had.

And Quark isn't getting any better

Eventually, Brainstorm comes up with a brilliant idea. What if, instead of trying to find a cure, he just (ha! Just.) went back in time and saved the dude who was definitely going to invent the cure but didn't have time? He decides it's genius and creates a time machine.

He goes back in time to find Perseptor and well, he gets a surprise. Turns out the dude who researched spark disease was a spark eater. And also on the verge of starvation, but Brainstorm finds a way to help him, it's all good:) It turns out that all this time, Perseptor didn't have any mysterious equipment to analyse the sparks, he was the equipment himself. In fact, he didn't specify the sources of his findings for the research, because the phrase ‘I figured it out because it tasted different’ sounds incredibly compromising and would have signed Percy's death warrant if his notes had fallen into the wrong hands.

Next, I'm not sure how it would have developed. I think as the story progresses, Perseptor and Brainstorm work together to invent a cure for Quark. And then, if you like to cry, Brainstorm goes back to the future and cures him, and Perseptor stays in the past.

If you want adventure, Brainstorm could take Percy back to the future with him. Quark would be really fucking scared and confused at first, but they'd figure it out quickly and conjunx Percy into their futuristic fluffy pairing. (Also, I have a lot of fun thinking about Brainstorm and Quark showing Percy the advances of future science, and the future world in general.

Also, I think Brainstorm would do a good job of hiding his alt mode while he was in the past, but a couple of times would use it to escape from someone. One time he'd also give Percy a ride, and I know Percy would be incredibly freaked out by the breakneck speed that jets can achieve ahahaha

——

That…wasn’t as short as I wanted…..my inner fic writer took control

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Being Sick but Dean Winchester’s your BF Headcanons ✨

✨ Dean Winchester x Reader ✨

Minors! Go away! Don’t interact! I don’t have a witty joke but I still don’t want you here! ¡Adios!

A/N: okay now that they’re gone… I’m sick! Some sort of nasty cold shit. Also I have the fucking la la land piano riff stuck in my head. So, more headcanons!!! (As opposed to a “proper” fic. For Dean ofc. It’s okay, it’ll come eventually)

Icons by me, all notes-especially commentary- are extremely appreciated!!

Content Warnings: if you’ve read the others it’s along the same vein, cute but still spicy enough to warrant that 18+ rating. Reader’s GN but AFAB.

Enjoy!

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

-okay so first of all, being sick sucks. Whether it’s a runny nose, a headache, throat pain (get your mind out of the gutter), stomach aches, whatever- it fucking sucks.

-but it sucks a little less when you have Dean Winchester taking care of you

-this man knows how to take care of any common virus or cold. Years of taking care of his little brother meant that he could never be sick and that if he was it had to go fast, because he believed he always needed to be able to take care of Sammy first and foremost.

-once he sees you sniffling he’ll bench you from whatever job you guys are working. Immediately. No ifs, ors, ands, buts or coconuts about it.

-once the job is over he’ll come home. If you’re up and moving he’ll sling you over his shoulder or pick you up bridal style, and throw you (in a loving way) down on the couch or bed, depending on where you want to lay.

-he’ll snuggle you a little, and then take a quick shower so as not to get whatever it is you have. He’ll give you whatever blankets and drinks you want, and then head off to the kitchen

-his go-to is to make a vat of chicken noodle soup, extra lemony for vitamin c. He’ll usually either add some chilis to the soup or put some in a salad for you to help clean your system out. And it will always be better than fine dining.

-of course he cooks shirtless, and he’ll come back into the room with a big bowl of soup and your salad ready, cookies still in the oven. He’ll be wearing sweatpants and a ‘kiss the cook’ apron with nothing under it. And if you weren’t sick, you’d definitely do what the apron asked.

-he’ll help you sit up so you can eat it, putting a pillow on your lap so that the bowl doesn’t burn you and wiping your hair out of your face. If your hot he brings a bandana that he dunked in ice water and ties it around your head, if your cold he brings more blankets

-he hates that he can’t touch you or hug you when your miserable like this, but he does his best.

-while you’re eating he’ll talk about the hunt, keeping it as light and funny as possible- probably whatever he and Sam bickered about, the sights he saw, the food, etc

-and he’ll put on whatever you’d like him to. Preferably Gilmore Girls, but he ain’t gonna influence you

-when you’re done he’ll take the empty bowls to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink for Sammy to do them when he gets back to the bunker.

-he’ll grab the cookies, and bring a little plate of them over, and then sit on the sofa in the Dean cave so that your calves are draped over his thighs. If you’re in bed he’ll just lay on the opposite side, occasionally stroking your back comfortingly

-he checks your temperature from time to time, and always adapts according to your sickness. If it’s stomach bug he’s got a trash can beside the bed/couch and is ready to hold your hair. If it’s strep throat he’s gone honey. If it’s literally anything he’s probably got some kind of temporary remedy

-now (you know what time it is 🌶️)

-if you get a little hot n bothered while your sick

-and no I don’t mean hot from the fever

-but like the other kind

-and he can tell

-well, there’s a home remedy for that too 😏

-and you’ll warn him against it, not wanting to get him sick, but he’ll shush you, kissing your belly and pulling your sleep shorts and underwear down in one go

-he’ll kiss all up your legs, making you wish so, so much that you could make out with him

-but he won’t tease. Not when his sweetheart isn’t feeling well.

-so he’ll get as close to your dripping heat as he can, not making you move at all, because he knows you’re comfy on your little bed of pillows and his blankets

-and then he’ll nudge his nose against your clit, the only teasing he’ll do before diving in

-he’s gentle though. Not dissimilar to how he is in the mornings (Shameless plug, sorry not sorry haha)

-he’ll go nice and slow, adding his fingers as he goes, one at a time

-he uses one to gather your wetness and spread it over your poor bud

-and then adds another to scissor into your heat, massaging your spongey walls

-and by the third finger slowly yet deliberately filling you up, along with his mouth on your clit, he’ll have you coming, feeling so much better in one regard

-he’ll lap it all up, careful not to overstimulate you before pressing a sweet kiss to your belly, just as he did before he went down

-he’ll then get up and draw you a bath, helping you pee and then get into the tub

-he’ll dry your hair and then help you into a fresher set of pjs, and lay with you until you fall asleep, then turn off the tv and any lights before getting back in bed.

-and even though he has to sleep a little away from you he can’t help but hold you hand while you sleep, even if it means risking getting sick too

-and if you wake up in the middle of the night, he will too, ready to do whatever you need him to

-he loves you, and it’s he loves knowing that you love him too and would also take care of him if he were in your shoes

-so yeah

-sweet cutie pie caretaker ass with the greener-than-pines eyes gah

-I rest my case

If you have any ideas for headcanons and/or fics my ask box is always open!!

Xx!

[girlgenius1111]

Always Will

After a bad game, Claudia takes her frustration out on you. You realize it runs deeper than just one game, and Claudia realizes that she can’t push you away very easily.

Shorter than normal, and probs all you’ll get for a couple more days, but I hope you guys like it anyway ☺️☺️

——-

Claudia sat in the front seat, glaring out the window. Her anger was palpable from where you sat in the drivers seat. You were tempted to break the silence, assure her that she didn't really have that bad of a game, but you knew better. Your drive continued in silence, and you wanted more than anything to reach over to her, and grab her hand, but knew she wouldn't accept the comfort. You'd allow her time to cool down, and then you'd talk to her about it.

What you hadn't considered, though, was that Pina wasn't just frustrated with herself- she was frustrated with you. This was made clear when she bolted out of the car as soon as you pulled in, and slammed the front door shut behind her before you could reach it. You walked in after her, slightly bewildered, as you couldn't think of what you'd done to make her upset.

"Babe? What's wrong?" you ask calmly, watching as the striker practically throws her bag down, stomping into the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Are you being serious?" She asked, whirling around to glare at you.

"Calm down, Clau, and tell me what's bothering you." You work hard to keep your voice even, despite feeling yourself getting annoyed with the other girls' behavior.

"You!" she shouts, and you step back, startled. "It isn't enough that I have the worst fucking game of my life, miss every shot I take, but you have to hover over me afterwards like I'm incapable of handling myself. It was humiliating, y/n, you treated me like a child."

You assume she's referring to when you tried to comfort her after the game. Her frustration had been evident, and you'd just wanted to make sure she was okay. She'd ignored you though, until you pulled her aside in the locker room, and she'd told you she was fine, which you didn't believe. To be honest, what you'd done didn't really warrant this reaction, and you knew that she was just taking her frustration out on you.

"That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," you tell her, inching closer when you notice the tears in her eyes.

"Well, I didn't need you to. I'm fine. Now leave me alone, yeah?" she snaps, before marching off into the bedroom, yet again slamming the door behind her.

You sigh, running a hand over your face. Claudia got like this after she didn't play well, but you'd never seen her this upset before. Deciding to give her some space, you head into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, before settling on the couch and flicking on the TV. You'd showered in the locker room, and Claudia had not, so you expect her to do so now.

You tried to lose yourself in the show on, but your thigh ached from where you'd been stepped on. It wasn't a big injury, just a couple cuts and what was sure to be a huge bruise. You're sure Claudia didn't even see it, having gone right into the locker room when she'd been pulled off in the 80th minute. It had happened a couple minutes later, and the physios had thrown a bandage on it before sending you back in. That same bandage was wrapped around your leg now, under your sweats, and you elected to ignore it for the time being.

Claudia hadn't come out of the bedroom, and it had been almost an hour, which you judged to be long enough for her to have cooled down. Standing, you walked to the door and knocked lightly, before pushing it open.

Claudia was sat on the floor, chin resting on her knees. She hadn't showered, and she looked to be completely lost in her thoughts.

"Clau?" you murmur, trying to get her attention. Her head turns towards you, and your lips tug into a frown when you see her flushed cheeks and watery eyes. Deciding to give her a few more minutes of quiet, you walk over to her wordlessly, and hold your hand out. After a second, she grabs it, and you lead her into the bathroom, turning the shower on. You're about to reach out, and pull her top off, but her hands stop you, and she does it herself. Claudia seems intent on showering by herself, but you don't feel particularly like leaving her alone in this state, so you perch on the bathroom counter and pull your phone out as she gets into the shower.

She finishes quickly, sniffling every so often, and you pretend to be engrossed in your phone, when really you're watching her every move. It's unlike your girlfriend to be so quiet, and paired with her earlier behavior, it worries you. She remains silent as she dries off and you follow her out of the bathroom.

This time, though, when she tries to head to the dresser and get clothes out herself, you stop her, and nudge her in the direction of the bed. She frowns but does as you direct, sitting on the edge of the bed in just her towel. You grab comfy clothes from your side of the dresser, walking back over to her. You take your time, gently pulling the shirt and hoodie over her head, as well as a pair of shorts onto her legs.

“Stay here, alright?” You tell the brunette, heading back into the bathroom with her damp towel and return with her hairbrush. She’s right where you left her, staring at the ground. You’re trying to get a good read on her emotions, but her face is blank. The only thing that tells you she’s upset is her shoulders, a slight slump in her usually perfect posture.

You brush through the knots in her hair, and you’re almost done when she reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing your motions to a halt.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asks quietly. You realize the emotion playing across her face is one of guilt.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” You reply, setting the hairbrush down and stepping in closer to rest your hands on her cheeks. She shakes you off though, standing and walking a short distance away from you.

You allow her the space, but turn towards her, waiting for her to explain.

“I was so awful to you, and you’re acting like I haven’t done anything,” she chokes out, and you soften.

“Claudia, don’t worry about it, I’m not mad,” you tell her, because you’re not. She can apologize later, but now, she’s so upset, you don’t care about anything other than making her smile.

“You should be. I was horrible to you in front of the team, and—“

“— and nothing. You were frustrated and embarrassed and I wasn’t helping. You can tell me sorry later, love, but please let me hug you.” You insist, walking towards her. She shakes her head at your words, but you pull her into your arms anyway.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles into your chest. “I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Claudia settles against you, relaxing slightly in your embrace.

“Why were you so upset today? I mean I don’t think you played that bad, Clau.” She scoffs in response. “Seriously, love, everyone has off days.”

“I feel like I only have off days. I haven’t scored in games, amor, I’m letting everyone down,” the striker responds, tears beginning to fall steadily down her cheeks. You realize that this goes deeper than just one bad game, and you curse yourself for not noticing earlier.

“Oh, baby. You’re not letting anyone down. It’s just a slump, you’ll come out of it.” You tell her, placing a kiss onto her head. She just shakes her head in response, though, and you sigh, before pulling her over to the bed. She sits on the edge, and you stand between your legs, guiding her chin up to look at you.

Her eyes are wide, eyelashes wet, as she gazes up at you. You can’t resist kissing the tip of her nose gently. It scrunches adorably and you smile, before you speak.

“You haven’t let anyone down, Claudia. Not me, and not anyone on the team. You have to be patient with yourself. You aren’t going to be perfect all the time, and no one expects you to.”

She looks only slightly reassured. “I just get so into my head. I don’t know what to do, I’m so stressed all the time,” she admits, and you frown down at her.

“Why haven’t you brought this up before?” You ask, because although you knew she was struggling slightly, you didn’t realize she was having an entire crisis of confidence. It explained her moodiness recently, and her outburst today.

“You’re stressed too, amor, I didn’t want to add to that,” Claudia dismisses.

“No, baby what stresses me out is not knowing why you’re so upset. Please, tell me when you’re feeling like this. You’re supposed to lean on me, Claudia, just like I lean on you.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. It isn’t much, but you can see a determination in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a spark. You know she’ll try to open up to you more, even if it’s a slow process.

She leans in, resting her head on your stomach, reaching her arms around you. In the process, her elbow clips your thigh, right over your wound. You let out a hiss, involuntarily jerking back.

“What? What is it?” Claudia asks, eyebrows knitting together as she scans your fully clothed body for injury.

“It’s nothing,” you say, leaning back into the hug. Claudia is insistent though, putting her hands on your legs to stop you. Again, you wince.

“You’re hurt.” She accuses. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you always tell the other when one of you is hurt, which Claudia clearly feels you have broken.

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, but Claudia is already standing, pulling your joggers down your legs, and carefully pulling the bandage off, then dramatically gasping at the sight of your injury. It’s really not that bad, but Claudia is looking at you like you’ve been hiding a gunshot wound.

“Claudia,” you begin.

“No! Now I’m mad!” She says, lips twisting slightly into a smile, and you know she’s only joking. She turns, heading to the closet where you keep the first aid kit.

“I didn’t hide it!” You call after her and she sends you a glare over her shoulder.

“What would you call not telling me you were hurt?”

“Well, if you hadn’t stormed into the locker room before the game ended, or shouted at me when we got home…” you say casually, dodging the box of bandaids she throws at your head, laughing.

“I thought you weren’t mad,” she says, beginning to treat the cuts on your leg. You don’t tell her they’ve already been cleaned, enjoying the gentle way she’s pressing a light kiss to each cut before running the alcohol wipe over it.

“I love you,” you say suddenly. The way her attention has completely flipped, from her own horrible day, to your slight inconvenience, laser focus on making sure you’re okay, makes your heart flutter.

Your girlfriend looks up at you, a small grin on her face. “I love you too, amor.”

Claudia wraps a new bandage around your leg, before heading off to get some ice for it. When she returns, she finds you tucked under the covers already. She puts the ice pack on your leg, before settling into your side.

“Thanks for making me feel better, even when I wasn’t very nice.”

“Always, love. Always.”

She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before resting her face in the crook of your neck. You hold her tight, like you always will.

——-

Lord I hate writing on my phone. Also I think this ending sucks. But! Hope you enjoy anyway :)

[wishluc]

Oh god please elaborate on the Express Eatery thing! I love having Luocha as a customer

Going over this with Luocha, Yukong, Jing Yuan and Blade!

CW: yandere characters

So you work at the Express Eatery, and you start to notice that Luocha comes in every day with a new menu item he wants to try out. While waiting for his order he asks about your time on the Express and the meals you like and how you're finding the Luofu so far. He refuses to elaborate on the coffin he carries around or on anything else about his job apart from the "traveling merchant" line, but you let it slide because he's nice enough otherwise. He also tips very generously, and leaves glowing reviews, which may or may not play a role in you liking him despite how suspicious he can be at times. After he's cycled through all the items, however, he starts asking for other things; snacks you like to eat, whatever you usually have for breakfast, a dessert you're craving for, etc. And he starts bringing in dishes that he likes, and asks for you to eat them with him during your break (even waits outside your stall until you take your break, if you try and lie your way out of it). And when the day comes that you have to pack up and leave your short-lived stall behind, you do so without informing your number 1 customer, which doesn't go across well.

But how were you to know Luocha had also met Dan Heng before, and would be visiting the Express the very next day?

Other customers you meet include Yukong, who's sweet and has the most interesting stories for you. She offers to pilot a Starskiff for you (and promises that she's not a reckless driver anymore, unlike the stories of her youth she may have told you about), invites you to lively parties once you're done for the day, and even shows you around the Luofo herself. You do notice, however, that her eyes dim and her smile fades when you mention leaving the Luofo, even if you don't comment on it. Coming up to the days before you close the stall, she takes you on increasingly exciting trips around the Luofo, all the while assuring you that there is still much to see, as though to entice you into stay longer...

There's also Jing Yuan, who stays for long periods whenever he stops by. He stands by your stall with a languid smile, talking to you while eating. He has a habit of distracting you with sudden questions when ever you notice just how long he's been standing around, asking you about your thoughts on a dish or how long you've been with the Crew. And while his exterior is perfectly relaxed with you, if anyone else dares approach while he's there, all it takes is one inquisitive look from him to send the intruder scurrying away. You've never thought the General to be that frightening, but you supposed his position warranted some extent of fear. Normally, you would be a little irritated about how he was obstructing business, but there was no doubt his pleasant conversation and generous hand made for far better company than a queue of customers in a rush to their next stop.

But a few days before you're set to close the stall, you get approached by a group of officials who warn you that doing business without a permit is illegal. Apparently, whatever documents March got for your little side business wasn't enough, and you were missing some important components. Fortunately, Jing Yuan steps in and offers to help you settle the problem at once, and as you gratefully accept his assistance (with a promise to treat him to a serving of Cosmic Fried Rice on the house sometime). To your surprise, however, you're told that you're required to stay and continue doing business on the Luofu for another few weeks before the license is granted, and you find yourself having no choice but to comply. At least, the General is here to keep you company, right?

At first Blade stopped by only to pick up a serving or two before leaving right after, never indulging in conversation unlike your other patrons. Even his reviews were short and to the point, simply leaving a rating of 5 stars along with his moniker—but as long as it was a good review, you had no complaints. However, as time went by and you saw him increasingly more often (though you took note of the fact that he'd only ever come by when the shade fell across your stall just right and there were little to no other customers), he'd comment on your methods and packaging, with odd lines such as "The box didn't come apart even after a fight," and begin ordering in advance for the next day—he claimed this was a far more efficient system, and offered to pay extra as a booking fee.

He comes off a little strange at times, with his unnerving smile and his peculiar comments, but you think that Blade's one of your better customers. He's patient and his requests are simple, and he deals swiftly with any troublemakers around your stall. Surprisingly, him swinging around his sword threateningly doesn't discourage new customers from checking your stall out. So when the day comes that you have to inform him that there was no tomorrow for his order to be prepared in advance, Blade only regards you with a pensive look and the smallest of nods, before leaving. You would miss him, despite his oddities.

And then you're told that you have to accommodate for a temporary addition on the Astral Express, someone sent by Kafka, and who awaits you in the parlor car but Blade himself?

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)