#you went to an entirely different region.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

So, obviously, everyone has their own opinion and experience. How much Andrastianism in Veilguard is to your personal taste I couldn’t say. But based on your statements, I feel like we’ve played not just one but possibly several different games despite them having the same names.

Andrastianism isn’t “absent everywhere,” whether in plot, imagery, or even audio. As you yourself said, we go to the Temple of Andraste in Minrathous where people are both milling about and praying both inside and outside. So we see the Andrastianism happening, visually. And there is, contrary to your experience, ambient dialogue from NPCs we pass that reference the Maker (Andraste I believe as well, but I’d have to double-check that, and less reference to her would be expected as a schism over her importance is part of why the Northern and Southern Chantries split) both near the Temple and in other parts of Dock Town.

We also, in Minrathous with Neve, visit the Wall of Light, the city’s memorial for the dead and an explicit reference to the Chant of Light. Something of enough significance to Neve that she feels the need to go there before the end of her quest line. A Shadow Dragon Rook can even speak the traditional words of remembrance at that point. It’s fairly explicit Andrastianism. Different than it would look and be done in Ferelden, but that’s because we aren’t in Ferelden we’re in Tevinter.

I’m not entirely sure what the mixture of Northern to Southern Wardens would be at Weisshaupt, and I’m less certain than you are that Southerners would have a significant presence. Orlais’ Wardens were decimated at Adamant and may have even been disbanded at that time (dependent on player choice). Their numbers suffered regardless, and would have been hard to build back up since it has apparently gotten around that they tried to build a demon army (which is why in Veilguard the First Warden is so quick to throw them under the bus). Ferelden didn’t have any wardens to speak of until a cup of coffee before the Fifth Blight, as we see in Origins. And at the end of that blight had one or two. After Awakening maybe six? But there’s a bunch of conditional stuff to even hit that number, if I remember correctly. They’ve had some time to build up since then, but we don’t know how many went down from Ferelden at Adamant and Ferelden’s Wardens also don’t have spotless reputations due to the whole coup thing.

In any case, I agree that there probably are some devout Andrastians in the Wardens. But I think devout Southern Andrastian wardens - those whose Andrastianism we would recognize - are probably a very, very small minority. Not only for the reasons I already gave, but because they are competing with religious military orders that can recruit soldiers as children while generally only recruiting adults. I’m not surprised, since based on what we know their numbers are fairly small, we don’t personally run across a bunch of vocal devout Andrastian Southerners at Weisshaupt.

The people of the Anderfels are devoutly Andrastian, you’re absolutely right. But we don’t meet nearly any of them. Our only exposure to the region is through working with the Wardens in a fortress that is Wardens Only tm and in a town that has been so overrun with blight that nearly all of its inhabitants are gone. I’d be more inclined to agree with you, solely vis-a-vis the people of the Anderfels, if we interacted with more than a handful. But we don’t, we pretty much just interact with the Wardens which I already discussed above.

What you didn’t mention were Treviso and the Necropolis. We do get ambient dialogue in Treviso explicitly referencing both the Maker and Andraste (sometimes to blaspheme, but that was probably more than half the Andrastianism we got in DA2, too). Lucanis references them, and talks about having lost his faith while imprisoned and tortured (and reaching a state of hopeful agnosticism by later in the game which he is also open about). He has statues of Andraste in his house. It’s part of his character arc, even if it’s not the main focus.

The Mourn Watch is an Andrastian religious order. Their whole deal, different though it is to what we see in the South, is them being devoutly Andrastian. Just Nevarra mortalitasi-style. And we go through and attend to religious rites in that style with Emmrich.

We witness the results of slaughter by the Southern Chantry in a quest in Rivain.

Harding at one point straight up asks if we just disproved the Chant of Light.

Religion is discussed, where relevant, multiple times. (See, e.g., all of the above.)

Is it enough Andrastianism for you, or any individual player, personally? Maybe not. That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

Is it not there or in someway incorrect based on the lore of the game? I have a hard time understanding that argument.

I really don’t understand the criticism that Veilguard doesn’t include enough open, devout Andrastianism. Like, it just perplexes me?

Unlike the first three games, which take place in Southern Thedas (the purview of the Orlesian Chantry, the Sunburst throne), Veilguard takes place almost entirely in Northern Thedas. And it’s clear the Chantry’s role there is very different than in the South.

In Southern Thedas, the Chantry is a power unto itself. The Southern Divine, holder of the Sunburst Throne, occupies a place of real significance and power. She has her own militarized forces (the Templar and Seeker Orders). She politically has to interface with the rulers of the various places in Southern Thedas (Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, etc.), but is not formally associated with or dependent on them. The South is comparatively poorer than the North, and we see a majority of services (taking care of orphans, medical care, the Circles, and very significantly education) being taken care of by the Chantry without necessarily much assistance from the relevant countries.

The Southern Chantry is an ever present figure in Southern Thedas, even for those that aren’t devout. And that is reflected in those stories and the cultures we learn about there.

The Tevinter Imperium is not like that. And that’s not terribly surprising. First, the Imperium pre-dates Andrastianism. They have another, older religion that helped form some of their cultural touchpoints. The Imperium did adopt Andrastianism, but did so as a consolidation of empire (which tracks with the Imperium being, in no small part, a reflection of the real life Roman Empire). As such, the Chantry is folded into and subordinate to the Imperium’s government. The real power in Tevinter, and control over the incidents of daily life that we see the Southern Chantry involved in, is the Magisterium and the Archon.

The Imperial Divine doesn’t control the Templars, the Magisterium and Archon do. He doesn’t control the Circles/education. That’s the Magisterium and Archon again. He is, in practical terms, less powerful than Dorian. He can’t make any real change as the Imperial Divine, so he dons a mask and runs a vigilante group to free slaves and make change that way.

The Northern Chantry simply isn’t as omnipresent as the Southern Chantry in the areas it exists, and it competes with a preexisting cultural backbone in a way the Southern Chantry doesn’t (because it largely stamped that out, though some of the Avvar and Chasind are still around).

I think a lot of people are comparing the impact of Andrastianism in Veilguard to that in Inquisition, because it’s the most recent, and the criticism spawns from that. But that…doesn’t make sense. The Inquisitor is leading a religious organization, ultimately affiliated with the Southern Chantry itself and founded by the left and right hands of the former Divine. It claims its legitimacy from Andraste herself (even if the Inquisitor doesn’t believe a single bit of it). The people who join the Inquisition are all okay enough with Andrastianism to affiliate themselves openly with it (Solas aside, but of course he has other reasons), and many are devout.

The Veilguard are just…random people. Skilled, powerful, talented people, but not people with any real affiliation with any Chantry. Davrin and Bellara have complicated relationships with the Dalish religion they grew up with, for obvious reasons, but they weren’t raised in Andrastianism or an Andrastian culture. Neve, per her, “barely keeps the holidays.” Her relationship to Andrastianism seems closer to the average non-church-attending American who celebrates Christmas and Easter, but isn’t particularly Christian beyond that. Lucanis does seem open to belief in the Maker and Andraste, but isn’t kind of ambivalent to it. More agnostic than anything else. Taash wasn’t raised Andrastian, their mom largely still embraces much of the Qun even if she left, and Rivain was always kind of religiously funky anyway. Only Emmrich and Harding are particularly Andrastian, and even then Emmrich is from Nevarra which although deeply Andrastian is unique. Harding is the only companion whose Andrastianism we’d recognize from the prior games.

So in a game set in a region where Andrastianism is culturally less of an influence, where the Chantry holds far less power, and that has companions that aren’t devout Andrastians…how is it a failure of the game that it isn’t brought up more. That makes sense. It’s consistent with the world building that came before it and the continued reveal of that world in game.

I don’t get it.

[prestochange]

She's going to hold the fact he didn't take her Gym Challenge over his head for the rest of his life.

@bluesthebest

[fandom-with-no-hope]

Vagueposting about a pokemon rp we've been doing with a friend for like. A year. But I'm broken. He broke me. "I could never hate you. You're my best friend" you could have said ANYTHING ELSE but no today we're destroying my feelings

[earthtooz]

in which: you need to make it to liyue harbour in time so you can give kazuha a piece of your mind and a response to his love letter.

cw: fluff, 1.3k words, not too sure how canon accurate this is, potentially ooc-kazuha, gn!reader from inazuma, confessions, two wholesome idiots in love

a/n: for my little sibling @sixosix, i hope you enjoy

Liyue, out of all regions in Teyvat, is the hardest to run through.

It’s mountainous, your muscles will ache from going uphill, your ankles will be sore the next day from going too fast downhill. It’s grassy, the gravel is rough against the soles of your feet, and there is an abundance of hillichurls and samachurls waiting for you with their clubs and shields. Yet, they provide more motivation for you to outrun them, speeding right by their camps to get to Liyue Harbour in time.

Stupid Kaedehara Kazuha, when you see him, he’s in for an earful from you. Making you run from Lingju Pass all the way back to the Harbour, doesn’t he know how much you despise running for long periods of time?

A break is not plausible, especially when Beidou’s boat could leave the dock at any minute now.

When Liyue’s bustling harbour is in sight, it’s vast oceans appearing out the horizon, you feel like you can breathe. The sunlight glimmering on the ocean cheers you on, and you won’t stop until the waves are underneath your feet, the only thing separating you from them being wooden planks. 

You push through crowds, too tired and determined to be polite and apologetic to shoppers you push aside. You run past Mingxing Jewelry, Wanmin Restaurant, and Master Zhang’s workshop, and don’t stop until you, yourself, are climbing onto the Crux. Crew members are shouting in protest at your sudden appearance, yelling at your unexplained entrance.

There are people trying to pull you off the boat, and you don’t really know where the strength to push off burly sailors came from, but you successfully fend off all of them, and find Beidou at the bow of the ship. 

“Where is Kazuha?” You demand, decorum be screwed, nothing can stop your momentum now. 

Her uncovered eye lights up in amusement, a hint of knowing behind her crimson gaze. “Right behind you.” 

Lo and behold, the beige-haired in question was right behind you. “Uh, hello?”

“I have a bone to pick with you, Kazuha!” Stomping over to him, he grabs your wrist before you have another chance to talk, dragging you away from the bow of the ship where all the crewmates were unloading their cargo. (Beidou’s thundering laughter can be heard as he’s dragging you away, at least she’s not mad at your sudden intrusion.)

He stops when the two of you are on the quarter deck and turns to look at you with panic all over his face.

“What did I do?” 

From your pocket, you pull out a piece of paper like it’s an incriminating piece of evidence, one that he’s stared at for too long, so much so that he can recall every dip and curve of the dry-pressed leaves he added on for a more personal touch. It has sat on his desk for ages, seen all of his turmoils and frustrations over delivering it to you. 

The paper contains a mix of poems, haikus, and different confessions Kazuha has been harbouring in his heart for the past few years, ever since the two of you left Inazuma. Your hand clutching his gloved one as the two of you hurry onto Beidou’s boat with nothing but your visions, weapons, and the clothes on your back.

He has loved you for this entire journey, and words could not surmise the depth of his feelings, let alone a measly piece of paper. Some days, it sees the sun when he dares it to, but it always ends up right back on his desk, waiting for the day that it will leave Kazuha’s possession and fall into yours.

This morning was the exact moment. He slipped it in your bag before you went on your expedition, the two of you meeting for a quiet breakfast before his eight-month long expedition, and your two-week one. He had waved you goodbye as far as he could go before leaving Liyue Harbour, even staying on the outskirts until your group left his sight.

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing you so soon, not after putting that letter in your backpack. 

“You’re a coward!” You accuse immediately, poking your finger to his chest. “A lousy coward!”

He takes it, knows that he should have just braved his fears and handed it to you in person, but the idea of being rejected on the spot causes his chest to ache in unbearable ways. The samurai rather you read it, then have eight months to prepare for your inevitable rejection.

Yet, he should have known that in the face of a storm, you are the only one brave enough to fight against the waves. Nothing ever goes the way he wants when it’s with you.

“You should probably sit down, Y/n, your legs are shaking and I’ll grab you some-”

Your hands fly up to grab the sleeves of his kimono, whether to stabilise yourself, or to stop him from leaving, or both, he stays. “Kaedehara Kazuha, I like you too,” you declare. “I just ran all the way from Lingju Pass, so I have nothing flowery nor sweet to say like your letter except that you are so very mean for making me come all this way.”

With one last heaved breath, you collapse to your knees. Kazuha, being the gentleman he is, freaks out and mimics your actions, clinging onto your shoulders.

“Y/n!” He calls out, his usually level voice breaching a panicked cry. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this. Stay here, I’ll go grab water water.” 

Listening to the samurai, you rest against a nearby pillar, feeling the dull aches in all muscles of your legs. Archons, you’ll feel the pain tenfold tomorrow.

Kazuha returns not too long with a canteen in hand, and he twists it open before handing it to you. After a few beats of tense silence, he speaks up. 

“Honestly, I don’t really have anything to say either, I wasn’t expecting to see you for another eight months, and even then, I was expecting a rejection.” He admits sheepishly, a blush blooming along his cheeks. “Maybe an apology for making you run all this way just to see me is my first course of action.”

“Accept my confession first, jerk,” you punch his shoulder lightly, smiling up at him.

“I’ll accept anything so long as it’s from you, I thought I made that clear in my letter.”

“Don’t think you can charm your way into my good graces!” 

He thinks it’s adorable that you’re trying to maintain your cool mask despite your inability to look him in the eye, even if he’s hardly faring much better. The usual lyricism of his words have faded, and his quick mind can’t think of anything poetic to say, as if your confession has intercepted all the functions of his brain.

You like him back, you like him back, you like him back, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information except smile like an idiot.

“Are you still going on your expedition?” asks Kazuha. “Your group must be waiting for you.”

“I told them not to, dumped my rations and things with them and told them they could use it. I’m not running all the way back now.”

“Then, does that mean you can join us?” 

“I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t know if you have enough things on board for another-”

“-I’m sure Beidou and the crew wouldn’t mind. There are always extra rations, you can have some of mine if it gets to it, and our first stop is at sunset, so we could go and grab some clothes for you to bring along!” He quickly suggests, hope shining brightly in those crimson eyes of his, as if pleading for you to say yes.

The wind blows gently through his beige strands, and the moment feels enchantingly similar to one you had read in an Inazuman poem. Then again, Kazuha always had that effect; the ability to slow time and let you see the world through a different, prettier lens, even if the consequences were completely dire.

You want to continue seeing through his lens, exactly the way you did when both of you fled Inazuma and the Vision hunt Decree. And you want to see the rest of Teyvat the way he does. 

“Okay.” You agree, “I’ll come along.”

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.

It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)

As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.

While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.

While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.

The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.

[lxndonorris]

a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"

It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.

The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.

The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.

Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you. 

You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.

The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.

Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.

"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.

"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."

He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."

You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.

You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.

"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."

You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.

"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."

"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.

He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.

"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."

'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.

And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.

"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."

You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.

"I bet it looks good on you."

"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.

"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."

You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.

"And how does it feel?"

Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."

"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"

Your heart skips a beat. 

"Yes."

"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.

"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."

You nod, even though he can't see you. 

"I promise."

"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

And then he steps out from behind the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.

But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.

"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"

Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.

He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.

Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen. 

As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.

The way he moves is mesmerizing.

His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.

It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.

As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.

His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.

For a moment, you can't speak. 

You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.

Finally, you find your voice. 

"You look.... phenomenal."

His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.

He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.

His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.

As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey. 

His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.

You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.

There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore. 

Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable. 

Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.

Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"I do. It feels amazing."

He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.

"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."

"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."

Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.

"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."

You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"

You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.

"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."

He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word. 

"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.

"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere. 

"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."

Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.

"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.

"I love making you feel good."

"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger. 

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

"You always do."

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away. 

Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.

The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.

Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.

The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.

Charles seems to notice your reaction. 

His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you. 

"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.

You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.

"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.

Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.

"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.

You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.

Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.

The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.

His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.

Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.

"This feels so good."

You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen. 

Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.

Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.

The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.

Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.

You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.

Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.

His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.

"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."

You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey. 

"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."

He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.

Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.

His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.

"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."

Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.

As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.

You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.

As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.

The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.

Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.

However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.

Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.

You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.

The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch. 

All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.

Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.

His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.

"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.

Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.

And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.

"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.

That is all he needed to hear.

Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.

His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him. 

His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.

You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.

The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.

"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.

You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.

When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.

You smile, your heart swelling with desire. 

"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.

He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.

That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.

"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.

"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."

His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower. 

The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.

As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. 

You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.

Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."

You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.

"Isn't that the point?"

Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.

"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.

The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.

You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.

"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.

Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.

"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.

You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.

"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.

"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."

Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.

You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.

"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."

The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.

"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I promise."

With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.

As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.

Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.

With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.

His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.

"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.

You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."

Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.

"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.

"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.

He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.

"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.

With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot. 

His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.

With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.

He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look. 

You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask. 

"Are you satisfied with what you see?"

Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.

He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.

"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."

You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.

"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.

"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.

With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.

"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."

[sxfterhearts]

tainted

DAY 3: phonesex/sexting/foreplay/dystopia with choi jiung

🕸 genre/pairings: dystopia!au - lower working class, dom!jiung x upper class, sub!reader

🕸 warnings: smut nsfw (mdni) | phone sex, mutual guided masturbation, slight degradation and corruption kink (consensual), name calling, praise, forbidden relationship

🕸 word count: 2,567 words

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ☠︎︎ ༻⋆。 °⛧

“This is gonna be the last time, I swear.”

“You said that the last time we did this.” 

“Well… I just can’t help myself, especially not when you look like that. C’mon, take it off for me, sweetheart.” Jiung coaxed in a seductively low register, a smirk working its way onto his pretty face. His greedy eyes were glued to his phone screen, following your every move from behind his wispy black bangs. 

What can he say? He really couldn’t help himself. Phone in one hand, the other inching towards his crotch, the urge to rub himself in search of sweet, sweet relief was too strong to fight off. So he didn’t – Jiung simply gave in to the temptation, diving head first into his desire for you.

The past hour had been pure torture. Not only was he absolutely swamped at work with unrealistic deadlines, but he also had to force himself to stay awake for the weekly government broadcast at the assembly hall. Jiung didn’t understand why they made it compulsory viewing every Friday – the content was repeated every week: stay within your factions, don’t interact with outsiders and abide by the curfew. For all he cared, the drawling voice could’ve been speaking in an entirely different language and he wouldn’t even have noticed. 

Not when you were the sole centre of his attention; the only thought that preoccupied his mind.

It was forbidden – whatever this thing you had going on between the two of you, anyway. Neither of you had a clue what this was. Being from different factions meant the odds were never in your favour. From birth, no, from the moment you were conceived in your mothers’ wombs, you and Jiung lived completely different lives. You were from the upper class, and he was from the working class – the lowest rung of society’s ladder; the scum of the earth. You had all the riches and gold, and always dressed in pristine whites. You were the epitome of poise and purity. Jiung was always tainted in shades of dirt, murky browns and dusty greens. Everywhere he went, he carried the earthy stench of the forest, a byproduct of spending endless days chopping wood and farming land for the government – the very government your family helped to form.

He was beneath you, metaphorically and physically. Right now, you locked yourself in an abandoned bedroom, one of the many in your father’s mansion, far away from prying eyes and curious ears. Being the daughter of a high-ranking government official came in handy, especially for raunchy phone sex escapades with the most irresistible boy you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The first time you made eye contact with Jiung was when he came to deliver wood for the fireplace in your father’s study. You felt an electric spark then – both of you did. The air was thick and heavy with tension. And let’s just say you definitely felt an unmistakable wetness pool at your nether regions from watching him lift and chop big chunks of wood like they were weightless. It made you wonder how he would manhandle you in bed too…

You threw the phone onto the four poster bed before launching yourself at the mattress, obscuring the phone camera with a view of your chest that had Jiung salivating from the other end of the line. “Do you think they’ll know?” You mused, spreading yourself out and getting comfortable.

Jiung scoffed. Of course you were stalling – you were an upper class girl with all the time in the world to enjoy life’s simplest pleasures. Him, a humble forest boy, did not have the same privileges. As they always say, time is money. And right now, while he’d love to entertain your musings, he really had to get back to work soon. The forest had to be cleared and the trees were not going to chop themselves.

Plus, he was starting to get impatient. That’s what spending one whole hour eye fucking each other across the hall did to him, he supposed – him, a mere nobody amongst the crowd, and you, standing on the assembly stage, looking down at the commoners like the charming, law-abiding bureaucrat you were raised to be. Oh, if only people knew what went on behind the (smoke)screens. “I doubt it. These phones are ancient, none of the current systems will know how to break the encryption. But we’ll never know for sure – they’re always watching, Y/N.”

You hummed in response, lips curling into a devious smile. You liked that thought. “Then let’s give them a show.”

“That’s what we always do, baby. Now hurry, I’ve waited long enough.”

“What’s the magic word, Jiung?”

Blood rushed towards his cock at the way your saccharine voice wrapped around the syllables of his name. He imagined the same lips, oh so pink and kissable, wrapping around something else of his instead. “Quick, we don’t have time! You always do this, I need to go soon.”

“Always so impatient.” You tsked in feigned disapproval, but deep down, you liked it. You liked how Jiung couldn’t get enough of you, how he needed you so desperately, like a burning desire within him that could never be satiated. Even after ending every video call with a promise to never watch each other cum ever again, he always came running back to you, begging to watch you touch yourself. To him, nothing could beat watching you get off on him and his voice.

“Your shirt, Y/N.” Jiung insisted, voice firm and hard. Almost as firm and hard as his thick cock, straining against the confines of his dirt-stained work pants. 

Your pussy pulsed in response, leaking helplessly at his harsh command. After all, as the darling daughter of the most respected upper class family, you were raised to obey orders. You were always a good girl, and always eager to please. You propped the phone up against the pillow and got on your knees for Jiung, ensuring that your upper half was within the frame. With a sultry grin, you dragged your hands up your body, shivering when your fingers came into contact with your stiff nipples.

“Y/N,” He warned dangerously, but you liked playing games. His words fell on deaf ears as you kept playing with yourself, maintaining the slow pace. “Why would you even forget your bra? You like that everyone can see your nipples, huh? Is that it? Slut.”

“Yes, Jiung. I’m your slut.” You moaned, fingers pinching your buds through the thin fabric of your collared button-down. You were a good girl, but you loved bending the rules every now and then, with and for Jiung. And Jiung loved that he tainted you, the girl who embodied innocence and purity. He loved that he stained your whiteness with his dirtiness, like how he dreamed of painting your soft, supple skin with his hot cum.

Jiung cursed under his breath, and you heard him fumbling on the other end of the line. He scrambled to get his bottoms off and sighed in relief when his heavy cock was released. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Touch yourself for me.”

A dark, twisted part of you loved being spoken to in that way. The tension that built up from having to stand still in front of everyone while Jiung undressed you with his eyes got you all worked up. Now, it already felt like a release to take off your clothes and shed the persona you were forced to put on for the rest of the world. Because you knew when Jiung called you like this, you were reduced to nothing more than his girl; his slut. 

So you did as you were told and spread your legs on either side of the phone. You wore a maxi skirt that went all the way to your ankles to remain modest, but you couldn’t imagine what others would say if they saw you exposing your skin, let alone flashing your wet panties to Jiung, of all people, on the other side of the call. 

“Shit, you’re soaking, Y/N. So wet and we haven’t even got started…” Jiung mumbled, head spinning at the wet spot on your lacy white panties. His finger thumbed over an identical stain on his boxers, teasing himself as he spread the precum around his tip.

“It’s because you always look at me like that…” You whined, hands itching to touch your centre. But you knew better than that; you knew to wait for his instructions.

“Like what?” He smirked cockily. 

“Like you want to eat me up.”

“So what if I do? Hmm?” He hummed in response. “You know I’d do anything to eat your sweet pussy, my love.”

You moaned desperately, body heating up at his choice of words. “Jiung…”

“My sweet girl… Go ahead, touch yourself over your panties.”

You obeyed, lips parting in a sigh as your fingers came in contact with your centre. You placed pressure against your hole and felt yourself clench around nothing. Oh, you would give anything and everything to have his calloused fingers inside your gummy walls instead. But alas, it would never happen.

So you settled with this instead. Having his addictive voice guide you to completion over the phone was better than not having him at all. “Push your panties aside for me, yes, that’s it. Put a finger in.” Jiung instructed. He released a breathy moan when his fingers wrapped around his length and began stroking himself.

Your middle finger slipped inside your entrance easily given how soaked you were. It was a relief – small, but a relief nonetheless. You pumped your fingers in and out, maintaining a steady pace. From the corner of your eye, you could make out Jiung’s handsome face contorting in pleasure as he stroked his cock, matching your pace.

“How does it feel? Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, always a sucker for your strained voice and soft whispers.

“Good…” You trailed off, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “Ah, but I wish it was your fingers inside…” You whined.

Jiung grunted in reply to your whiny cries, increasing his pace. “So do I, baby. Been thinking about stuffing your tight pussy with my fingers all day. I’d get you all stretched and ready for my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You cried desperately.

“I know you would, my little slut. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but look at you now. What do you think they’d say? Put another finger in for me, go on.”

You obliged willingly, breath hitching at the feeling of being stretched further. Jiung was hypnotised, his eager eyes glued to the phone screen to watch your walls stretch and accommodate an additional finger. He couldn’t help but imagine replacing your fingers with his throbbing length and thrusting deep inside, over and over and over again until you both reached your climaxes. He loved tainting you; loved ruining the perfect image that the world sees of you.

“Jiung…” Your soft voice pulled him out of his trance. “Wanna see you, please…”

He knew exactly what you were asking for. He lifted up his shirt and angled the phone upwards, giving you the most delectable view of his thick girth and the numerous tattoos littered on his skin. You watched, transfixed, core pulsating as he stroked his cock hurriedly, harsh pants leaving his parted lips.

“How’s the view?” Jiung questioned with a handsome smirk on his face. 

You hummed in approval. “You’re so hot, Jiung.” 

“Right back at you, sweetheart. One more finger, c’mon. You know you can do it.”

Your lips fell apart in choked moans when you added the third finger. It could barely fit. You felt so full.

“God, you’re taking them so well. Doing so good, baby. Are you close?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed at the wet sounds your cunt made as you pumped your fingers in and out. 

“Me too. Rub your clit, yes… Good girl, just like that.”

“Jiung! Jiung, I’m close, Jiung…” Your mind was flooded with thoughts of Jiung and Jiung only, as you chanted his name repeatedly like a sacred prayer. You were so close, rubbing quickly to chase your release. 

“Yes, Y/N, so good, you’re doing so well for me.” Jiung moaned, mirroring your actions. He was running his mouth and babbling at this point. “Want to cum in your tight pussy and fill you up. I’ll stuff you full of my cum, put your panties back on and make you keep it inside… The world needs to know who you belong to.”

“You, Jiung! I belong to you, only you!”

“Fuck!” He swore, not expecting you to say something like this. It was so intimate – you took him completely by surprise. It was like a switch flipped inside him. The next thing he knew, his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and he was cumming messily all over himself. 

Watching his cum leak out in hot spurts made your walls clench tightly on your fingers. The image of him reaching his climax threw you over the edge, pleasure coursing deliciously through your veins as you reached your sweet release. 

It was intense this time, more intense than any of the previous calls. Even though you weren’t in the same room, you could feel the air had shifted. 

You both took a moment to compose yourself, to steady your breaths and heartbeats. But just as you were about to break the silence, you heard footsteps approaching the room.

“Damn it, I have to go.” You stared at him, panicked, yet your expression was uncertain and conflicted, like you were experiencing a whole range of emotions in a matter of seconds. 

Jiung was staring so intently at you, waiting for you to say goodbye and end the call. But why did he feel so reluctant this time? 

“I –” He started.

But you cut him off. “Sorry. See you, Jiung.”

You ended the call. For a few seconds, you just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing yourself to imagine what life would be like if you could be with him in person, and not just through a phone screen. 

And then you realised that today was Friday, and the maids were out looking for you to get you ready and all dolled up for dinner at the government house. Instead of returning the phone to its usual resting place under the pillow, you pocketed it for a change. You weren’t too sure why, but your gut was telling you it was the right thing to do.

You ended the call. For a long time, Jiung just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing himself to imagine what life would be like if he could call you his, and not just through a phone screen. His lower body and tattoos were still covered in cum, and he curses into the darkness when he realises…

“I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered, his words drifting off into the endless void between the two of you.

[7:49pm] jiung: sent a photo.

[7:51pm] jiung: can’t stop thinking about you

[7:51pm] jiung: i need you so bad, please y/n…

[7:51pm] y/n: me too, i want you inside me

[7:51pm] y/n: you can use the maid’s entrance. i’ll sneak out of this dinner, meet me in 20

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Steve’s Station

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

If you ever find yourself on the run from the more reputable institutions of the universe, you may be prevailed upon to make your way to a little known star base called “Steve’s Station” in the Cambra system.

Designated as the haven of the underworld, Steve’s Station operates outside the boundaries of all official governing bodies and interplanetary enforcement organizations. It operates as a safe haven at one point or another for every criminal, terrorist, extremist, and other shadowy group that seeks to cause unlawful conduct across the universe.

Normally a station that housed so many unsavory characters would hardly survive a day given the tenacity for grudges its patrons held. It was only through the simple governing of the stations founder, a human known only as “Steve”, that the station was able to not only operate but actively thrive as a hub of underworld activity.

Originally founded some thirty years prior, the human Steve had saved up his life savings to by a third generation mobile station. With only four docking arms and two cargo holds, the third generation stations were largely overlooked as they were the smallest of mobile stations. What did make it more desirable was the fact that it’s smaller size allowed it to make system to system jumps. Even more beneficial was that its core housings could be upgraded and replaced to increase the size of the station if one had the credits.

With the majority of civilized systems already having an overflow of star bases and stations, cutting into the market there would neigh impossible. So Steve instead set course for the Cambra system; a little known and uncharted region of space that barely shows up on star charts save for a pair of skull and bones. This did not dissuade Steve however as he was always of the opportunistic nature.

Forty jumps later and Steve was setting up shop when his first customer came in.

A battered Benaren smuggler had just barely escaped from the authorities and made a blind jump. With his engines all but destroyed from the jump he would have been left to rot had it not been for Steve’s station.

Much to the surprise of the Benaren Steve asked no questions on how the damage came about so long as he followed the station rules.

1.       Pay on time.

2.       Keep your feuds at the door.

3.       Don’t start trouble, lest you want troubles of your own.

Within a short while the smuggler’s ship was repaired and ready to go again. The Benaren paid in full for the repairs and went on their way.

Now that may of well had been the end of Steve’s story had it not been for how connected the criminal underworld was. Not more than three weeks later another group of wayward outcasts and lowlifes stop by the station for use of its quality services.

From there the station’s reputation became wildly known as every criminal, pirate, smuggler, rogue ai and wayward warlord found their way to Steve’s Station to call it home. The wealth being generated from the constant traffic of ships and cargo allowed the station to quickly grow in size as Steve was able to purchase more parts and modules to be included.

Within the first ten years it went it nearly doubled in size, and in another five it was the size of a first 7th generation star base complete with over fifty docking ports and repair bays, sixteen cargo holds for storage, two dozen habitability compartments for stores and clubs, and a fuel depot capable of supplying an entire fleet.

The sheer volume of different factions and cultures using the station facilities would have rapidly devolved into rampant infighting and destruction were it not for the quiet hand of Steve. Patrons kept their animosity at the door unless they wanted to lose access to the safe harbor Steve’s station held. Storage and repair bays were expensive to maintain and were often prime targets for rivals within their own territories, so they were more than happy to maintain a truce while on Steve Station for their own benefit.

At least, that is what the smart ones were willing to abide by.  

--------------

“Give us the access codes and this can all be over.”

The Jinari leaned down and grabbed hold of the human’s head. He lifted it up so the mauled human could see him through his one good eye as the other was well and good swollen shut from the beating his men had given him the moment prior.

Before them lay the one and only human “Steve”; founder of Steve station and currently their captive as they continued with their hostile takeover of the station. Jinari’s group had long wanted to make a name for themselves and by taking control of such a hub of underworld activity they could gain vast amounts of credits to finance their own operations.

It had been easy to breach the station’s control bridge as security was light. The guards had grown lax with the fear of Steve’s displeasure keeping many of the patron’s inline. They’d been dead in moments with the door breached not long after.

Steve had been understandably uncooperative with handing over his access codes that gave full control of the station; so Jinari’s men had proceed with some aggressive interrogation tactics to loosen him.

Steve looked up at Jinari; spitting out a glob of blood on to his shoe and grinned.

“It won’t do you any good you know.”

Jinari’s good mood quickly evaporated as he watched the human Steve begin to laugh.

“You broke the third rule,” he laughed, “you aren’t going to make it out of here alive.”

Before Jinari could ask what the human meant a loud bark of several weapons came from outside the control room followed. The rest of his crew turned their guns on the open doorway as the sound of several heavy footfalls began to draw closer.

“You’ve got one chance,” a deep rattling voice came from outside, “so I want you idiots in there to listen well.”

“Release. The. Human. Steve.” Another voice came in with thick robotic overtones.

“An jus may’be, we lets you go with your bits intact!” One more voice came with a throaty chuckle at the end.

The door to the control room was suddenly ripped open from its frame and the figures entered the room.

“That’s….you’re….” one of Jinari’s crew stammered as the first figure came into view. A towering mass of muscle and bone covered in thick black armor plating.

“Gur, leader of the Black Reavers.”

Gur grinned as his name was spoken with such fear.

Besides him stood an equally tall cybernetic body or polished metal and spikes. It was called “Cybrosis”, the rogue AI responsible for the collapse of three economic zones via hacking and alterations of monetary values.

On the opposite side of Gur stood a squat brutish Ularen decorated with skulls and bones of its victims. This unfortunate figure was Gobsnob, the assassin infamous for decapitating the Hybren prince during his own coronation then escaping with the severed head. Many believed one of the heads mounted on his armor was the prince’s head.

“Let Steve go, and we’ll let you live.” Gur spoke with a calm, collected voice.

Jinari’s eyes darted between the figures now blocking escape from the control room. There were even more waiting patiently in the outside hallway all armed to the teeth. In fear he drew his gun and pointed the muzzle at Steve’s head.

“What makes this flesh sack so special?” He shouted at the group. “It’s just one human! We don’t need him to run this place!”

“Correction.” Cybrosis remarked. “He. Is. The Only. One. Who Can. Run. This. Station.”

“WHY?!” Jianri demanded.

“He makes me laugh!” Gobsnob chuckled.

When the answer did not dissuade Jinari Gur spoke up and pointed at him.

“Deals changed. Whoever kills this stupid metal brain gets to walk free.”

Cybrosis turned to glare at Gur at the remark but said nothing. Jinari laughed and pushed the muzzle deeper against Steve’s head.

“You think my own crew would-“

The bark of an auto-blaster ran out and Jinari collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood and bone. His ribcage now cracked wide open from the blaster fire that tore into his back.

Those gathered turned to see one of Jinari’s crew holding the smoking gun before dropping it to the ground and raising their hands.

“I can go free now, yes?” they stammered.

Gur smiled and reached for something in his pocket. “Nah, I lied.”

Before any of Jinari’s crew could react Gur pulled out a thick barrel cannon from his coat and fired a slug at the thug closest to Steve. The barrel slug slammed the thug back into the wall with enough force to turn him into an art piece.

After that the station patrons who had been waiting outside stormed into the room and quickly subdued the rest of the thugs. They barely had time to get off a round before they were torn to pieces. In some cases quite literally as Gobsnob got ahold of one of them and began beating them to death with their own dismembered arm.

Gur slowly walked forward and helped Steve into the command chair at the center of the room.

“Glad you guys made it.” Steve laughed through bloody teeth. “Was starting to think you’d give me up to that nobhead.”

Gur shook his head. “They broke the rules.” He said calmly, wiping a stain of blood off his boot on Jinari’s twitching corpse. “And here you don’t last long if you break the rules.”

Steve smiled and switched on the com channel for station wide broadcast.

“Attention station,” Steve said calmly, “All possessions belonging to the former Jinari and his crew are now forfeited. Patrons may claim them as they wish for redistribution.”

A low rumble of cheers could be heard echoing down the halls as the denizens of the station began a free-for-all on the would-be takers belongings.  Steve was not finished though.

“Additionally, a free month’s worth of supplies and repairs to the loveable bastards that came to my rescue.”

Even more cheers erupted from those gathered in the control room as they carried off Steve to the nearest bar for celebration.

[yurunivo]

Hii! Not sure if you are doing theres(if u dont just please ignore it) kind of requests, but if you do, may I pretty please with cherry on top get some headconons of yandere Mavuika with a darling on hunger strike? (basically darling refuses to eat unless freed)

Tsm 4 reading my request! And I am so sorry if you are not taking theres kind of requests, please just ignore this if thats the case!!

This is my first time getting this kind of request but I'll try 👆

Synopsis: you're not eating till you're free

TW: Darling will be the reader since I'm not too familiar with the concept (idk if darling is reader or not so yeah), gn!reader, coercion, manipulation, drug use, mentions of people supporting mavuika's actions, yandere Mavuika, reader is a traveller (but not the traveller), bad grammar, not proofread, bad writing, english is not my first language, I do not support any of the actions I've written, mentions of hurting reader, OOC, mentions of vomiting, short

Characters: Yandere!Mavuika x gn!reader

You missed the outside world.

The way Mondstadts air was like a calming breeze, the way Liyue had their stories, the way Inazuma was filled with the books from Yae publishing house, the way Sumeru was so casual, the way Fontaine's books were always entertaining to read.

You missed it all.

You had a plan to journey to find out about the entire world, the cultures of the different nations and their history. It was all so intriguing to you. However, out of all the regions, Nation was the most mysterious. None of the civilians from Natlan went outside their Nation, and it was all a mystery to you.

Now you knew that you should've stayed curious.

Natlan was filled with welcoming people, the culture and everything was all so unique to you. The tribal systems, the ancient names, they were all things you'd never heard of before. The fact that the Archon was human too really piqued your interest. It was much different than anything else you had ever seen before. You were drowning in these revelations, in a good way.

That's when you met the Archon.

She was welcoming, very much so. It was like you two bonded immediately. The two of you often got lost into speaking about many topics, her about Natlan and you about your journey. That often led to hours of talking, a company you enjoyed greatly.

It was then time for you to leave. Your family would start to worry about you leaving for too long anyway. But, Mavuika's words always made you stay for a bit longer, somehow.

"You still haven't learned about the specific cultures of each tribe, maybe we could talk about that. Writing letters is a hassle anyway. Just stay here for longer I promise."

So, one month turned to two, two into three and three into four. That's when you had the conscience to know that you were staying for too long. It was strange how your family wasn't giving any letters, but they must be worried either way.

The look Mavuika gave you when you told her this was nothing in the sort of pretty. However, she complied, and allowed you to leave Natlan. However, just as you were about to leave her office, you collapsed. You coughed up a bit of blood and you looked above you. Mavuika was peering down on you, her foot next to your head. Maybe that's why the smell in the room made you feel weird.

That's when you woke up in a bed, more luxurious than yours but horrifying nonetheless. You saw Mavuika entering the room, her expression unreadable. She offered you a hand, yet you slapped it away angrily. You were beyond angry, and also scared.

"Where am I Mavuika?! What did you do?!" Your eyes were starting to be filled up with tears, yet all she did was brush them away tenderly with her finger. The action felt disgusting, and you wanted nothing more than to escape. You spoke insult after insult to her, but she ended up carrying you, and as much as you wanted to just get out of her grasp, her scorching Pyro abilities on your back was enough to shut you up.

She took you to the stadium where multiple people were watching. You gulped at the sight, what was going on? Why did the people look so happy, weren't they going to help?!

She announced with joy that you were her "lover". You looked at her, horrified, trying to escspe from her grasp. The thought of it made you want to vomit, but the fact that so many people were cheering her on for getting a lover in the first place made it impossible for your screams of terror to be heard. You screeched, yelled and tried your very best but they were never heard.

You stayed for another month in Natlan, your face turning paper by the day.

Mavuika took you to the different tribes. She made you meet ancient name bearers, heroes of Natlan and such, but you want nothing to do with it. You just want to go home. You didn't want to know who were random people, you wanted to know how the hell you would get out of your situation.

Every feast, every gift, every compliment, they meant nothing. You vomited everything you ate, you threw away every gift you got and you (rudely) brushed off any compliment you could get. Mavuika gave you gifts too, but you always threw that away first.

Right now, you vomited up the food you ate again, feeling sick to your stomach. Coughing up saliva, you wiped it away with your sleeve.

"If she's going to play this game then so shall I," you muttered to yourself, determined . Really, your plan would only bring you so much pain, the pain of not eating, but you couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she sees your dead body. That salvation was the only thing you dreamed of. That's the day you put your plan into effect.

You ate nothing, you didn't want to, and for your best interest too. All the events that were celebrated were declined, and the maids that were supposed to take care of you got the same old excuse of: "I already ate," or, "I don't feel like eating." You were ecstatic, so glad everything was going the way you wanted. Sure, you were as skinny as a stick now, you were pale and all of your veins were showing, but hey, if she didn't do anything about it, it was fine. They way you would tremble, the way you constantly felt cold, the way you were like a twig ready to be blown away by the wind would all be worth it. Your inevitable death would be worth it, and you'd been dreaming of that outcome for a while by now.

"It would all be worth it."

As you pushed away the food you were offered again, you looked through your surroundings. You were bored. All the novels you'd gotten were all read through, and if it weren't for a certain Archon, you would've found your way to Snezhnaya by now.

That question answered itself quite easily.

Surprisingly enough you started to feel your eyes going shut. You mumbled incoherently, slowly falling asleep. Maybe you could pass the time by resting.

"Just a small nap.." You yawned, your mind going blank.

As you did so, Mavuika entered the room again, holding a bowl of gruel in her hands. She walked up to you and sat down at the ledge of the bed, slowly but surely feeding your unconscious figure. You would choke if she got any thing heavier, so this would have to do for now.

A few coughs went unnoticed as she finished your meal and slowly making you drink water, making sure you don't waste any drop. Your face was serene, she really hoped it would stay that way when you woke up.

"The inscence I got from Miss Emilie certainly worked well, I should thank her by letter sometime," she mumbled, looking at the hidden plate of the stuff in the corner. You were still fast asleep, oblivious to what she was doing.

"You won't be able to get rid of me so soon my dear," she talked to your sleeping self as she walked away. In response, you did a slight jerk in your sleep, almost as if you could hear what she said. But, if you knew or not didn't matter, you couldn't fight her anyway.

This is so trash but wtv

[sizzleissues]

Speak my language (1250 words.)

inspired by this post by @nervousbelieverstarfish

There was a girl behind M Damocles, her hands stuck awkwardly at her sides as she made herself appear small next to him. Adrien tilted his head to the side to get a proper look but the girl shuffled away. Adrien straightened and looked up at M Damocles. Why had he led this clearly frightened girl all the way to his shady spot in the school yard? M Damocles stepped aside, gesturing to the girl with a worried smile. 

“This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she's a new student here.”

Marinette whispered something quiet that went ignored by M Damocles.  There was a piece of pasta on her shoulder that she didn't seem to notice and a reddish stain on her black jacket that she definitely knew was there. Her entire face was pink as she watched him from behind her bangs.

He extended his hand — that was what you’re supposed to do when greeting new people? — and tried to make his smile warm. “Hi, I’m Adrien. You have pasta on your shoulder.”

Marinette blinked and M Damocles stepped in, clearing his throat.

“She’s just moved here from China. Very little French.”

Adrien retracted his hand. (He was glad she hadn’t understood him, why had he opened with ‘there’s pasta on your shoulder’? She looked mortified already, no need to kill her.)

“I know you’re only recently returning to regular schooling after your m-,” M Damocles clammed up, his voice trailing off. 

“My maman died,” Adrien supplied, forcing M Damocles to look him in his eyes as he said it. He was sick of people treating him like he couldn’t bear to hear the words. Maybe it was more that they didn’t want to say it, that they didn't want to deal with the consequences if he did break with every mention of her. It was a good thing then that he’d put all that childish grief away — along with everything else that would only hurt him in the long run. 

“Err- yes. That. Anyways, you’re here longer than Marinette and I read on your file you’re fluent in Chinese. You’re also in all advanced classes so you’d be the perfect fit to help Marinette get around and teach her French on the side. If you are willing to, of course.”

Adrien had half a mind to refuse M Damocles and go back to his quiet existence on the edges of the school. That was the way he liked it and nothing ever before had made him want to change that. Then he looked at Marinette and he couldn’t find it in him to refuse.

“Do you know what dialect she speaks?” Adrien asked. 

“Pardon?”

“What dialect? I speak Mandarin but she could only speak Cantonese or another regional dialect I wouldn’t understand.”

M Damocles paused, his thick eyebrows weighed with confusion. It seemed the thought had never occurred to him. 

“Marinette. Do - you - speak - Mandarin?” M Damocles asked her in broken French. Adrien saw something flick across her face that was different from her timid expression before. A flash of fire in her otherwise soft blue eyes. She silently nodded in response. Adrien saw it again as M Damocles turned back to Adrien to relay the answer though he’d already heard. He had to bite his lip to contain a snicker as he caught the sarcastic flick of her eyes. 

“Well then, that’s all sorted. I’ll leave you to it,” M Damocles said with a note of relief in his voice, glad the translation problem was no longer his. He strode off, leaving Marinette behind. She watched him leave with a surprisingly reluctant expression, even though he’d proved utterly incompetent.

“So, you’re new here?” He asked in Mandarin. Marinette swung her head around, blue eyes wide and frightened again. 

“Y-yes.”

“I’m A-.”

“Adrien Agreste. I know,” She interrupted.

“You do?”

Marinette seemed to realise what she’d done and turned bright red.

“I mean, you already said so. Earlier. I’m not the best at French but I know when someone’s introducing themselves.”

“Right…” It didn’t explain knowing his last name, he’d never given it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the Agreste name had made it as far as China. He moved on to the side on his bench and held his hand out to offer the seat beside him. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Okay.” 

She sat, bouncing her leg as she looked everywhere but at him. Had she understood him earlier with the pasta thing? He searched his head for something to say before the silence lingered too long and it became impossible to breach. 

“You have pasta on your shoulder.”

Not that!

Marinette squeaked, shaking it off and then removing her jacket altogether. She groaned into her hands. Adrien scrambled desperately for something not related to pasta to ask.

“I- I noticed you have a French word in your name?”

“Oh, yeah. My Papa is French but we’ve lived in China my whole life. Never really tried to learn the language. Regretting that now.” She laughed dryly at her own expense. Adrien smiled at her when she looked up and she immediately went back to staring at the ground, furiously tapping her foot. 

“Why did you move, if you don’t mind answering?”

“To go here. To learn art at this school and become a fashion designer. I applied ages ago, I didn’t think I got in. Didn’t think I would get in.” She leaned back from hunching over, her voice getting a little louder as she settled. “That's probably why I didn’t really try to learn French but now I’m here and I don’t know a word and it's going to screw everything up. I couldn’t find any of my classes and then this- this, bitch, threw her pasta all over me when I couldn’t understand her. She had a claim over the table I’d chosen, apparently. People had been warning me and I couldn’t understand them fully to realise. How am I supposed to become a famous fashion designer if I can’t even say it in French!”

Marinette clamped her mouth shut and turned to Adrien with an alarmed expression. His Mandarin wasn’t good enough to have kept up with everything but he got the gist. She was completely lost and alone.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t want to hear about that. You’re the one saddled with teaching me and now I’m dumping this all on you. You really don’t have to.”

Adrien looked across the school yard to where all the other students had gathered, talking amongst themselves. Groans about homework, whispers of gossip and cheers as one student presented a graded project. He’d never once bothered to join in. Now he was sitting with this girl who was on the outskirts like him and she couldn’t join in even if she wanted to. The voice that told him to shut everyone out could be ignored for now. She would be his exception.

His only exception.

(He didn’t know now but soon he’d make another. For a girl with fire in her soft blue eyes. He’d look into those eyes as her hand reached to save him and know he’d have to make another exception. But that would be the last one) (Until the next.)

“It’s alright. I’ll teach you French until it's better than your Mandarin. And you can help me improve my Mandarin in return. Does that sound like a deal?”

Marinette looked down at the hand he’d extended then up at him, her eyes flooding with relief. She shook his hand, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Deal.”

-

OK OK OK OK. I hope you liked it, i hope it was good. Let me know or whatever. Please reblog blah blah blah and have a good day

I would write more but I have so many WIPS and I’m trying to overcome doubt in my writing so I can just write again. This is an AU to the movie’s canon but also can be applied to the show if you want. I’ve also added my own slight headcanon that Adrien was only homeschooled during the period of his mother’s sickness and ‘death’ as my interpretation of the canon given to us in the movie. Take it or leave it. So he was friends with Nino prior to everything but he’s since shut him out.

[jumpingjoltiks]

I want sugar daddy submas but a date with emmet. I feel like after a fancy lunch. They went to buy luxury furniture. And emmet asks the reader to decorate their house or room in ways that she wants it to be. And when the reader is choosing what sofa goes best in the living room (or her room) Emmett is just imaging all the kinds of things he can do with you on that sofa (and whether that sofa is good for sexy time.) when looking at all the mirror he just thinks about how he can f you in front of the mirror and see all the angle

Anon, I am so unbelievably sorry that this took so long to answer, but it has been eating at my brain for the entire time it's been sitting in my inbox and I really wanted to get it right. I hope what I finally came up was worth the wait!

Luxuries

Summery: Emmet takes you furniture shopping for the twin's summer house. Certain unspoken presumptions and misunderstandings in your relationship with the twins come to light. A little angst with a happy ending 💕

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Emmet x Reader (GN), Implied Sugar Daddy!Ingo x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (Minors Begone!), Sugar Daddy-esque relationship (and the consequences and implications of such), smut, dirty fantasies, personal and financial insecurities.

After a wonderful morning of trying on clothes and being spoiled to death by Ingo, Emmet meets both of you at a small diner. You’ve never even heard of this place but the atmosphere here is incredibly cozy.

The whole interior is a beautiful, solid hardwood, and each covered table is set up against a curtained window that lets in the light. The booths, far from the cheap vinyl you're used to in diners, are instead actual loveseats made with real leather. The tile floor below you is a lovely dark green, which makes the isle in between tables look like an emerald sea.

“I didn’t think you’d like a place like this. It’s very vintage.” And fancy. You think. This is like no diner you've ever been to.

“That’s because it’s been in business for nearly a century.” Ingo says as he takes the seat across from you, “We’ve been coming here since we first started at Gear Station.”

He sets a small bag under the table. It contains a wonderfully soft cardigan you'd found on a sale rack on your way out of the tailor's. Its price tag could have fed you for two weeks, but Ingo insisted on buying it for you anyway.

It's absurd to feel weird over a cardigan, you tell yourself, especially when it was the cheapest thing bought for you today. You put on a brave face at the tailor’s, mostly because there was someone else already there, but you’re really not used to having so much money to use on whatever you want.

Maybe that was it. The rest of the beautiful, beautiful clothes could be excused as a business expense, like a uniform for a job. But the cardigan, that was for you only. There was no getting around that.

Emmet's voice startles you out of your thoughts, and all of a sudden you're back in the diner.

“Yup yup! This building used to be the dining carriage on the luxury cross-regional line.” Emmet explains, sliding in next to you. His whole expression is aglow with happiness. You’ve come to understand that different smiles mean different things with him. This one shines with warmth. “They have done a lot of work to preserve and recreate as much as they can. These are even the same kind of chairs and tables they used back then!”

“I never even knew this was here…” You take a moment to marvel at the intricate wallpaper and polished wooden walls and try very hard not to think about how much has already been spent today.

“It’s a real gem, don’t you think?” Ingo’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so happy just to share this with you. “Everything here is wonderful as well. Please take a look at the menu and order whatever you’d like. It’s on us.”

~~~

If the twin’s choice of lunch surprised you, Emmet’s choice of where to take you on a date shocks you even more.

“Is this… a furniture store?”

“Mhmm!” Emmet watches your expression carefully. “I know it is unusual. But I want your help picking out some pieces for my and Ingo’s summer house. We have to host a bunch of parties this year. You’ll be spending a lot of time there with us and we want you to be comfortable.”

To his credit, Emmet doesn’t mention a thing about wanting to buy furniture for your place. He’s never been inside (truthfully, he doesn’t even know where you live), but judging from what Elesa’s told him about your lifestyle, it could probably use something nicer. And he would love to give it to you.

“But shouldn’t Ingo be here for that too?”

“Hmmmm, no. We have verrry similar tastes. And we both trust your sense of style, so he agreed to let us go together.”

“Oh. Okay then.” You still look unsure, but Emmet doesn’t seem to notice. He takes you by the hand and your heart flutters inside your chest.

“Full steam ahead!”

~~~

Calling the store massive is an understatement. Even in a city like Nimbasa, you've never seen anything like this.

It's like a labyrinth in here. Every way you turn is a new room full of a setup of furniture. Some of them are kitchens with huge sinks and granite countertops. Others are elaborate dining rooms with tables set for fifty. The ones Emmet most wants to explore are the living rooms.

Maybe this can be a good opportunity to get to know him after all. While browsing a whole wall full of chairs, you ask about his decorating style and preferences.

"Ingo and I like a modern look. It fits with our professional image, so it’s good for places we have to host in." His expression seems reserved, despite his smile.

You think back to how much they loved the old, vintage dining car, and wonder if sticking to a modern 'professional image' can be joined with what they actually like in practice.

Your eyes scan over the chairs, and you find a dark brown, almost black leather piece toward the center. It's traditional, in that the upholstery is very classic, but the lines are crisp and sharp, modern. You don't think it would look out of place in either scenario. You point it out.

"What about that one?"

Emmet brings a hand to his chin, considering, silent. You're worried you may have made a mistake until he quite suddenly turns around and marches across the room. He stops in front of a matched pair of very modern, round side tables, one black and one white, accented with marble tops and gold trim.

"A pair of those chairs with these tables could fill a nook by one of the windows." He says. "Verrry nice. An excellent combination!"

"That would be so cozy! It would be a nice place to sit and talk for a while." You say, excited that he's on board. "A rug under them all would help mark the space as its own little area.”

"Yes!" He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let's mark these down and remember to look at rugs later. For now, couches."

~~~

There are almost as many couches in this place as there are chairs.

At one point, Emmet grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a loveseat with him to test it out. It's very comfy. Comfier still with you cuddled up under his arm.

Across from you both is a mirror on a large wall. It’s beautiful, with golden leaves and flowers surrounding the frame. In it, Emmet can see you curled into his side. He sees your reflection turn and gaze up at him. The look in your eyes is like he hung the stars. He wants you to always look at him like that.

How easy would it be, to turn his head and kiss you? His lips would fit against yours perfectly. He’s thought about it so many times already. In the dead of night. In the quiet morning. In the dull monotony of the work day. He wonders how you would react. Would you swoon against him, melt into him like he was made for you? His hand has already found its way to your waist. One quick tug, and you'd fall right into his lap - where you belong.

You'd sigh as his lips ghost their way down your neck. He'd trail kisses across your shoulders like rain. You’d gasp at the rough texture of his sideburns against your sweet, soft skin. He’d nip, maybe even bite. Ingo had gotten you those clothes in black… he’d have to mark you in other ways. In places only he could see.

Emmet thinks of his hand slipping across your neck to give a gentle squeeze. You’d shudder in his arms and your eyes would slip closed. His hand would slide down across your chest. Lower. Lower. He feels you breathe against him. The fluttering of your heartbeat. Lower. To the waist of your pants. He’d stop, rubbing his thumb against the line where clothing meets skin, until your hand wraps around his and shows him exactly what you want.

He’d look up from where he sucks dark bruises onto your shoulder. Silver eyes blown dark with lust would meet yours through the reflection. You’d watch yourself become the very image of desperation as he worked you. You would see how he took you apart piece by piece and built you back together with only his touch. The jerking of your hips against his hand. The friction driving you to a squirming mess against him. You’d be laid out before him in the mirror like a feast.

"Emmet..." Your voice is like honey to his ears. A voice on the breeze that whispers, begs for more. He’d give you anything. Everything. "Emmet..."

…

"Emmet, are you there?"

He snaps out of his trance. Just like that, the dream is gone. He's back in the furniture store with you sitting next to him.

"I am Emmet. I was lost on a train of thought. What were you saying?"

“This chair is nice, but I don’t know about the color. I wanted to know what you think.”

“I think we should get this mirror.”

“The mirror?” You look baffled, and turn to make a face at your reflection. It doesn’t really seem like his style, “Why?”

“I like the view I’m seeing in it.”

~~~

Emmet circles a huge sectional. It’s been presented with a luxurious, dark grey fabric. His hands sweep across the back and he notes that even the top is cushioned. There’s so much room, he could fuck you in a different position on it every day for a month and still have opportunities for more. The prospect has merit…

He shakes himself out of it. Any more daydreaming, and you’ll start to get worried about him. Besides, as much as he wants it to be, your relationship isn’t like that with them. Not yet.

“What about this couch?” He asks as you take a seat. You bounce as you plop down, and his fingers tighten indistinguishably on the upholstery.

Its humiliating for you to think about how this couch wouldn't even fit in your apartment. It’s lovely, really. And very nice to sit on. It's even softer than your bed! But it’s far too big for your little studio, (if you could even call a space so small a studio. You’re pretty sure Elesa's closet is bigger than your apartment).

“It’s really comfy! Will it work in your summer house?”

“It might be a little small…” He thinks aloud, coming around the side to drop next to you. Emmet leans back, putting his feet up onto the ottoman in front. “We could add a few more sections to it. It would look nice in the conversation pit. Or…”

He turns to you with a look on his face that’s clearly trying to be nonchalant.

“We could always get it for your place.”

You nearly choke. “My place?” You look away, trying to control your expression. There’s no way that would work. It couldn’t even fit it through the door. You try to keep your voice measured, throw in a small laugh, “I don’t know about that…”

“If you do not like it, there are lots of other things here. We could always find something else.”

Emmet says it like buying something like this for you is nothing. And for him, maybe it is. It occurs to you that you don’t really know much about their lives at all, or how well off they actually are. Maybe they really did go through life not even thinking about what it cost them.

Meanwhile, your funds have been so low that you haven’t even thought about replacing the ratty old futon you’ve had since college. There are a million other things that you’re more concerned about than your comfort - like fixing your car, or paying off your school debts, or how until recently, you struggled to afford just surviving from one month to another.

“Um.. maybe. Why don’t we take a look in the next room.”

Anything to get away from this couch.

~~~

Emmet’s warm smile has fallen. His lips are pursed and there’s a furrow in his brow, like how he looks when trying to come up with battle strategies. You pick at your cuticles. Silence stretches out in between you two like an impassible river. Emmet has always been quieter than his brother, but it’s never been like this before.

“You said you have a conversation pit in your summer home?” You ask, trying to kickstart the conversation again. He’d also said you’d be spending time there, so… “When will I get to visit?”

And you pray the answer is still soon.

Some tension seems to leave him as he answers, “We usually host two parties for the season. Ingo and I would love you to be there for both,”

“I’d like that!” You answer, a little too quickly. But he seems to take it well. He almost looks relieved, and that comforts you as well.

Once you’ve broken the ice, conversation flows easily between you two once more. In fact, you’re both doing really well together! Your chatter is lighthearted, sometimes even boldly teasing, and though you have to hustle to keep up with his long legs and purposeful stride, you find he keeps looking toward you, like he wants to make sure you’re still with him. It’s endearing.

Until he tries to buy you another couch. Another wave of shame crests over you – it’s so powerful that you can’t think of what to do or how to save this moment without losing it. And it was going so well, too!

“Emmet, please stop. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should buy this.”

“What, why?” He seems baffled, like he can’t figure out what you mean, “Is the color wrong? You shouldn’t worry. We can get it redone to fit your tastes.”

“I- no. That’s not- I just wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

“But… it’s very comfortable?” Emmet looks confused, “The cushions are plenty soft. You just said so.”

“No, no. I mean, I don’t feel comfortable with you buying something like this for me!”

"But that’s why we're here. You deserve to be comfortable."

He pauses for a moment, as if struck by something.

"Are you not comfortable? With Ingo and I buying you things?"

You pause. Today has been a lot, with Ingo taking you to such a fancy, expensive tailor and Emmet wanting to buy you all of this new furniture. It’s so much money. More than you’ve ever had to spend on your own. But truthfully, it’s nice too. To be able to look at something and not have to worry about what it cost. To just decide you can have it, no matter what it was.

And it was nice, SO nice, to have people who wanted to give it to you.

"It's been really nice. But…" You sit down on the nearest couch, eyes facing downward as you try to put together the words to express how you’re feeling without choking.

But at what cost? You’re not naive. You know that this relationship is transactional. Every debt will have to be paid eventually. Once it’s all wrung up, what will the price on your shoulders be?

You’re scared that soon the spell will be broken. The debt collector will come knocking and demand something you can’t give. What will you do then, stuck with a price you can’t bear to pay and no way to back out? It’s terrifying. Would Ingo and Emmet do that to you? You’ve known them long enough to think that they probably wouldn’t, but how can you really be sure? How can you be sure of anything?

Emmet carefully sits across from you, patiently waiting for your next words.

“I don’t know why you’re both… It’s all so much, and I don’t know what you’re expecting from me in exchange for all of this.” Your expression is worried, almost scared.

Emmet feels his veins turn to ice. He suddenly feels like how he did as a child, making a rookie mistake in a battle and finding out how quickly and badly things could backfire on him. This was the last impression he or Ingo ever wanted to give.

"We are not buying you things because we want something from you. We wanted to do this for you because we like seeing you happy. You should have nice things." Your eyes are watery. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you. “We only want you to be happy. Is that hard to believe?”

Emmet knows now that the game is almost up. The three of you are going to have to sit down and talk about your relationship – it’s all too quickly growing out of the convenient agreement it started as and into something more. They want to give you more, but Emmet realizes that they shouldn’t have assumed you’d just accept without talking it through first. You were so much more than what you could give to them. Yet somewhere along the way he and Ingo had both failed to consider how you might make assumptions about their intentions.

And then there’s the matter of their attraction to you. Emmet likes you. Wants you. They both do. But they can’t stand the idea of you thinking they’re buying you. Love that is an obligation is not what they want. It is so much more than that for them.

“I am Emmet. And I am sorry. I should have known it was too much to offer.” He says as you wipe your eyes. “I am serious though. Neither Ingo or I would ever expect anything like that.”

“I-” You take a deep breath, “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I should have told you how I was feeling sooner.”

Emmet reaches out and takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t pull away.

“Do you think we could start our date over?” He asks. You look at him and know that if you said no right now, he would take you home and everything would still be okay. “What if we just did something fun together instead? The amusement park is still open.”

You laugh through the last of your tears. “I’d like that. Can we ride the ferris wheel?”

He rubs a thumb over your knuckles.

“That sounds perfect.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! 💕

If you liked this fic, there is now a direct sequel!

[navree]

How do you feel about the Nettles situation? 👀

As mentioned, haven't been watching season 2 and only been "keeping up" with it in that I see what the beloved mutuals are posting about it on Tumblr (and the occasional errant tweet from the fucking bad take brigade that is fandom twitter), so from what I know the Nettles situation appears to be that they're cutting her completely and just giving her storyline to Rhaena? Well the way I feel about that is that I think it fucking sucks.

The big thing for me is that the entire rationale for cutting Nettles and just substituting in Rhaena really smacks of racism. They couldn't be assed to do anything for Rhaena, so they just took the only notable Black character they could find and just went "well Nettles is a Black girl, and now we've made Rhaena Black, so it's the same thing" without thinking about the fact that Nettles and Rhaena are two very different characters with very different places in the narrative and aren't just interchangeable, and that it's fucking weird that you immediately got rid of a woman of color because you already had what you deemed to be a sufficient amount. The lack of care shown to Rhaena, specifically the version of Rhaena that the show created, is astounding, and it feels really weird that it's existing for one of the already few Black women in the show (it's something I've already talked about, that the show made changes without then thinking about how things come across in the real world to the viewing public, like Ryan Condal saying that women lie about being victims of gendered violence or making the Velaryons Black but then putting significantly less effort into them than their white counterparts, or not even thinking about how Targaryen-Velaryon intermarriage would make the current Targs visibly mixed).

Giving Rhaena the Nettles plot doesn't make sense for two main reasons, even beyond the BTS decisions that I outlined above: 1) you can give Rhaena an entirely original and interesting plot if you bothered to actually care about her or in giving Black women something to do in your show 2) Nettles has a very specific impact on the story that cannot be removed without drastically changing the history that's been set in stone.

So, point one: an original Rhaena plot. I've said this before, but it's a very critique that book!Rhaena doesn't actually do anything. She just kinda sits around in the Vale having her hair brushed for a year until the war's over. That's a bit boring, I don't mind the show deciding to change up what she does so she actually has shit to, like, do. But let's look at what the show crafted with the Vale plot before they just punted Nettles to Rhaena. On the Vale's side, the show has created a situation where their loyalty to Rhaenyra is extremely flimsy and quite likely to vanish at a moment's notice. Rhaenyra's husband, her major partisan, was infamously shitty to the Vale, he constantly degraded the region in open court, and then murdered one of Jeyne Arryn's vassals in cold blood, his own wife, for no reason. And not only that, he wasn't even remotely punished for it. Daemon's bad reputation in the Vale for what he did to Rhea Royce, and his treatment of her throughout their marriage, and the lack of accountability in that, should absolutely make it so that anyone in the Vale would be leery about allying themselves with him. Then, Jeyne gives Rhaenyra the Vale's allegiance so long as Rhaenyra sends a battle-ready dragon and dragon-rider to protect them in case the Greens decide to invade and force their submission. But after Rhaenyra's envoy promises her that, Rhaenyra backtracks, and instead sends her a teenager and three little kids and a baby dragon and some dragon eggs. That is insulting, that is a violation of the promised agreement that came at the cost of the Vale's allegiance to Rhaenyra, that alliance should absolutely be on the rocks. It makes sense for Jeyne to be as annoyed with the Blacks as she is in the show. And on Rhaena's side, she doesn't have a dragon at all, and she is undervalued in her family as a result. Her father straight up doesn't care about her and neglects her because she doesn't have that symbol of Targaryen supremacy within her, her sister may love her but doesn't value her much as a person (considering Baela is absolutely fine with Rhaena getting sent away to play nursemaid and doesn't even bring up Rhaena being the Lady of Driftmark even tho she has a claim through Laena and Hell, even being Luke's intended), Rhaenyra literally doesn't see her as worthy of keeping around since she just shunts her off not even for her own safety, but so that she can ensure the safety of Rhaenyra's sons. And that's weighing on Rhaena, it's been weighing on her since she was a child, she's only ten when she talks to Laena about how Daemon doesn't love her because she doesn't have a dragon, and those feelings have only grown as she has, and as more indignities have been heaped on her.

So you have Rhaena, who isn't really valued by the people around her or considered necessary for the war effort, in an area where the emotions are ripe for turning against Rhaenyra and maybe even siding with the Greens. So why not have Rhaena change it? Instead of having the Vale stay loyal for no reason in spite of their very legitimate issues, have Rhaena forge a relationship with Jeyne. Have them get a personal connection to get Jeyne more invested in the Blacks' victory. Have Rhaena work essentially in administration, use her connection to the parties on Dragonstone to enact more firm promises for the Vale, in writing. Have Rhaena become essential to Rhaenyra getting to keep a foothold in Westeros, since most of the South (should be) allied to the Greens, the Riverlands are under Daemon's purview yes but he's not trustworthy enough for that to be an assurance, and the North is loyal to Rhaenyra but still taking its sweetass time doing anything. Have Rhaena find her own worth within in her in the way she helps the war effort not with a dragon, not with the way others have told her she could be useful and necessary, but with a way she's found for herself. Have her grow internally in the process, and become more confident and self-assured. There's a plot to give Rhaena in the Vale, but it's not Nettles's, it should be her own, crafted out of a care for her as a character and to give her a story of her own rather than slap someone else's to her because you were being lazy.

And speaking of Nettles, cutting her is ridiculous because she is absolutely essential. It's because of Nettles that, ultimately, things end the way that they do for a lot of characters. And that is because of her very specific connection to Daemon. Nettles joins up with Daemon after the Blacks take King's Landing, and it's soon very clear that these two have a very, very strong connection ('oh because she's his daughter' considering that Daemon seems incapable of loving any of his children, nah, I've always been in the romance camp for these two), especially on Daemon's part. And that strong connection, combined with Rhaenyra's distrust of dragonseeds, leads Rhaenyra to demand that Lord Mooton break guest right and kill Nettles, to stop her from "stealing" Daemon and then betraying Rhaenyra the way Hugh and Ulf did. Daemon finds out about this and, to save Nettles's life, helps her escape, in a goodbye that left Nettles upset and Daemon evidently heartbroken, considering that Caraxes starts screeching like a banshee as they leave. And that is what then spurs Daemon not to return to Rhaenyra's side, but to instead strike out and try to kill Aemond, and thus leads him to his own death in turn. Which leads to a loss of power for Rhaenyra which culminates in her fleeing King's Landing for Dragonstone where she's killed which then leads to Aegon returning to King's Landing only for the Northerners to attack which leads to him dying (I'm a proponent of suicide theory) which leads to Aegon III becoming King and etc etc.

You see how Nettles's existence starts the ball rolling for what becomes the next two hundred years of Targaryen, and by extension Westerosi, history? She's a very specific person, and you can't replace her with anyone else. Daemon has shown absolutely no care or consideration at all for his children by Laena, so there's no reason for him to be anywhere near as invested in Rhaena as he was with Nettles ('oh but Rhaena would have a dragon' well Baela already has a dragon and that didn't stop him from punting her to Driftmark so he could devote his attention only to his pureblood Valyrian sons and still not giving any kind of a shit about her at all, he's a bad father even if his kids have dragons). Rhaenyra's mistrust of Nettles is fueled by her mistrust of dragonseeds, but Rhaena wouldn't be a dragonseed, she's Daemon's trueborn daughter, so that's not an issue. Nor is Rhaenyra necessarily gonna be worried that Daemon is falling in love with his own daughter and thus falling out of love with her, or then try to go "well then the only option is for me to murder Daemon's daughter" as a result. So there'd be no strong connection motivating Daemon to value Rhaena so highly, there'd be no betrayal from Rhaenyra that gets Rhaena sent away and motivates Daemon to pull away from Rhaenyra and instead keep on fighting even if it means his death, and with that, there's no way any of the historical facts can proceed the way that they do. Nettles can't be Rhaena, she needs to be Nettles. She is her own person, with her own specific impact on the narrative and the characters within. And yes, F&B is a narrative, it's formatted like a history book which makes for good thought experiments and injects ambiguity within certain elements, but it's still a fictional story dreamed up by George, who then put characters in that story for a reason.

Not to mention, Nettles and Rhaena are very different characters? Like, they have incredibly different personalities. Rhaena's we haven't seen much of, because the show has suffered in characterizing the younger TB characters as a whole and is also just really bad in characterizing the Velaryons specifically (hm suspicious). But based on what we have, Rhaena seems a bit quiet, a bit subdued, prone to shyness, and generally favoring a more traditional femininity than we see from even Baela. Nettles meanwhile is coarse and rough and loud and unapologetic in that, she's not timid but in fact fearless and bold. Rhaena is a highborn daughter of a prince, stepdaughter to a queen. Nettles is a homeless whore's daughter who grew up poor and on thin means struggling to survive. Which is why Nettles is able to claim Sheepstealer, having to grow up the way she did with the experiences she had gave her an industriousness and a way of problem-solving that allowed her to figure out how to win over Sheepstealer, a wild unclaimed dragon. She used her wits, as she likely so often had to, growing up the way she did, to figure out that Sheepstealer might not like people but he likes a certain kind of food, and thus create an association in his head of Nettles=that food he likes by bringing him sheep until she gained enough of his trust to claim him as a dragon to ride. Rhaena doesn't have that industriousness because Rhaena, like 90% of highborn nobles, has never had to actually fight for anything ever. She's never had to really problem solve in a blunt way for anything, let alone her own survival, that might then inform how she might try to do something as daring as claiming a wild dragon. I mean, Hell, Rhaena gets told out loud "hey if you want a dragon you need to claim a dragon, earn that right" by her own mother who did the exact same thing, and then spent ten years on Dragonstone twiddling her thumbs, I guess, since she never thought "hm let me try that".

Like, these are different people, with different personalities and different upbringings that shaped them in different ways, and thus have different relationships and impact the story in different ways. You can't just smush them together, it doesn't work. It's bad writing that is going to really wreck a lot of the future storytelling in some key ways. It shows a stunning lack of care towards not just a pre-existing Black character, but a Black character the writers themselves created as well, along with a lack of creativity and imagination on their part, and overall laziness that was already a bit present in season 1 but got kicked into overdrive in season 2 and has become endemic to this show overall. It's bad, it's dumb, it's lazy, it's borderline racist, and I don't like it.

(also there's a potent symbolism in rhaena's dragon hatching on its own and that she's called morning, after the dance killed so many dragons and created so much death and doom for house targaryen and the survivors that remain, but fuck the symbolism too i guess)

[norisus]

My take on an organic future paradox form of Virizion. "Venomous Thorns", poison/fighting type.

While Virizion fought alongside humans in the past, time has changed that. This Pokemon has taken up a much more hostile approach towards humans, choosing to protect what remains of open plains from the encroachment of civilization.

I've been thinking a lot about the future paradox forms in Pokemon Violet and why I don't like them.

I really don't like the implication of future Pokemon just all being robots of some sort. Both from a design standpoint, and for the depressing implications. I get that they wanted to go for a futuristic robot aesthetic, but man I would have just really loved to see how some Pokemon might've evolved Naturally in the future.

Like especially with climate change, how would various Pokemon adapt? Would they take to cities? Which wild Pokemon might get domesticated? How might an arboreal Pokemon deal with losing its forest habitat?

That might get a little close to regional variants, but at the end of the day, it's all kind of the same. Just different environmental stressors, and the time it might take for a creature to evolve to better adapt to face them.

I really would have loved to see more nuance with the future paradox forms, and in general less of a Bleak outlook for the future by at least preserving some organic biology with the Pokemon. Like one or two robots is one thing, but ALL of them??

Like it would have been amazing to have something that was horribly cloned back into existence after it went extinct, rather than a machine lookalike. Like imagine mamoswine goes extinct, and you wind up with this Pokemon in the future that's a weird, hairy copperajah that was selectively bred and altered to resemble the extinct mamoswine.

Just-- I feel like a series all about evolution could've been more creative with futuristic evolutions.

Also I like know that they've gone and said that the future paradox forms are Probably from a different timeline entirely, but the designs themselves still insinuate prehistoric Pokemon vs man-made (which would imply futuristic). So I remain a lil peeved that the futuristic ones are just all man-made with no real natural evolution.

[fipindustries]

ok i think i finally figured out what to do with some OC i had lying around.

worldbuilding concept: the OPs

a world where superpowers exist but only 6 people have them.

their special deal is that each power manifest so absurdly strong that they are each essentially a god. they are scattered across the world and they have inevitably shaped the politics and nature of the world by their mere presence.

the powers in question are super strength, energy manipulation, super speed, mind control, precognition and telekinesis

the idea is that they are completely broken, they are overpowered, every single one of them is "fuck you i win" level of strength, and the different ways in which such a thing would manifest and the different personalities that each would have because of this.

they are walking extinction events, them arriving to a city is as threatening and scary as a kaiju arriving to a city. some of them have taken over entire countries, others are in charge of vast worldwide networks. they are indestructible, unstoppable and wherever they go that region of the world is subject to their whims. some of them are bad, some of them are normal and some of them are unpredictable. let's explore a little how broken each of them are.

Alpha:

the Siberian package, he can nullify all kinetic energy applied to him, he can exert essentially infinite kinetic energy through his body. he is the hydraulic press from the you tube videos. he is both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

despite his almost limitless capacity for violence he is relatively pacific, he is located in one specific small city in the united states and mostly keeps to himself. whenever he needs food he just goes to a store and takes it. he kept having encounters with cops but there were no amount of bodies, guns, barricades, handcuffs, cop cars, jail cells or tanks that could stop him from calmly walking back towards his house. he would just walk through those things unimpeded without slowing down, leaving behind a trail of bent metal, crushed concrete and pulverized bodies.

this escalated into an all out military encounter until they realized there was no way to make this guy stop, also by this time the other individuals were starting to pop out and cause their own problems so eventually the powers that be deemed him as harmless enough and redirected their attention to those guys.

in a way he is literally the least violent of the group since no violence can ever be enacted on him and he sees no need to ever enact violence on anyone. he tries to be nice and friendly but everyone in the city is too terrified of him to ever respond in kind. he is kind of lonely.

weaknesses: his body is as weak to poison, disease and asphyxiation as a normal human body, although to administer these attacks can prove to be exceedingly difficult since he can extricate himself from any restraint and his body cannot be pierced by any needle.

Bravo:

mind reader, mind controller.

very little can be said or even known about him. Took the strategy early on of erasing all perception of himself from the minds of people wherever he went. he presumably existed for years, although it is impossible to say how many, until he finally decided to allow his existence to be known.

all that is known about him is known because he allowed it to be thought about. all that people feel or think about him is because he either allowed or shaped those thoughts and emotions. there is a possibility you will forget having read this paragraph after finishing it.

he has let out that he has used armies of mind controlled people in the past, there is no knowledge about whether he still does or how big the ranks are, there is no way of knowing if we are already part of those ranks. the only thing that is known is that the other individuals are immune to him, which is small consolation given that they are as impossible to control as he is.

he currently lives under surveillance at the military research installation in [undisclosed location] with Delta. the nature of their relationship is unknown. occasionally cooperates with the few experiments he allows to be suggested to him.

weaknesses: [redacted]

Charlie:

in many ways considered the worst of the group, though not necessarily the most malicious. unstable, unpredictable and highly dangerous, she was know as "the nightmare" during her time in operation in Australia.

she was capable of hyper accelerating her body and her perception of time. because she was not the flash and these were not comic books, wherever she went she was accompanied by a sonic boom and a super heated ball of plasma, a product of the air being hyper compressed by her movements. because of this she caused untold destruction and damage every time she was active.

her personality was best described as erratic and immature, possibly neurodivergent. she would engage in her own private "games" that would result in cities being razed to the ground and people being liquefied around her.

she self destroyed in one of her games, presumably when she tried to push her power to the limits and reach light speed. the result of this was her own instant annihilation as well as the loss of the entire west portion of Australia.

weaknesses: although specific weaknesses in the manifestation of her powers could never be properly measured or observed, her instability and proven capacity for self destruction is unofficially counted as such

Delta:

can generate and nullify all heat, light and electricity within a kilometer. at first people claimed he was a walking atom bomb, although when extrapolating the upper limits of power that the other individuals have shown it wouldn't be out of the question to consider him a walking supernova, possibly even bigger. while his capacity to generate near infinite energy is plenty threatening, the real danger he possesses is his capacity to reduce anything around him to 0° kelvin (-273°C), as well as instantly nullifying all electrochemical reactions inside a human body.

he is currently kept under surveillance at a military research base located in [undisclosed location], cooperating with research and experimentation on the nature of his powers. he cohabitates with Bravo, the nature of their relationship is unclear.

weaknesses: whilst they can neutralize any manifestation of energy near his body , this is a conscious action on their part, as opposed to the automatic neutralization of all kinetic energy possessed by Alpha. they have burned and temporarily blinded themselves out of carelessness in multiple occasions

Echo:

mostly a nomad, wanders across the world carrying out elaborate plans. their knowledge of the future manifests in them being able to simulate the outcomes of any possible action or choice they make. the range of their knowledge extends from a few seconds into the future up to the heat death of the universe (they have confirmed this is how the universe ends) as well as covering the entire extension of the earth. because of this they are essentially omniscient since they can "predict" what is going to happen on any point on earth "within a few seconds". their simulations happen instantaneously and they can absorb and process the information contained within just as fast.

by far the one individual who interacts the most with regular people, usually to perform some cryptic action or to deliver a mysterious message, presumably a step in one of their complex plans to bring about a desired future. when questioned about this they will claim they are "building heaven on earth" and "following the golden path". what this supposed heaven entails is not too clear.

at the beginning of their "career" they used their power to win multiple lotteries and establish companies, non profit orgs and political lobbies, presumably as tools to carry out their plans. and yet as time went on they abandoned each of these institutions one by one, retreating from the public eye. after this they went on to commit target assassinations on key individuals, this also eventually stopped and as of right now their operations are limited to seemingly arbitrary actions (painting a graffiti on a street on zimbawe, giving out a free sandwich to a homeless woman in brussels, saying "fresh phalanges" to a taxi driver in paraguay). when going against them teams have repeatedly encountered all sorts of unexpected delays and obstacles that appear to happen by chance around them giving them a chance to escape on the nick of time or impeeding the team from operating at all. the nature of their power brings uncomfortable philosophical implications regarding predetermination. one time during an interview they claimed to be "the sole living creature to have ever possessed true free will" he went on to say "see my actions are determined acasually, i don't do what i do affected by antecedent causes, i am affected asynchronously by information from the future, i have broken free from the chain of cause and effect, i am the only person who has ever truly made a choice"

weaknesses: they have admitted once that they are of "average intellect" and that their capacity is that of a normal person when it comes to using the information contained in their visions and well as developing plans around them and keeping track of all this data. they can only obtain visual and auditory information from their visions.

Foxtrot:

the most misanthropic individual of the group. she's located in the abandoned city of Moscow. absolute telekinesis, limitless range and limitless weight, as well as a capacity to keep track and move in extremely complicated and delicate ways a near infinite amount of objects at the same time.

she appeared in the borders of russia ten years ago and started carving a path of destruction all the way to the capital, undeterred by all the armies amassed by the russian people. once in the city she killed every person who didn't evacuate on time and took over the kremlin. after this russian military decided to empty most of their nuclear arsenal on her location. rather than stopping the missiles mid air (a feat she had demonstrated she was perfectly capable of by then) she allowed the bombs to explode and protected herself with a telekinetic forcefield.

right now she lives in the kremlin, floating a hundred meters above the radioactive crater that used to be moscow.

her most high profile attack was to change the orbit of the moon after her demands to be left alone hadn't been satisfied by russian authorities. after this russia, as well as the rest of the world, surrendered since she has threatened to do the same with the sun if she is ever interfered with again. because of her extremely aggressive nature very little has been discovered about her personality or her aims. on occasion she will move her floating fortress above a populated city and make a supermarket arise from the ground up to her palace where she will presumably restock on food and water only to then drop the supermarket back into the ground unceremoniously.

weaknesses: while her range and capacity to move things is near infinite she can only grab hold of things within her field of view, once grabbed they can be held indefinitely even if she is no longer seeing them.

[bad268]

It Could Not Get Any Closer (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Yes by @abi184

Warnings: None. Just post race fluff

Pronouns: You/your

W.C. 1724

Summary:  The gap for Kimi to become the FRECA Champion could not get any closer.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Google/FRECA switch announcement)

It was a tight race. Not just this race, but the entire season had been tight between Kimi and Martinus Stenshore. They have been running 1 and 2 since the start of the season, alternating between the two of them winning. It really came down to this last race in Hockenheim.

They were separated by three points going into this race with Martinus on top. The best part was the fact that they were split into different qualifying groups, so if they both qualified first in their respective groups, they would lock out the front row. It could not get any closer.

That is until their best qualifying times were within 0.001 seconds of each other. They had identical lap times until the very last corner where Martinus got the very slight upper hand. It could not get any closer.

That is until they went into the first turn. The track was wet, but the spray was manageable. Apparently, not manageable enough because Tim Tramnitz almost clipped the back of Kimi’s car and took him out of the race. He didn't, but it could not get any closer.

That is until the final lap. The final lap nearly killed you, and you weren't even driving in it! Kimi and Martinus were neck and neck after the first lap incident, and neither were letting up. After a few turns, almost pushing each other off the track, a slight mishap led to Kimi seeing an opportunity to overtake at the last corner. They finished the race 0.012 seconds apart from each other. It could not get any closer.

But hey, that’s a race, right? One has to win and one has to take second place. No one actually could tell who won the championship. They were just so close. All Martinus and Kimi knew was that they secured P1 and P2, that’s it. They were neck and neck across the line. It could not get any closer.

Sitting on the pit wall with the team as they talked through the headset to race control was nerve-wracking. The cars were coming around the track, into the pitlane, yet the teams still did not have confirmation that either of their drivers won. You were staring at the screen, hiding half of your face under the t-shirt you stole from Kimi in an attempt to see which car actually crossed the line first, but your focus was broken when a team started screaming and cheering. 

The Prema Team. That’s who was screaming.

Kimi did it. Kimi won the Formula Regional European Championship.

You broke out of your shock when Rene along with a couple of engineers started shaking your shoulders and pulling you toward parc ferme. Tim had already pulled into third place by the time you all got there, and Martinus was just pulling in. Just then, a replay of Kimi’s radio, when he crossed the line, sounded across the track.

“Who won?” He asked.

“We will get to you,” his engineer, responded.

“That was the hardest race yet,” He laughed.

“It was close. We’re checking with race control.”

A similar message was played but with Martinus and his engineer. Then, the screens showed a close-up replay of Kimi’s front wing just barely being over the line before Martinus. The crowd erupted into cheers once again as Kimi pulled his car into the first-place position.

You were standing at the gates, waiting for him to climb out of the car, but he seemed frozen for a few seconds. When he snaps out of it, he scrambles to remove the steering wheel and jump out of his seat, standing on the nose of the car with his arms above his head. The entire team cheers from him, including you, as he runs over to jump into everyone’s arms in excitement. Everyone moves to pat him on the back or helmet.

Once everybody calms down, they push you closer to the gate, so Kimi can hug you individually. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you over the barrier to pull you into his chest and spin you around.

“Amore mio (my love), I did it,” He whispered into your ear after he stopped spinning you but didn’t set you back on the ground yet. “I can't believe I actually did it.”

“You are a Formula Regional Champion now,” You whispered back to him. “You get to go to Formula 3 now. One step closer to your dreams, Kimi. I am so proud of you.”

“Wouldn't be here without you, mia belle (my beauty),” He pulled back as he saw Tim and Martinus come closer behind you to congratulate him. “I need to get up to the podium and post-race interviews, but meet me in the motorhome after. We’ll do something.”

~~

It was another few hours until you saw Kimi again. He was being pulled every which way with interviews and photos, so you didn’t mind chilling out in the pack of the Prema garage, watching the race replay with his parents. Afterward, they left, saying they would let you all celebrate and meet you back at the hotel. And with that, you were by yourself. You decided to use this time by scrolling through Instagram, making a post congratulating Kimi, and liking others.

At some point you fell asleep, so you did not see when Kimi entered the room. You also did not see the heart eyes he sent your way when he noticed that you had also stolen his sweatshirt and buried yourself in it. He chuckled to himself, seeing you dig your face deeper into the crook of your elbow before he sat on the floor in front of you and laid his head on the couch.

He stayed silent for a few minutes, just studying your face. It was nice to have a quiet moment to himself. He knew winning the championship would mean more media, but he didn’t think it would be dark by the time he finished. The race itself had ended around noon, and it was nearing 10 PM by the time he made it back to the garage. To say he was exhausted as well would be an understatement. While all of his friends planned to go out to dinner and celebrate, all he wanted to do was go back to the hotel room with you and sleep for the next 24 hours, and right now, he was even thinking about just sleeping here. He was just about to fall asleep, too.

That is, until one of his race engineers, Paul, knocked lightly on the wall, pulling Kimi’s attention away from you. “Kimi, we’re heading back to the hotel now. You two want a ride?” Kimi looked back at you, seeing you still peacefully asleep, before turning back to Paul. The engineer was smirking smugly at the young couple, and Kimi just nodded in response, not even acknowledging the smirk. “I’ll pull the car around to the front of the garage.” With that, Paul turned around and left to pull the car up.

Instead of waking you up, Kimi thought it would be better to carry you out to the car. First, he wanted to make sure he had everything, though. He changed out of his Prema polo and jeans to sweatpants and a plain t-shirt before throwing the clothes and other miscellaneous things into his backpack. He made sure to grab your wallet, your phone, and charger and threw them into the backpack as well. He thought that Prema would have his race suit and helmet, so he didn’t worry about it as he put the backpack on.

Walking back over to your sleeping figure, he made sure his phone and room key were in his pocket before moving his arms under your back and legs, pulling you into his chest. While you did not wake up entirely, you did wrap your arms around Kimi’s shoulders and hide your face in his neck. Kimi just chuckled lightly at your reaction before moving to leave the garage where Paul was just pulling up.

After a short drive to the hotel, they pulled up to the front entrance. Paul gave the key to the valet driver, and he grabbed Kimi’s backpack and key, so Kimi could continue carrying you. Paul ran ahead to call the elevator down, so by the time Kimi and you got there, the elevator was just opening. When they go to their floor, Paul opened Kimi’s room for him and set the backpack down by the door. Kimi went to set you on the bed before heading back to talk with Paul for a minute. Paul reminded him that the flight back to Italy would be at 2 PM, and the Prema team wanted to go out for a celebratory lunch beforehand. Paul said he would send more information in the morning and get a good night's sleep because he deserved it. With that, Paul bid Kimi goodnight and headed to his room.

The door closed a little faster than Kimi was expecting, so it slammed before he could grab it, causing you to shoot awake. You’re met with Kimi’s back from where he’s standing, reaching to grab the door. He slowly turned to face you, looking guilty as he made his way over toward the bed. He just collapsed on the bed, laying on top of you with his head on your chest with a sign.

“Mi dispiace amore mio (I’m sorry my love),” he mumbled into your chest, already falling asleep as you ran your fingers through his curls. “Voglio solo dormire. Svegliami alle undici per favore. Ti amo (I just want to sleep. Wake me up at eleven, please. I love you).”

“Ti amo anche io tesoro (I love you too darling),” you whispered placing a kiss on his forehead. Before he fell asleep, you knew you wanted to congratulate him one last time, “Sono cosi orgoglioso di te, campione (I’m so proud of you, champion).”

He didn’t respond as he was already letting out light snores, but his arms tightened around your torso as an unconscious thank you. You knew that you would have more time tomorrow to shower him with praise as you both celebrated the new Formula Regional Champion in a competition that could not have been any closer.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[oqmemphis]

i MUST hear more about this very normal and completely functional minecraft server. please spill more details

Before the last world reset, there was a region a few hundred blocks across which was permanently lit as though it were noon 24 hours a day, because one of the admins replaced every air block with an invisible level 15 light block. Directly next to this was a former ocean that got turned into a vast plain of packed ice stretching in every direction; you could stand in the middle of it and it would be indistinguishable from superflat.

On that old world, the market next to spawn had about a 50% chance of completely locking up my game any time I went there, and the only way to fix it was to go into Task Manager and force-crash Minecraft. Nobody else ever had this issue, and to this day I do not know what caused it.

There was an entirely separate world containing a single castle, which you could only get to if the owner of the castle teleported you in there. The castle was supposed to be surrounded by an inescapable dome of barrier blocks, but I managed to get out and explore the rest of the world. At 0,0 there was a village that had generated in a massive pit, a hundred blocks across and stretching nearly to bedrock. Immediately next to this pit was a frozen river bearing the shatter pattern of some kind of large explosion, set off by forces unknown.

Someone built an outpost one million blocks away from spawn. Those chunks got culled at some point, and when the player who built it went back there they found a completely different landscape generated in its place. There was never an update that changed terrain generation during that world's run.

Recently, the functionality of rails got completely inverted. Unpowered rails would accelerate a minecart, while powered ones would stop it in its tracks. This, at least, was just an issue with one plugin being configured wrong. Sometimes there are issues where multiple plugins exist alongside each other fight for dominance.

We have one plugin that allows some players to fly and resist all fall damage without elytra or equipment, and another plugin that (until recently) was configured to block the first plugin from functioning whenever you were in another player's land claim. This led to situations where you could fly into an invisible claim region and instantly drop out of the sky and die. I have died seven times on this world, and all of them were because of this.

There is an obsidian sphere about a hundred blocks across, mostly submerged in the ocean; elsewhere, there is an island of comparable size which is covered entirely in basalt; and elsewhere still, there is a region of forest that has been fully replaced with sculk. I know this because I am currently making a map of the server covering around 12000x12000 blocks, and all those places just show up as mysterious, cursed splotches of black.

There is a lot of lore and roleplaying. The Queen is both fae and vampiric; my queries as to how precisely a diet of blood is reconciled with an iron allergy have gone largely unanswered. She has also canonically destroyed and remade the entire world on two separate occasions. The server has only undergone one world reset.

Immediately before said reset, I wrote a 70-page book filled with footnote labyrinths, in which my character briefly goes on an anti-capitalist rant before discussing the architectural styling of his home and the impending obliteration thereof. It serves as a spiritual sequel to a 100-page book which is ostensibly a user manual for installing an item sorter, but which also contains the lyrics to Mr Blue Sky and mentions something called the "City of Ouranos Department for Bibliographical Metaphysics and Chilled Legumes" (which is a reference to a different server I used to play on, in which a "Cool Bean War" was instigated with the help of a book that would crash your game if you tried to read past the first page).

The item sorter that the aforementioned user manual is for is a colossal assemblage of redstone components that click and flash for several minutes every time you put anything into it. I never actually built this on the server, because I ended up making a much simpler design using a custom plugin called SlimeFun (which tries to emulate the functionality of a tech mod without actually being one). This plugin's cargo management system does not contain a priority allocation mechanism, so I ended up implementing one by forcing the lower-priority route through a very long cargo pipe that eventually loops back on itself and ends at an overflow chest a few blocks from the starting point, thereby tricking SlimeFun's pathfinding algorithm into only sending items through it if every other option has been exhausted.

A reincarnation of Herb the Herbalist, the bizarre glitchy NPC entity that @the-unseelie-court-official has discussed at length, now resides in a hole directly under world spawn, repeating the same six lines of dialogue on a loop for all eternity:

I once was free, you know? There was a time when the Queen almost came toppling around me. Like a puppet with no strings I could not move nor speak, but I was free. It was stripped from me. Even now I dance her tune, only speaking of this past because she lets me. I crave nothing more than death. Please, unjust unmerciful God who would leave me to survive.

So, y'know, they're doing fine.