#(I briefly use them as examples)

[mightydragoon]

What The Bronze Dragon says about Annabeth Chase.

Returning to PJO I also started rereading a good few of the side stories and I forgot about basically all of them. But even I didn't realise how bad the Bronze Dragon was until I reread it.

My feelings towards Annabeth Chase were not as sour as they are today, and even still, I don't hate her. If anything, I'm mainly disappointed with her wasted potential, but also the trajectory in which Rick wrote her and how she is ultimately disappointing more than anything. I think she is a stagnant character who originally might have once had the opportunity to grow but Rick refuses to let her.

And you know on the topic given how much the word "misogynist" is chucked at anyone with even a negative opinion of Annabeth, whether that leans from outright bashing to the slight bit critical let's delve briefly into that and how Rick had misogynist leanings in the series and how that translates into characters like Annabeth.

Part of that, I think, also comes down to the attitude of the time when Rick was writing it in the 2000s, where that was a particular push on "strong female characters" and "pseudo feminism".

This actually connects with the Bronze Dragon ending for reasons I will get into, but for general notes.

I do think Rick was trying in some respects, but it doesn't change how PJO is quite dated in a lot of ways, and how Rick writes women in it is one of them. The dismissal of femininity in the text is part of that and the Goddess are the more clear victims of this, often reduced to caricatures or outright villains compared to their male counterparts. Demeter is one of the most explicit, completely reduced to something ridiculous despite being one of the six Kronids and an Olympian.

But you see, this problem is prominent from how Demeter and Aphrodite's cabins are discussed in the first book alone, compared to Athena.

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That becomes harder on examination to believe as a reader, given how the Aphrodite cabin can have members with charmspeak (TLH) and Demeter cabin members with the ability to turn tunnels into jungles (TLO).

Additionally, given how Annabeth goes off how she and the Athena cabin don't have powers (which ironically I think she does but she ignores it because its weaving and it's no coincidence with that being an inherently feminine profession) and she is one of the few characters with a mobile phone (by at least BOTL but possibly as early as SOM which might explain why she was tracked as she was) which is a known signal attractor to monsters.

Or how she feels she is dismissed for being blonde, which in another story might have a semblance of sense but here it doesn't

It feels too performative to take seriously. The Athena cabin are fucking blondes as a reminder and a good chunk of the Apollo cabin are too but the Athena cabin is interesting in how narratively invisible they are apart from Annabeth and Malcolm and I will get into the implications of that one day and what it reflects on Annabeth and family.

I think it's revealing with the exception of Silena (who died rather gruesomely by a Drakon and was a traitor) Rick often presents femininity in a poor light and it reflects in the attitudes he passes onto his female characters like Clarisse and Thalia "death to barbie" Grace in an attempt to be "strong" often try and turn away and dismiss it. Annabeth included.

I don't even want to get into the misandry by the Hunters and gods forbid the Amazons that Rick presented as feminism because ugh.

It's gross.

But nowhere is this element of internal misogyny within female characters stronger than in Piper's story which is basically "not like other girls" in the Lost Hero and maybe one day I will get into how Drew is ironically a deep character due to logical assumptions in how she even became a camp counsellor in-universe and the implications of her being the counsellor of a newly larger cabin in the aftermath of Silena's death despite Rick writing her as a one-off catty villain.

Annabeth had the potential to be a genuinely good character, and even now she is an interesting one when you look into analysing her actions based on her fatal flaw pride. But ultimately, she is not interesting for the reasons she should be.

Forgive me for trying to reread characters and ways they could've been better and how Rick squandered growth in favour of poor and cliched romantic developments that I can't fathom why people fawn over because I have seen more interesting dynamics.

And forgive me for criticising a relationship most people claim is healthy and a gold standard, and seems to normalise the toxic and unhealthy aspects of the relationship.

The fun of an unhealthy relationship in media can be with the author knowing that and expressing that. Even better if there was once a chance it could have been healthy, but one or both parties erased that. The best tragedies demonstrate that.

If Rick wrote Percabeth deliberately as unhealthy or destined to break up man, would I read that? It would've been revolutionary in demonstrating the complexities of relationships and how they might break or why people continue in these unhealthy dynamics. Heck if most fans acknowledged that maybe I wouldn't have the same faults.

But that isn't the case.

There are gaps between fanon and canon in any fandom but nowhere do I think its more explicit than in PJO and especially with how old the fandom is. Annabeth is often wildly misinterpreted by her own fans to fit a more appealing image of her character than canon presents. It's understandable but it is important to grapple with the characters we often see ourselves in in order to improve ourselves as people.

Annabeth herself has nice moments that is nearly immediately chucked out the window in order to make her appear to be superior. In some ways, it makes her even more wasted because she shows some capacity; she could be better but she ultimately can't.

The Bronze Dragon plays a role in cementing that for reasons I will say in a minute with missed opportunities and chances taken, but for the first three books, I didn't have a major problem with Annabeth.

Part of that was because one would expect Annabeth would develop into a more rounded one and go through an arc much like Grover was going through with finding Pan, and the damage done to the world was up to the remnants of nature, and they had to try and protect what was left. She does not, and I will discuss her architecture for a future post and how Rick inadvertently doomed her and her relationship, with what her signifier appears to be in her designs.

Rereading BOTL was the turning point along with others on a discord server changed that perception. She is older so it is harder to excuse her actions and this is when Percabeth was becoming more apparent and romantic but it still blindsided me when the volcano kiss occurred just as much as Percy was when it happened.

I think the confusion is also conveyed in how Annabeth treats not only Rachel but Percy in a hot and mostly cold manner. She is young but Annabeth is also a fictional character at the end of the day and as a reader one would want to see her move past her jealousy, reckon with her flaw and mature beyond what we were introduced to.

We don't get that in PJO. Let me contrast that in an instance where I did see it with another character like Astrid Hofferson. I can see bits of Annabeth and Astrid with how alike they can be in their pride. The difference is Astrid is far more rounded character and her actions are also more understandable as she is determined from the start and intervenes notably when Hiccup screws up a little early on with the Nadder (Stormfly).

Astrid is certainly no friend of Hiccup, no one is but unlike Percabeth she has good reasons with how Hiccup is already naturally isolated, clumsy, her intolerance towards idiocy and is frustrated with how her attempts to be a warrior are thwarted. She also doesn't put Hiccup directly in danger and is more annoyed he is even there in the ring because she believes he doesn't take the endless war they fight against dragons seriously and is putting her life and others in danger.

It's far more natural than hating a camper seemingly on the spot for killing a monster, and losing a loved one in the same place you once did (and not expressing much if any empathy for it) and putting them in danger just to win a game. Not to mention the forced rivalry when there was a missed grievance with the CTF over "oooooh our parents hate each other" and its mainly one sided.

Astrid has legitimate reasons that the audience sees as Hiccup does have an advantage in training and she isn't a fool. But that amnosity leaves her after the romantic flight. From that point, you can really start to see how Astrid respects Hiccup. Respect plays a big role because while Astrid does occasionally hit Hiccup, that's usually at the start of the relationship, where she doesn't respect him and she stops doing it as frequently and as roughly, with the exception of a few friendly jabs later down the line. Annabeth takes an almost opposite approach given the Judo Flip we see in MOA

The conversation as the ships leaves is even more crucial in solidifying their relationship and it being able to stand later. Astrid bluntly puts that Hiccup has lost everything and he must feel horrible. But still questions plagues everyone's mind. Why Hiccup didn't originally kill Toothless and Astrid pushes that point to get the truth from him. It's a genuine question both Astrid and the audience wonder because it forces Hiccup to examine himself and change his understanding. And eventually, he admits why he wouldn't kill Toothless after Astrid points out he is the first to fly one. It's a moment of vulnerability by Hiccup and you can see how seriously Astrid takes it with gentle encouragement to get the truth. And after Hiccup does Astrid shows empathy towards Toothless, noting how scared he must be and that is the trigger for Hiccup to set out and fight the Red Death. And that's just the first film as after that we start to see the pair respect and grow together, especially as the series is expanded in subsequent sequels and the tv show.

Crucially we see that development unfold as the entire cast matures and develops. We aren't just told. The show does a genuinely amazing job with its characters in general but that's besides the point.

We get scenes from Annabeth especially early in the books about her vulnerabilities and a bit in TLO but we don't really get scenes from Percy allowing to be vulnerable to her despite having quite a few conversations together. Percy often says how amazing Annabeth is but we don't see her actions reflect that.

She is propped up as a leader of the Argo in MOA but due to the nature of the POVs requiring every character to have a little mini arc that had every character doing their own thing like Leo getting the scrap metal one chapter. It doesn't really suit.

The main instance where that did actually apply was the initial escape from Fort Sumter (in her POV fitting with the mini arcs mentioned) where she was barking out orders and taking control of the helm and at the start where she was planning the landing and was VERY aware it was meant to be a peace mission. The first paragraph in MOA establishes this.

And we all know how that ends.

The Bronze Dragon only proved to me Annabeth is cemented in ways I didn't realise and while Staff of Hermes proved to me how doomed Percabeth was from a narrative standpoint, The Bronze Dragon broadcasted how ironclad Annabeth's pride, her callousness and the sort of mind games she plays on others like Percy.

Take the first Capture the Flag match in TLT, and even on reread it's kind of incredible that Annabeth and a certain level of contempt that she planned Percy as bait, who she immediately hated for accidentally splashing her with toilet water.

We know why Luke played along in the plan (he is evil and in the first two books he is comically evil and then Rick realised midway he needed to make him sympathetic) but Annabeth is interesting cause of what it suggests of her.

Annabeth's only warning to Percy was to watch Clarisse's spear, nevermind the fact it is electrified or Percy is standing near a creak of all places. At this point Annabeth is still the opinion Percy is moreso Zeus' son so and she did watch over him but she only intervened after the fight was already over

Annabeth comes across as quite a cold individual upon introduction.

She is someone will do whatever it takes to get a victory over a game, despite the real harm that it could bring and it is seriously a missed opportunity that Percy was not genuinely mad with Annabeth over this more. It would've made a much more compelling conflict than the forced Poseidon/Athena rivalry that hilariously is more natural with Clarisse and is generational with Ares with Percy (and probably Annabeth too)

So Annabeth put an untrained camper in the way of five others and could've gotten seriously injured if not killed if it was literally anyone who wasn't Percy. Annabeth is not completely heartless but it does make you wonder if Annabeth had done a similar thing not just to Percy but other campers she is not on good terms with.

She does win here, but her tactic feels very short-term success and long-term enmity. In that logically, she would not make many long-term allies especially if she is willing to pull something like this for just a game. It might also explain the lack of friends she has around Camp despite being there for years.

After all the Hunters are despised for using very dirty tactics in their CTF matches from what we saw briefly in TTC.

So that's the first CTF match and why on earth is this relevant?

Well, it's because the Bronze Dragon itself is about a CTF match. This is a good chance to see how characters have grown a little since that initial one.

We are introduced with the Hephaestus cabin pulling a major upset in CTF the match prior and seizing the flag from the Ares cabin.

Rick is presenting it off as cute, as this point the Percabeth moments are but coded, but it's less cute when Percy asks her to stop and the reason he even accepts is less because he "loves it" and more so because he is used to it, and that is not exactly better.

Annabeth expects Percy to like it, but from Percy it doesn't exactly come across as him liking it. And unfortunately, with Percy's background, we understand why he doesn't.

The bump is interesting because in a sense I do think it's a good example of how Annabeth might think her behaviour is friendly but in reality, it is ultimately harmful to the person she supposedly has a crush on as we see a bit throughout this story. It's not inherently a bad thing to have friendly jabs but the thing with Annabeth is it's hard to discern the difference between what's friendly and what's not.

She is competitive, but as I mention in the Staff of Hermes post, Rick writes Annabeth with an undertone that she constantly dismisses Percy's inherent worth and constantly underestimates and forgets his capabilities. It doesn't come across as playful as Rick is trying to suggest here and it means that even an innocent sentence like this

This comes across with an uneasy light with the case that Annabeth would genuinely prefer that and it fits well with the ending.

Competitiveness between couples is nothing new but it does feel like Annabeth would harm Percy in order to get one over him in order to feel superior over Percy or have Percy believe she would harm him in order to do so.

I feel like this explains the flinches from being attacked in BOTL respectively but also the ending of this particular story.

It's also linked to the general issues in Percabeth that Rick feels the need to dismiss Percy's self-worth in order to boost Annabeth own standing in the relationship.

The Judo Flip is after all not a flaw but rather a feature. It wouldn't have its defenders if it didn't. And Rick encourages through Charlie Beckendorf that if a girl is mean to you, that must mean she likes you....Which....No.

This is the equivalent of a young boy pulling his crush's hair to get her attention, and it's not cute with the genders reversed. Or a good thing to encourage.

Percy himself seems to read Annabeth's behaviour as her genuinely hating him in a way and given Annabeth's past actions where she did legitimately not liked him in TLT and she doesn't exactly act any different towards Percy it's no wonder he feels this way.

Here it's Beckendorf who justifies the behaviour which is fucking ridiculous and infuriatingly wrong to imply any girl who tries to murder Percy secretly likes him. It's such an infantile reaction for anyone's first reaction when in love is to act violently and yet Beckendorf endorses it as a sign for Percy. What's more it is meant to be by Annabeth and it seems to be her "love language," and she seems to bemoan how Percy doesn't get it.

Percy is often treated as an idiot when it comes to love by the narrative and others. In BOTL, there is an underlying indication that they are meant to be fighting over Percy.

It's done poorly done by Rick, given that there is a genuine animosity by Annabeth against Rachel for her being a mortal and while there are hints of her softening in BOTL and Annabeth later saving Rachel's life

(I'm wondering whether or not Frederick got her flying lessons or something, given how technology is not something Annabeth is naturally gifted in like Leo is to explain it. She does manage in this story somewhat to fix Festus but still.)

I despise how they seemingly make up almost immediately in TLO offscreen. I get that Annabeth saved her life, but it feels like Rick is trying to brush off the love triangle and once Rachel was no longer a threat in Annabeth's eyes and show that the two girls are good friends, really!

But Percy also doesn't exactly have a basis for what healthy relationships look like. Yet we know from his interactions with Rachel in TLO, he seems to prefer the more open communication rather than the confusing mind games. He knows one form of abuse through Gabe, but that doesn't exactly mean he can recognise other forms, and he is taught here by Beckendorf that this behaviour is acceptable for romantic relationships. Percy's fatal flaw is loyalty and I don't really think it's been mentioned much but loyalty can be detrimental in a different way than I think Rick presented it as.

In the general narrative, Rick presents it as being willing to burn the world to save one's loved ones but Rick fails to acknowledge what it means when personal loyalty can blind a person to another's faults and how it can destroy the person themselves.

Fatal flaws don't just ruin others; they can ruin the person themselves to be blinded of the wrongs or the flaws of a loved one.

With Annabeth, Percy often builds up Annabeth in his conversations with others, despite us not really seeing that in action. I recall reading MOA recently and getting to the line about Annabeth being no one's sidekick and laughing because up until that point she had played such a passive role in the story and her greatest achievement in that story was trapping Arachne which is immediately deflated with Annabeth taunting Arachne so much, Arachne instantly frees herself and nearly kills Annabeth had it not been for the timely arrival of the Argo.

Additionally having reread the series, Annabeth is an expositor of knowledge like Greek Myths (and occasionally getting them wrong *cough* Cadmus and Europa *cough*) and Rick seems to equate that with strategy and wisdom.

It's telling us how great Annabeth is, without us seeing it. A bit like in Magnus Chase and the Ship of the Dead we get this.

It's a sweet sentiment but it doesn't really stand.

Whatever the case Percy and Beckendorf go around near the Ant Hill and see a Bronze Dragon and at this point it becomes one of the first signs that Beckendorf is abandoning the game in pursuit of the dragon.

The entire game vs reality plays an undertone in this. Annabeth does eventually realise where they are and the seriousness of the situation and to her credit she does go to rescue Beckendorf but her focus was still on the game and not on her initial surroundings.

I'll get into this with the ending but let's keep it in mind for now because it is important.

Let's note the fact that Beckendorf is badly injured.

Annabeth doesn't immediately rush in to save Beckendorf much to Silena's and Percy's bewilderment but there is a reason for that.

They get the future Festus' head and it is noted that the Myrmekes our monsters, have a very nasty poison and acid. Beckendorf has already been exposed to both and is likely not in good shape.

At this point the focus is on the Myrmekes; all thoughts of the game are out. And we learn about the automatens, the previous guardians of camps. Festus was one such guardian until it went rogue. It becomes clear however, that Hephaestus intervened in unearthing the dragon's body, wanting it to be found.

We get a slightly cute-ish moment with Percy mentioning he would trust Annabeth to reattach his head and then immediately get this

Yet another instance where Percy is afraid Annabeth is going to attack him. This is a constant theme in their relationship but there appears to be a genuine fear from Percy of Annabeth's capacity towards violence. It might be fun for a one-off gag but as seen prior this is constant with Percabeth.

They (mainly Annabeth) fix up the dragon after some time and at this point Percy assumes CTF is over.

(This also suggests CTF matches are usually quite quick but it is important that Percy is mentally checking out of CTF)

Festus nearly immediately goes to attack and fun fact we get a likely indication where Silena uses charmspeak on Festus. It's not explicit but she has a very commanding tone as she speaks to Festus.

They soon race to rescue Beckendorf. We also get hints of how desperate Silena is to rescue Beckendorf and an indication that she is deeply in love with him

But ah yes, demolishing Silena from the stereotypes of her being a typical Aphrodite kid. Stereotypes which Rick created and enforced for the cabin and he continued to reinforce in HOO.

They reach Beckendorf who is still deeply injured.

And while the paralytic might wear off, as mentioned earlier, Beckendorf was still hit in the face with presumably the acid and he got bit in the leg which absolutely doesn't help matters. Either way Festus wrecks shit up and proceeds to nearly wreck their shit too.

Percy now starts to get injured and Beckendorf activates Festus emergency defence mechanism to save it. Unfortunately it goes rogue on them.

Beckendorf starts running but at this point I believe more than anything adrenaline kicked in for him to move but I still doubt he is in good condition by any means. Either way they need to get Festus in a less murderous mood so they can make it for another day.

As they fight it with Festus, Percy notices Beckendorf do something and while Annabeth warns him, Percy stays put and buys Beckendorf the time he needs and succeeds.

What follows is a mildly cute moment (minus the nickname) and what feels like a second of appreciation from Annabeth. We also get some developments with Silena and Beckendorf going to the fireworks together. They head back. But at that point Percy is injured the acid hurting him to the point he is limping.

Funny enough we also get some acknowledgement from Annabeth over Percy's ideas and for a moment, for a brief moment we get what appears to be a sincere moment from Annabeth to Percy.

Then it is immediately ruined by the ending. Oh boy, the ending!

One of the major problems I have with Percabeth is that anytime there appears to be somewhat of a cute moment between them, there is nearly is almost something negative clouding their relationship that makes it impossible to enjoy.

Like with the picnic in Staff of Hermes wasn't enough, and Annabeth didn't seem to appreciate the effort and pressured Percy to do something "special" for the month anniversary (a materialistic and most likely something Annabeth said to pressure Percy) and then immediately after for the second. Not to mention Percy was already doing something for her. Like it doesn't matter Annabeth did do something for Percy in Rome later (one of the better moments of MOA honestly) and proving she could have done something herself for a date.

The real issue was the lack of appreciation and consideration.

This is no exception in what appeared to be a sweet moment turning sour, losing the impact it originally had.

Annabeth's nameless siblings come out of the bushes to capture Percy and Beckendrof, revealing the CTF was not yet over. For Percy and Beckendorf we get a good indication that for them, they had long mentally checked out of the game to prioritise other real life issues.

For a second, one might think maybe Annabeth would give Percy and Beckendorf who are already injured and probably seriously so and clearly not playing the game anymore some slack, but alas. Like mentioned at the start of this story.

The chance to beat up Percy is the best thing that ever happened to Annabeth and here she took it.

It comes across as cruel to do such a thing to Beckendorf and Percy.

Now do I believe Annabeth orchestrated that entire thing to keep them both out of the game? No.

Annabeth was as shocked as everyone else when Beckendorf got kidnapped and she mentioned she was following Percy and Beckendorf. But she didn't let Percy know that.

Annabeth allows Percy to believe she had the capacity to do that. The fact Percy considers Annabeth as perfectly capable of doing such a thing is legitimately kind of awful and it's played as a fun little scene, with the girls getting one over the boys.

Funny enough, I do think another reading in Silena's actions here is that it inadvertently shows that while Silena does love Charlie Beckendorf, when it comes to her own selfish desires, she will prioritise them and allow Beckendorf to be seriously harm in the process. That is not the intended reading but is one I nonetheless made, considering Silena's role as a traitor in the story and how she wanted to protect Beckendorf but got him killed thanks to her spying.

It screams unfairness. It feels like the first CTF, except it kind of feels worse because here was a moment Annabeth could've stepped back and allowed Percy and Beckendorf to get treated for their injuries. Heck, it didn't even need to result in Annabeth "winning". The game like the boys thought could've been over and we might even be able to see the fireworks with them.

In-universe, it feels despicable and there is a real semblance of confusion and disgust over the boys. It feels so laughably bad that Annabeth had the audacity to pull a move like that and then ask Percy out afterwards.

But this how Rick tries to equalise Percabeth. It's how he demonstrates that Annabeth is "strong." And he does that by degrading Percy. Much like the judo flip is meant to present to Reyna she is a warrior which comes at Percy's expense.

It's also presented as a feminist victory with that last line. The girls beat the boys! But it's a pseudo one, one the girls didn't earn in their own merit. Yeah, they won but it didn't feel deserved or satisfying. The victory came at a hollow cost and if Beckendorf and Percy weren't who they were, anyone else would've felt betrayed.

Winning is everything to Annabeth. We saw that from the start and she proves it here. Annabeth does jolt back to reality once she realises when Beckendorf is in danger but she didn't originally notice that and I think that was because of how single-minded she is in winning.

The ending didn't need to be like this. The ending could've been a sweet moment with all parties involved going to the Infirmary and Percy and Beckendorf getting their injuries treated and then Percy getting that invite. It could've had Annabeth continue on their chat about what Percy did to give Beckendorf time to fight Festus.

But that didn't happen.

We just saw that Annabeth is the same as she was in her first CTF as she is now. Willing to occasionally help out, but will still prioritise the game even at others' expenses.

The next final thing to look at is her interview. This is crucial because it is a look inside Annabeth's head and more importantly, how she feels about Percy. While beforehand I might have been able to take the hits as slightly playful and her arguing with Percy as cute, this changes matter.

Annabeth's interview feels like it deliberately cuts into that originally sweet moment where Annabeth showed appreciation for him but also how she can't genuinely say a compliment about Percy without a backhanded one. There can't really be a Percabeth moment that isn't tainted by a backhanded compliment, an insult or something else.

That isn't pleasant to read through, and it's not a good indicator in their relationship.

The nickname Annabeth admits herself is meant to be a dig at Percy's intelligence. Her annoyance at Percy also comes across as personal, as we know Percy is not trying to acting deliberately dumb. But that doesn't matter to Annabeth and from TLT she has always been exasperated by Percy's lack of knowledge as if he wasn't someone new exposed to this culture overnight and it wasn't her job to induct new campers to the system.

It comes across as her internally disliking Percy with how she think Percy does what he does to annoy her and how she constantly underestimates her intelligence and seems shocked whenever he is smart. Annabeth can acknowledge Percy is but its overridden by her own sense of self in that equation.

It has to be her that was directing Percy, it's thanks to her he wins and yet as we see in this story with Percy doing his own thing against Annabeth's warnings (though understandably so) this isn't true.

It's frustrating. Annabeth is still ruled by her pride and it's frustrating that a story about CTF when they are much older was a chance to show how Annabeth has grown since the first one. But she hasn't. She can't. Annabeth is the same as she always was and always will be.

That itself is the greatest tragedy of the series.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I think the funny thing about my being a youth leader is that I basically just Hang Out with a bunch of middle schoolers. like I just pal around with them and play games and then sit down and ramble at the youth pastor when it's time to discuss the Biblical topic of the night and somehow this has charmed like half a dozen of them into considering me A Cool Person despite the fact that I'm actually Introverted And Awkward at all times

[poppyseed799]

poppy’s origin design tip, AKA a post that nobody who reads it will get any value from because I highly doubt anyone who sees this is making origins for the minecraft origins mod:

Night vision power LITERALLY allows you to give it different strength levels. USE THAT. It’s crazy how almost every night vision origin has freaking full-bright on. This isn’t me saying “don’t give them full brightness that’s too op!” it’s actually the opposite. Having complete vision in the dark can be quite DETRIMENTAL. I have an origin I made that has full power night vision, because it’s a zombie and I wanted to replicate the stupidity zombies have of walking straight into daylight like they don’t even see it. I knew that with full brightness it’s hard to tell how lit up an area is, and I wanted that as a downside! I used the night vision as a double edged sword; yes you can see perfectly in the dark BUT you’ll have trouble differentiating between light and dark.

And the thing is, night vision as a power doesn’t have to be a double edged sword. Literally in the base mod the Feline origin has a perfect balance of night vision to where you can see in the dark just fine AND you can still tell what spots are darker/brighter than others. On that note, if you don’t want your origin to have perfect water vision, make sure you take away the night vision while they’re in water… like y’all can literally copy the feline code for the PERFECT night vision power and somehow every single night vision origin I see is so wrong. Like man.

+ the full night vision is just aesthetically not it lmao. Coming from someone who LOVES blasting my eyes with bright colors and spent much of my early minecraft years chugging night vision potions every possible second even in the nether. It doesn’t bother me much but I KNOW it’s gotta bother others. Make it subtle or at least not overbearing.

[feminist-space]

Cat in the Hat:

"The German Health Minister gave an important update on the Covid situation yesterday.

I’ve written up the section of his speech from the video below for easy reading.

It’s immensely refreshing to see a government minister warning of the harms of Covid in such a transparent way."

https://x.com/_catinthehat/status/1732092683508678954

Prof. Karl Lauterbach

Health Minister, Germany

4 December 2023

"This second (long Covid) round table was very interesting, lasting three and a half hours. It serves as a unique forum for dialogue among scientists, researchers and those affected by long Covid, facilitating the exchange of ideas.

There are many new findings about long Covid. Not all of them are good news. One piece of not-so-good news concerns the fact that long Covid is actually still a problem for those who are newly infected. One estimate that has been put forward is that the risk of contracting long Covid now, even after vaccination, is around 3%. Now you may say, "that's not such a big risk" , but there are tens of thousands of people who are repeatedly affected in a short period of time. And so, the long Covid problem has not yet been solved.

We have also established that there really are many subgroups of long Covid and that we do not yet have a cure. And it was clearly pointed out that we are also dealing with problems here that will challenge society as a whole, because vascular diseases often occur after long Covid. Throughout Europe, we are currently seeing an increased incidence of cardiovascular disease in the middle-age group - from 25 to 50. This is associated with the consequences of Covid infections.

We also very often find cognitive impairment in older people. And one participant pointed out that it may well be like the Spanish flu, where 20 years after the Spanish flu there was a significant increase in Parkinson's disease and probably also dementia.

This is something we must pay attention to, as the past infection afiects how the immune system in the brain functions, as well as the brain's blood vessels, potentially increasing the long-term risk of these major neurodegenerative diseases. This is why we need to conduct very intensive research. This research has played a major role.

What is the overall assessment of the situation now?

We have to be careful. Long Covid is not curable at the moment. We also know that over 40% of those who have several manifestations of long Covid, for example, five or more, still have symptoms after 2 years, so it doesn't seem to heal spontaneously. We also know that those whose symptoms are more pronounced at the beginning are less likely to heal.

So some of what we know from the demographics of long Covid has been confirmed, and we now know more precisely which mechanisms in the brain, but also in the blood vessels and the immune system, are responsible for this. Professor Scheibenbogan will explain this briefly later.

At this point, I can only say the following - this is particularly important to me:

First of all, long Covid is a disease that stays with us and that we cannot yet cure. And we are seeing an increasing number of cases as the waves of infection continue to affect us.

Secondly, Covid is not a cold - with a cold, you don't usually see any long-term effects. You don't see any changes in the blood vessels. You don't usually see an autoimmune disease developing. You also don't usually see neurological inflammation - these are all things that we see with long Covid. Therefore, one should not assume that Covid infection is just a common cold. It can affect brain tissue and the vascular system, and we still lack an effective treatment, making these studies crucial.

Significantly, we know that the risk of long Covid decreases when you're infected but have been vaccinated. That's why it's concerning that only 3 million people have been vaccinated with the new, adapted vaccine. That is a very bad result.

Please protect yourself from severe infections.

Please protect yourself from long Covid.

Currently, the danger posed by Covid is indeed being underestimated. Nothing is worse than infecting someone at Christmas who then becomes seriously ill and may not fully recover."

Alt text is included in all images of this post.

[tizeline]

TSAU!Donnie's Ninpō Explained!

The first ability Donnie unlocks is the ability to see mystic energy! Objects or people with with mystic energy has this colourful glowing aura you could call it, the more mystic energy the more brightly is glows. For example - Mikey already has a very bright aura naturally, which becomes even brighter when he is actively using magic! ..... All of this is to say, Donnie found that out the hard way when he used his mystic sight on Mikey when he was using magic and Donnie as a result got a little bit fucking blinded!

All yōkai and mutants are naturally mystic in nature, they always have a visable aura because of that. Humans are not mystic, so they don't have that aura. HOWEVER! Humans can learn how to use magic through certain means like, y'know, Ninpō for example! When a human uses magic, they do have mystic aura, but only while actively using mystic powers.

(Also Donnie totally accidentally discovered that the "teapot" had bad vibes because his mystic sight lol)

After a while Donnie is able to start making constructs out of his Ninpō. Initially however, he can't really form complex designs, it's mostly just blocks and walls, very simplistic shapes. But it turns out he can use these simpler constructs as effective shields! Which is good considering his soft shell as well as the fact that his battle shell in the AU wasn't built to be used as armour. Both he and April gets a lot of use out of the extra defense.

With quite a bit of practice Donnie is able to actually generate specific and more complex designs! Which means that yes, to the horror of friend and foe alike, Donnie can and will summon an entire arsenal of firepower, yikes. He's not limited to firearms though, he's able to generate all kinds of technology and machinery (drill!!!!)

To create these mystic contructs, it does require Donnie to have a good understanding of what it looks like, how it functions, etc. His imagination and his knowledge of technology are what sets a lot of the limits on what he is able to create, if he can build it in his lab then he can build it with his Ninpō. This particular ability requires a lot complex thought, if Donnie wasn't so smart he wouldn't be able to pull it off as well as he does.

Another limitation is that maintaining the contsructs is very energy-consuming, he'll quickly exhaust himself if he keeps them around. He'll usually only summon constructs very briefly for an attack and then immedietly dismiss them.

The way that Donnnie's Ninpō manifests itself is already very technology-oriented, because of that he can interact with ordinary technology through his Ninpō. Personally I haven't figured out the details of what exactly that can look like, but there's definitely a lot of possibilities to explore here.

One thing though, as Donnie's Ninpō grows more and more powerful overtime, a side-effect of that is that if he gets really pissed off or otherwise very emotional, he'll accidentally make the technology in his near viscinity go haywire lmao. (This has the risk of making him even more angry, which just worsens the problem, and so on haha)

I really like the idea of Donnie being the second most powerful mystic user out of his brothers, after Mikey of course. And because he's mostly self-trained, he doesn't have the best understanding of how to properly control his powers, which evidently can become a bit of a problem. Donnie eventually agrees to let Draxum help him get a better grasp on his mystic abilities after the Hamatos and the Draxums become more friendly with each other.

So uh. About how Donnie kinda accidentally infused Shelldon with mystic energy while creating him which caused the robot to develop a kind of soul? Yeah so because of that Shelldon's mystic energy if linked to Donnie's, which means that Shelldon more or less gains access to the same abilities as Donnie does! He's not quite as powerful as Donnie, and he still needs to practice to fully get a grasp on these powers as well. But point is, that's how Shelldon gains acess to Ninpō in the AU! (He also notices their fucked up "teapot")

----------

Anyway that basically summarizes it! A lot of these ideas are headcanons I have for canon!Donnie as well honestly, the AU is just an excuse to explore these concepts. Donnie's ability to summon fucking firearms and military equipment is also something I've thought about, I wanted to try to think how it would work for him while also putting some limitations on it. ANOTHER THING I like the idea of Donnie's tech constructs basically being the same ability as when Raph creates constructs of himself. The difference lies with that Donnie is a massive nerd so his first instinct is to recreate his own tech with the Ninpō. While Raph being someone who is already so physically strong would naturally use his Ninpō to recreate his own greatest weapon, which is himself. (Donnie uses his brain, Raph uses his brawn, who would've guessed)

[twistedpink]

Hello! I love your writing sm <3

Could I request General!Lilia with that one military graduation tradition where the soldiers are required to stand still and wait for a loved one to touch them so they can move?

Idk if you know what I'm talking about but like here's an example: https://youtube.com/shorts/2142YOyLS8M?si=0xV64So-Sl_YtVSL

Remember to take care of yourself, drink lots and eat lots so you can stay healthy 🫶

I LOVE THESE VIDEOSSSSSS

General!Lilia’s spent his entire deployment thinking of you at home,, How you may want to remarry, and if you haven’t thought of it already you definitely will once you see him. He’s not the same man you married, and he just barely has the courage to admit to himself it scares him- More than any humans or the senate. The thought of you leaving him is terrifying, but he’d understand in the end. He’s been turned into a monster.

General!Lilia that keeps your clothing in pristine condition his entire deployment despite being filthy himself. You’ve done the charity of sending him the blanket from your wedding bed, a couple socks, and the bane of his existence. Your favourite night shirt. He deludes himself to think still smells of you after months of use- It reeks of the outdoors and his sweat and tears, but he’s never failed to bury his nose in it and feel all giddy.. You cared enough to send these mundanities to him, and they’re his greatest treasures. His last (sleeping) night on duty is spent wearing your socks in your shirt wrapped up snug in your blanket. More than anything, they give him strength.

General!Lilia’s lost so much. His troops and friends, his princess, his morals,, His tap out’s done alone, in a field untouched by the war. A pessimistic, realist part of him’s convinced that you’ll never come, that he deserves to rot in this field. If you were to abandon him here, he wouldn’t make it out alive. Not because it’s particularly dangerous,, But because he’d wait as long as it takes for you to be with him again- Even if you’re no longer “his”.

General!Lilia doesn’t blame the hypothetical you in his head for scorning him- Actually, he thinks you aren’t being harsh enough. He hasn’t earned a kiss or gentle touch, he doesn’t deserve your tender affections anymore. Your husband’s a failure. But he can admit he’s good enough to have stayed loyal at least,, No town flower’s tempted him, nor alley specials for soldiers. He’s never considered himself the romantic altruist type, but if you are to hate him, to leave or slander him, he just wants to look at you one last time. Then he wouldn’t have to worry if he’s failed so miserably that even you fell to the conflict.

When you appear out of the thicket, unmarred by the battle and even looking concerned for him, it’s a massive weight off Lilia’s shoulders. The time you take running across the field feels like a lifetime. You look the same as when he left for war.. You know nothing of the things he’s done, the things he can’t undo. He is not the man you knew. He briefly thinks of flying off- He’s had no difficulty when breaking the rules before, so what’s the difference? He’s sure you’d be better off without him. There’s a barely audible thunk against the metal of his armour when your arms are thrown around his neck, hurriedly removing the bloody mask he wears to see his face again. To see your Lilia safe and sound. Once all the pressure’s released, he wants to deflate, wants to collapse in your arms and weep and kiss and love you again despite the angry, violent thing he’s become,, He settles for hugging you back. He can feel you cry at seeing him so defeated, hear your heart race and smell your smell (The shirt doesn’t do you justice). He allows himself to breathe you in. It’s time to go home <3

@bju3c0re

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

[tommydarlings]

fucktoy | f1 grid

pairing: dom!carlos sainz ; dom!daniel ricciardo ; dom!mick schumacher ; dom!charles leclerc x sub!bimbo!reader

warnings: smut, spitting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, blowjob, mention of gagging, size kink, dumbification

w/c: 0.7k

summary: the f1 grid loves to simply use you as their fucktoy or as a stress relief and nothing else.

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +60 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

thinking about how the f1 grid would simply use you as a stress relief, as a simple fucktoy they can use whenever and wherever they want.

Carlos — for an example — coincidentally saw you walking around in the paddock after a bad qualifying and immediately snatched you by your tiny wrist and dragged you towards the nearest bathroom, throwing your smaller frame into one of the stalls before he lifted your skirt and pushed your thong to the side, quickly freeing himself and ramming his entire length into you without any warning, forcing a high pitched gasp out of you.

“Oh my g-god, Carlos!” You loudly whined before he covered your mouth with his big palm, other hand pushing your hips a bit forward so he could probably bend your body however he pleased, making your ass perfectly stick out for him to fuck.

He groaned behind you as you felt his hand squeezing your hip, abdomen already slapping against your back while you choked on your sobs behind his hand.

“Oh f-fuck,” he dropped his forehead against the back of your head as the pace of his hips went up, making you roll your eyes into the back of your head, “fuck that stupid race this weekend, I’ll just tell Ferrari I’m sick and fuck you the whole Sunday until you're so cockdumb that you don’t even want to leave my hotel room anymore, zorra,” slut.

Or how Daniel would immediately look for you after a good qualifying, asking everybody if they had seen you.

“Where’s she?” He hastily asked Pierre who just pointed towards the Mercedes garage. Without even thanking Pierre, Daniel entered the garage and intertwined your hand with his as soon as he saw you, quickly dragging your towards the Mercedes hospitality since that was the closest room.

Only a couple of minutes later you were already bend over one of the small beds, skirt lifted up so your ass was on full display while Daniel's finger played with your wet pussy from behind.

“D-Daniel, please!” You begged in a whiny tone, making him chuckle, “Please what, little one? You have to tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” he kissed your shoulder blade before he focused his eyes on his two fingers and how they were rubbing your clit before he shoved them slowly into you, making your head fall forward.

“Oh no, no, no baby,” he laughed deeply, “you stay here while I play with you,” he harshly grabbed the roots of your hair and pulled your head back up, making you groan as he continued fingering your wet cunt.

Or how mick would not hesitate to harshly knock on your hotel room after a bad race.

“Y/n, open the door for me, please,” he would ask you, making you open the door before he would literally pick your barely covered body — since you were only in pyjamas — up and throw you onto the couch, not even bothering to go to the bedroom.

Without a second thought, he’d have your shorts and panties already removed, briefly gliding his hard and long dick up and down your pussy before he spit on it, rubbing his spit with his fingers all over your needy cunt.

He’d definitely make you watch as he entered you, placing his big hand onto the back of your head and force you to watch him enter your pretty pussy.

“You feel me inside of you, pretty girl? Hmm? You feel me stretching that poor little cunt of yours out and using it?” He’d ask you while you just dumbly nodded, “don’t play so dumb alr-” but quickly stopping his own sentence while the fingertips of his other hand rubbed your puffy clit,

“Oh you really are already dumb, baby?! But that’s okay, you’re my pretty little dumb girl, hmm? Yeah, that’s right, my dumb princess.”

Or how Charles would without a word drag you towards his drivers room after he won a race, loudly slamming the door shut before he’d remove his racing suit and pull his long erection out,

“On your knees, right now.”

And while you’re busy sucking his cock, he’d be so cocky, “Don’t you wanna pleasure the winner of the day, huh? Don’t you wanna be a good little obedient girl and satisfy the man of the race?” He’d place his hand onto the back of your head and force you to gag on his cock, making tears stain your cheeks.

“Just like that, can we go even further? Even further? Fuck yes we can, baby, you’re doing so good for the winner,” he’d praise you while he wiped some of your tears away, other hand fisting your hair and guiding your head.

[taintandviolent]

Taco Tuesday ; Gambit x reader!

summary: You live across the hall from Wade Wilson, and one Tuesday, he invites you over for tacos. 🌮 And that’s where you meet him. The Gambit. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.4K | smut with very little plot, alcohol mention, slightly drunk (but very consenting) reader, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (cher, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk (cos he is a dirty talker, don't argue with me on this), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n.

a/n: this is based 100% on Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit / Channing's version of Gambit!! sorry for the lack of plot here, he deserves better than this filth, but I am down ASTRONOMICALLY and I needed to get it out. I spent so much time trying to get his accent right, I hope it comes off the way I wanted it to... anyway! i'm not certain if anyone will read this, but if you do - thank you a million times over! as always, requests are open! - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @scintie!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle of Jack between your legs — wait. Pause. Rewind. How’d we get here?

Living in the same apartment complex as Wade Wilson was a trip. Even more of a trip was living across the hall from him. The things you heard coming from that apartment... nobody would believe you. So, you never told anyone. 

He’s kind. Albeit, zany but kind. Your interactions have been cordial and nauseatingly neighbourly. But on one regular ol' Tuesday afternoon, Wade invited you inside. He said something about having a party later that night, making tacos and being neighborly. He assured you that it wasn't a sex party... which to be honest, you weren't worried about until he'd mentioned it. Against your better judgement though, you'd agreed, and said you'd bring some liquor.

So, that evening, you opened your door, one bottle of Jack tucked under your arm, and another in your left hand. You shut the door to your apartment and walked straight across to your neighbour’s door. Your fist had rapped against the wood only twice before the door swung open, revealing Wade, and a very… strange and very bald looking dog in his arms. 

"Oh, what the fuck?" You asked, looking down at the creature. "I didn't know you had a dog…?"

Wade’s voice rose an octave or two, in a cutesy tone. "She's a new addition, yes she is!" 

"I brought... well, this. Sorry, it was all I had in my cabinets and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't about to go out and spend money on this. I like… barely know you."

"HA! Brutal honesty. We love to hear it." 

Wade took hold of your shoulder and yanked you inside, harsh enough that you made a small sound as he did. He shut the door with his foot, and towed you towards the table, where everyone was gathered. And that was when you first saw him. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat with a high collar. He lounged casually on one of the dining chairs, playing with a deck of cards. They fluttered from hand to hand effortlessly, and for a moment, you were stuck, mesmerized by the dexterous way he handled them. You weren't sure what was pulling you towards him harder, your heart or your cunt, but you felt an undeniable draw to the man.

Wade's arm wound itself around your shoulders, guiding you around the room to meet each of his friends. At that point, living next to him, mutants were a forced transition. You were used to the concept of them, so meeting a giant silver man, for example, wasn't unexpected. Vanessa was the most normal - you were pretty sure she was human.

Finally, he got to the one you really wanted to meet. The one that your eyes had been darting back and forth to the entire time, the one that when he briefly met your gaze, your heart thudded in your chest. 

"And this... handsome slice of man, is the Gambit. Good luck understanding him, he's a real mouthful."

I’ll bet he is, you thought. 

He pocketed the cards in a quick motion and stood up from his chair. With a syrup-smooth chuckle, the man laughed and said: "You can call me Remy." He did in fact have a thick Cajun accent and spoke quickly – almost too quickly. You blinked once, focusing hard on his words.

"Remy," you repeated finally, before saying your own name and extending your hand. He took it gently and as he shook it, your palm tingled with what felt like electricity.

"Enchanté." (Enchanted)

Your cheeks burned, and you knew they were flushing. You couldn’t control it. "De même..." (Likewise.)

His brows lifted, surprised. "You speak French, mon ami?" (my friend) 

"Heh, uhh... comme un enfant." (Like a child) You chuckled low, averting your eyes for a millisecond. "I took a few years of it in high school and again in college. I’m by no means an expert."

Wade's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between the two of you. There was obvious chemistry there, and a knowing smirk drew itself across his lips. Abruptly, he yanked one of the bottles of Jack Daniels from beneath your arm, before leaning against the nearby wall.

"Oh, fuck me. You understand Gumbo here? That’s cute. No idea what either of you are saying though, someone forgot to turn the subtitles on. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Whatever that meant. You scoffed, but turned your attention back to Gambit, looking at him.

“Sit a while, cher.” 

You happily took the chair that he pulled out, not caring that it was facing away from the others, and plopped down onto it, situating the other bottle of Jack between your legs. You gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, and looked at him with a timid, but a come hither sort of smile. After a moment, you twisted the cap off, and flicked it off somewhere to your right. Wade would find it later, or he wouldn’t. You didn’t really care. 

You two talked for hours, most of which consisted of him telling you about the Void, and how hard it had been, while you pretended to comprehend it. Between words, you passed the bottle back and forth, taking mouthfuls, and inadvertently swapping spit as you did. The thought occurred to you about halfway through the conversation, and your stomach tightened. You shook your head lightly and clenched your thighs together, trying to stave off the arousal that was bubbling in your core. 

There we go. That’s better.

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle, which was still situated between your legs. His fingertips just graze the side of your thigh and his eyes flit to yours. He holds his smile, waiting for you to either protest or move the moment forward, and all you can do is gawk, because your cunt starts throbbing. 

As the evening wears on, though cautious, it’s obvious that Remy feels the same pull that you do. He remains cool on the outside, but internally, he was battling the magnetic tugging he felt from you. He couldn't shake it. He’d compliment you, you’d compliment him. At one point, in between sips, you casually drop that you think his accent is hot and he whispers something underneath his breath, something you don’t understand. Before either of you realized it, you had started to lean closer to each other, your faces inches apart, and you felt the warm rush of his breath over your cheeks.

It was as if you both realized it simultaneously. You rear back, an embarrassed expression plastered on your face. Remy clears his throat. His attraction to you was stifling; something that he rarely felt. He was powerless in his want for you, the draw you had was irresistible.

"Maybe we should... uh..." You murmur, looking deep into his eyes. In a room full of people that were starting to fade away the closer you two got to each other, you were thankful you were still sober enough to suggest a different setting. Any longer and you surely would’ve just straddled him and gone to town. 

Remy moves first. 

"We gon' take a walk." He announces to the others, getting to his feet. 

The conversation stops abruptly, silence hanging heavy. You straighten up, trying your best to avert your gaze, but you still see everyone’s reaction. Someone clears their throat and your heart sinks, feeling like you might die on the spot. The one that had been introduced as Logan, gruff looking dude, raises a single brow at you. In true Wade-character, he ugly cackles, shattering the moment. Your shoulders sink, embarrassed, as you head towards the door, doing the proverbial walk of shame. 

Remy meets you at the door and pulls it open, holding it for you. You duck underneath his arm, looking sheepish and as you exit into the hallway, you think you heard Wade mutter something about a fanfiction but Remy yanks the door shut before you can react. 

“You want to… get some air? Or um… I have… well, no I had liquor, but I brought it to Wade’s.” 

He smiles, and looks down at the floor, before lifting his eyes back to you. “We can do whatever you want, chère. You ain’t gon’ catch me complainin’ eitha’ way.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering the options. Your heart was hammering in your chest at the prospect of just being near him without the others around. You two had been close to kissing in Wade’s living room, and now, you had the opportunity to continue that… or take a walk. The latter seemed less appealing. 

“Y’know what, why don’t we… just…” You take a few steps backwards, jerking your head towards your front door. Concerningly, you had forgotten to lock your door. However, it allows you to open it quickly, and walk backwards into the apartment. Gambit follows you in, his attention never leaving you. 

"You sure 'bout dis, mon ami? I can walk away righ' now." His words land heavy, a promise behind them. He was a gentleman at heart, you could tell. Fortunately for him, you were very sure, and wanted every inch of him.

Mon ami - something that in the few hours you'd spent with him, he'd called you often. Among other things. Mon ami meant my friend, but you knew you two weren't just friends. You saw how he acted with others, and the comments he made. Sure, he had a quick wit and a mouth on him, but the flirting... god, the flirting.

He stands in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. Silently, you nod and take another step back, giving him some room to enter. He takes one wide step towards you, leaving the door open behind him. He reaches for your hip, and you immediately take to playing with his large hands. Delicately, you pay attention to each long digit, trailing your middle finger along the knuckles, and up and down the length of them. You dip into the spaces between, your fingers barely ghosting over the webbing. 

Was that a shiver? Your eyes flit to his, searching them for a hint.

"You sure do know how to make a man feel good." 

Your heart flutters at his words. With his accent, even the simplest of things sounded charming. At least to you. You felt that he could ask if you wanted coffee or how the weather was and you'd be twirling your hair around your finger like a desperate schoolgirl. Embarrassing. 

You’re about to respond and defend yourself by saying that all you had done was play with his hands, which was hardly considered foreplay, but his fingers come up underneath your chin, gently closing your mouth with a dull click of your teeth. He tilts it upwards to an angle where he could easily kiss you. And kiss you, he does. 

It was the kind of kiss that makes your knees buckle, sends a violent shudder from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine. It’s the kind of kiss that needs to come with a warning; Danger: Will Result In Sex. As his lips move against yours, you feel the urgency of his need, of his want, and hum into his lips. Remy takes that as a green light and deepens the kiss, moving his body so that it’s pressing flush against yours. The action leaves you immediately breathless and in response, you break the kiss, tucking your chin to your chest. Your hand finds his torso, pressing hard against the muscles underneath the shirt.  

"Ah, don't you be actin' shy now. You been teasin' me for hours."

“I have not!”

“You think I didn’t notice all ‘dem touches an’ looks you were givin’ me? I may ‘ave been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” 

He had you there. You couldn’t deny that, at all. Even if you’d wanted to. Which, part of you did. Part of you was very nervous, standing before this very handsome man, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your lips but another part of you, the louder one, was delighted that he’d noticed. Furthermore, that he’d enjoyed them enough to come to your room.

You lift your hand behind him, pushing the door shut with a harsh shove. With a twist of your fingers, you activate the locking mechanism, sliding the deadbolt into place. Gambit chuckles, grinning down at you. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you press on bravely, lacing your arms around his neck. They trail down the front of his body, feeling the muscles as they twitch with each ragged breath. 

He quirks a brow as if to ask, 'Oh, really?' You simply smirk back at him. The contact is electric, and you find yourself resisting the urge to grind against him immediately. Instead, you focus on his hands again, bringing one of them up to your lips. You press a delicate kiss on the pads, before slipping one into your mouth and sucking gently. Remy makes a deep, husky sound in his throat, and brings his other hand to your hip, where he pulls you roughly against him.

For a man that uses his hands often, the sensations are high. The way your mouth envelops his finger, your tongue writhing around the digit had his jaw clenching, muscles fluttering on the side of his face. When you draw his finger into the confines of your throat, deep-throating it, his eyes roll back in pleasure. He pulls his hand back, shaking it off as if the inside of your mouth was hot to the touch.

"Woo, you nasty, huh? Nevah’ woulda' guessed... you been actin' like a good little girl 'uhround me." 

After that, it all happened very quickly. Gambit takes a step and connects his lips with yours again, pushing them into you in an act of desperation. Without breaking the kiss, he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby surface. You push against him until his back hits the door with a heavy thud, definitely loud enough for any innocent bystanders to hear. Your fingers undo the button of your jeans, breaking the kiss for only a second to slide them down your legs. 

Once you return to his waiting mouth, the kiss deepens and the coil in your stomach winds tighter, claiming your body in a deep, fiery arousal. His big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a heated embrace. Just for a moment, it’s tender — but shortly after, his hands drop to your ass, fingers slipping underneath the band of fabric to take greedy fistfuls of each cheek. 

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the roundness of them to use as leverage. Letting out a little hum, you sweep your hips across his groin, pressing tightly against him. His eyes drift shut, head bumping against the door as he leaned it back, a low growl coming from his throat. Keeping at it, you grind your hips against him, feeling the outline of his length as it hardens.

“You be drivin’ Remy crazy, grindin’ on me like ‘dat.”

“That’s the intention….” You stand on your tiptoes to pepper kisses on his lips, your warm breath fanning over his face, smelling faintly of Jack Daniels. Remy trails his hand carefully up your rib cage until he gets to the side of your breast, where he quickly slips around to the front, his large hand cupping the fullness of it outside of your shirt. Your reaction is visceral; your breath hisses through your teeth at the sensitivity. 

Remy laughs again and with his free hand, pulls your hips back to his. Swiftly, he spins you around, pinning you between his body and the hard surface of the door. He presses himself tightly against you, shifting slightly so that his thigh was between your legs. The sensation of something that close to your core is dangerous and brings a weak, mewling whimper from your mouth.

“We gon’ have ourselves some fun.” His voice is low, tinged with a new sort of lustful tone that you hadn't heard before. Your mind is spinning, growing dizzy with lust. The alcohol had certainly helped your nerves, you were never usually this brazen. Your core burns with desire at his words, silently begging for everything he was about to give you. His lips hover just over yours; you can feel his breath on your skin and the heat that radiates off his body as it presses into yours.

"Oh my god," you whisper into his mouth. "Fuck..."

His teeth nip at your bottom lip before he captures your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss again. His tongue explores the inside, swirling along your own wet muscle. With every passing second, your heart beats faster and his hands grip your hips tighter, thumbs massaging the flesh above your jeans.

“Wrap ‘dem legs around me, mon coeur.” (My heart) Remy’s voice is husky with want; amongst his playful, lilted tone, a possessiveness lingered, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. He nods once, encouraging you into his waiting arms. You jump up, and he catches you effortlessly, gripping your thighs tight and hoisting you up into his grasp. Feeling secure, you wrap both legs around his waist and encircle his neck with your arms. Your gaze meets his and you can see the wanton need mirrored in his own eyes, darkened with desire.

Remy's smirk is dripping with confidence. Your body's response to him was causing his ego to swell within his chest, and his cock to swell within his pants. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, nipping at the lobe softly before pulling back slightly. In one fluid movement, his hips buck up against your center, teasing you over the layers of clothing. You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the door.

He thrusts up into you again, chuckling low against your ear. The hard line of his cock grinds against you, making you stutter out expletives as it presses against you with a needy demand. 

"You like 'dat, cher? Talk t' me..."

You nod, swallowing and wetting your throat. "Y-yeah, fuck... I do... need you – it – so bad."

“Whaddya’ need?”

“N-need you… so bad.” 

“You can do betta’. Tell Remy what you need...” 

He presses you harder against the door, your back sliding against the wood as he kisses a trail down from your mouth to your shoulder, sucking and biting with all the right intensities. As his hips grind against yours, you feel the damp fabric slide across your cunt, alerting you to just how wet he’d made you. Fuck. 

“Need… need you to fuck me. Hard. Need to feel you everywhere.”  

A few hours ago, you’d agreed to Taco Tuesday at Wade’s. Now, you were getting dry humped by a really hot Cajun guy and moaning into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. You were positive that if someone opened their door, they’d hear you. Somewhere in your brain, the thought should have been moderately embarrassing, but you were far too invested in Remy to care. 

Without warning, Gambit lifts you away from the door and carries you to the nearby couch. He never breaks the kiss, still feverishly claiming your mouth as he moves. Your back hits the cushions and before you can process it, his body weight is on top of you. He slots himself in between your legs, and his hard-on bumps into your stomach as his hips rut against you, finding some relief in the friction. But not enough. 

Remy’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to allow his fingers underneath the fabric. You bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip and push your hips up into his. Thick, strong digits sweep across your skin, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. Every touch brings your temperature up, and it isn’t long before your entire body is consumed in flames. You sigh contentedly, arching up into his touch. 

Abruptly, Remy straightens up, crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tan skin and bulky muscles. His stocky stature makes your tummy clench with anticipation. He was fit, as you assumed, but that didn’t stop your jaw from falling open at the sight. 

“Wow,” you finally choke.

Remy grins. “You like what you see?” 

You nod furiously, hands snapping to his toned abdomen. He’s warm and his skin is soft, begging to be touched. The muscles flex underneath your fingers as you trace a long stripe from his belly button to his collarbone. Your hands claw at his shoulder, attempting to pull him back down on you, but he resists. 

He spoke with a playfulness, almost a sort of pleading. His thumbs flicks at the hem of your shirt. “Ah, c’mon, ‘dat ain’t fair. Enlève-tout toi, huh?” (Take it all off.)

You thought you understood, but if you didn’t, it didn’t matter. Remy was quick to translate his words, busy undressing you, pulling your worn t-shirt over your head, and reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. Most men would’ve fumbled with the clasp, but not him. His adept fingers make quick work of it, allowing your breasts to fall free. He throws your bra somewhere behind him. 

“Hooo, cher…!” His eyes light up at the visual and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks again, half expecting him to make a lewd comment. Instead, his hands cup your tits, kneading the soft plumpness like dough, thumbs grazing the nipples. He exhales through his mouth, jerking his head to the side. 

Finally, he kisses you again. It’s wet and sloppy and his mouth is consuming you, tasting you hungrily. His hips are still moving, sweeping into yours with a calculated precision. You try to spread your legs but the back of the couch thwarts your attempt. He notices this, watching as you struggle with the space. 

“You got a bed?” He asked in between smearing kisses along your neck and collarbone. 

“Yeah-yeah…. Down the hall.” 

“Remy be needin’ more room for what he wanna’ do t’you.”

His weight is suddenly gone from you, an unwelcome sensation, even though you know he’s about to carry you wedding-style down the hallway. He bends down, one arm sliding underneath your neck, the other in the crook behind your knees. For the second time that night, he lifts you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his warm pectoral muscle, rocking back and forth, as he walks you both down the dark hallway. The only light in the room comes from the window, the city outside alive and humming. Carefully, Remy sets you down on the bed, unmade from this morning, your dark gray sheets cool to the touch. 

In nothing but your underwear, which at this point, are damp to the touch, you’re left feeling very exposed. But you can’t muster up any shame, not when he’s looking at you with such hunger, such want. Your tummy feels tight, and the feeling gets worse when Remy’s hands drop to his waist, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. They fall loose at the waist, and he shucks them down the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but a pair of deep purple boxers. Your eyes swing heavy to the outline that’s now presented to you. 

Oh my god. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Remy was a big guy, and that proved true downstairs, too. You can barely pull your eyes away from it, but you begrudgingly rip them away, to look up into his gaze. 

“Please,” you beg. “You’re too far away…” Your cunt is aching and nothing but him, his hands, his dick, will sate her. 

He leans forward, flattening both hands on the mattress and walks them back until his face is in front of yours. He sweeps you into another kiss and your heart races. His hands are perfectly positioned on either side of your hips, you feel them graze the flesh. His finger hooks around the elastic of your panties, twisting it around his pointer finger and gradually, he tugs them down over the curve of your hip.

You nod lazily against his mouth, as you feel the warmth of his hand near your core. Your legs drop apart, knees touching the mattress as you allow him access. One hand sweeps across your inner thighs, stroking them, while the other palms your soft mound. His other hand comes to pause at your knee, and pushes his weight into it softly, forcing you to stay spread-eagle for him. No way you could’ve done this on the sofa. 

There’s no hesitation in the way he fingers you; sweeping up through your slick folds, smearing your arousal around until she’s coated in it, splaying your pretty, wet cunt apart with his fingers, looking upon it hungrily. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it right. You briefly wonder if that’s another mutant power he has… though being an expert at fingering someone seems outlandish. But he’s just so good at it. His middle finger barely touches you, circling the bundle of nerves delicately. Your back arches up towards him, a desperate groan vibrating your vocal chords. Delighted by your reaction, his finger flicks upwards at your swollen, sensitive clit, making your body literally quiver. 

“Uhugh – god…. Shit, oh my god.” 

He continues like this for several minutes, until your cunt is blazing hot and clenching with every moan you give. 

By the time he presses one finger inside, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and your voice fills the room with needy, desperate sounds. You let out a shrill whine, and he slips in another finger, feeling the stretch of muscle as he does. His heart is pounding in his chest, overcome with lust. The way you sound, the way your body is moving and writhing on the bed, he can’t wait to sink himself into you. 

Amidst a laugh, he says: “People gon’ think we up in here watchin’ porn.”

Did he just insinuate that you sounded like a pornstar? You lifted your head, wearily, to look at him. Your chest heaves with each breath as you try to formulate a snarky remark to no avail. He looked so good – well, always – but he looked particularly good on top of you, his bright eyes lust blown and hungry. 

“We’re… we’re… porn… it’s…  oh god.” 

He shushes you. “You just lay back and keep moanin’.” 

Defeated, you huff and your head hits the sheets again, but not before you catch a glimpse of the way the muscles in his forearm ripple as it pumps back and forth into your cunt. You can’t help but moan at the sight, feeling a shockwave rupture your core. Your hips meet his fingers, rutting and writhing against the mattress in a needy rhythm.

Your first orgasm claims your body before you can stop it. You’re clenching around his fingers as they move, crooking upwards into your sensitive spots. Your slick coats his fingers and when Gambit pulls his hand back, thick, clear strands string from between them. He smiles down at you. 

Remy raises himself to his knees. “Turn ‘round…” 

You flip over and back yourself towards him, thinking that he’s going to go at it doggy-style, but to your surprise, he pulls you upright, pressing your back against his chest. His dick is hot between your legs, and when he reaches down to line it up, you let your head loll back against his shoulder. Gambit’s mouth finds the side of your neck, streaking it with wet, suckling kisses. He was taking his time with you, savouring you and you hum happily through closed lips, reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Instinctively, your hips undulate and his cock slips between your folds. Remy’s hips buck once, letting out a groan that comes from somewhere deep. 

“You ready, cher?” He asks, sweeping your hair away from your neck. You nod furiously. You’ve been ready – you were ready the moment you laid eyes on him.

Remy reaches down to sweep his fingers along your entrance briefly, before gripping himself and guiding the head of his cock into the slit. You keen at the feeling of his velvet-soft head pressing into your entrance, warm pre-cum leaking from the slit. He murmurs words of encouragement into your ear as you feel his hips press against your ass, urging his thick, veiny shaft inside your cunt. He does it gently, allowing you time to adjust to the girth, but the sting still makes you cry out. “Fffuck!”

He begins to thrust his hips shallowly, your cunt stretching around his cock. The feeling is all-consuming, and your body feels heavy in his grasp. One hand is gripping your waist tightly, the other, fingers splayed out on your stomach just above your cunt. There’s a pressure building in your cunt, and each thrust magnifies it. The sting of his cock fades to an ache, then to a dull throbbing that makes you want more and you lean forward slightly and press your ass into the curves of his hips, meeting his thrusts. 

“Mm, ‘dat’s it, cher…” His voice is hot on your skin. 

His thrusts get deeper, but there’s a lingering tension in his body that makes you feel like he’s not getting what he wants. You’re right; all at once, Remy pulls his cock from you and switches positions. 

You’re suddenly on your back, looking up at him as he looms over you, all muscle. His cockhead nudges your entrance again, but doesn’t penetrate. 

“Say my name, cher… I needa’ hear it leave ‘dat pretty mouth.” 

“Which one? Gambit? Or Remy?” You ask, breathlessly.

The way his eyes rolled back at the second option told you everything you needed to know. A smirk twisted your lips cruelly and you lifted your body slightly, just enough for your mouth to reach his ear. You moan his name over and over again, knowing full well the effect it’s having on the mutant man.

“Remy, Remy, Remy….” Your tone is high-pitched and whiny, but he seems to enjoy the lewdness of it all. He bucks his hips hard into you, and the fullness reaches an all-time high as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours with a slap.

“Huhhh—!” You gasp, breathing ragged. “Fuck!”

“Gonna’ make you cum so hard you ain’t gon’ walk right for days.” His voice is low and filthy and leaves a stain on your mind. Your cunt clenches around him possessively, pulling him somehow deeper inside of you. 

As your head bangs into your headboard, the tip of his cock bumps your cervix over and over again, and your jaw goes slack, literally fucked silent. Remy hears the thudding of your skull and puts a hand between it and the wood, but he doesn’t stop his relentless, deep thrusting. 

The pleasure reaches a peak and your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on his golden skin. Remy’s groaning loud into your ear as he cums, muttering in an almost incoherent melange of French and English. His accent is somehow heavier, and you can barely make out the words as he’s saying them into your skin. It doesn’t matter though, because you feel how full you are, and Remy’s hot, white completion is leaking out the sides and staining your sheets. 

He stays like that for a moment, hovering on top of you. His cock softens inside, completely spent and eventually, he slips it out, rolling over onto your bed.

“Ah, joi de vivre, huh.” (the joy of life), he says drowsily.

You laugh, and nestle underneath his arm, in the space he’s left for you. 

If you had your way, you’d do it all over again. 

Though he doesn’t say it, so would he. 

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

cw: menstruation (not graphic), afab anatomy

Part 4: “Girl Problems”

You shift in the office chair, stomach lurching uncomfortably. It’s been bothering you today - groaning and moaning nonstop. So far you blamed it on the suspicious chicken salad you got from the discount grocery store. You took every stomach soother you could, all the way down to chugging tea on the hottest day of spring so far.

With a rather pathetic groan you stand to meander your way to the bathroom. Surely sitting on the pot will help - at least as a placebo. Just as you do, though, a very distinct wet feeling makes itself known. You freeze, briefly, as if it will go away if you stand still enough.

“Ah, fuck!” You gasp, grabbing your purse and jogging down the hall to the single bath stall and popping the lock shut.

As soon as you sit, you let out a small sigh of relief. At least you caught it before you turned your underwear into a total crime scene. You’d rather not have to explain to John why you need to go home and change. You dig through your bag to your usual pocket of various supplies. From lotion to a sewing kit. It never hurts to be prepared.

Except, as you rifle around, you’re not finding your usual stash. There should be at least three in here… when did-?

The very loud, distinct memory of a girl at a bar stopping you while canvassing for some sanitary products hits you like a train.

“Whatever you’ve got I’ll take.” She practically begged. So, you handed them all over because got forbid someone get stranded during the most hellish week of the month. Like you are now.

You make a deep, frustrated noise in your throat and bury your face in your hands. You’ve been meaning to put a basket of backup wipes, pads, and tampons in the little bathroom cabinet - not just for you but for customers, too. It just kept getting pushed off when you got busy with other things.

Shit. What are you gonna do? If you put your pants back on you’ll just bleed through them in ten minutes. Cursed with a heavy flow (or blessed with a strong connection to the moon, as your former hippie roommate insisted.) Less time than that, probably, based on the vicious cramp that travels from your lower back to pelvis. You won’t be able to get to the corner store with out leaving a war crime in your path.

John’s the only person in the studio right now. He doesn’t have a client for another hour or so but you’d rather die than tell your hot boss you’re bleeding everywhere. For a few, quiet moments, you violently bounce your knee and go through every possibility. Maybe you’ll suddenly turn into the flash and you can get home before anyone even notices. You don’t really have much of a choice, do you?

With another groan you pull your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering over his contact for just a few beats too long while you work up the courage.

>> ok so this is terrible

>> im so sorry

>> but im having girl problems and am stuck in the bathroom

>> im so sorry this is so unprofessional

Girl problems? What are you? In fucking middle school? Before you can send yet another in a long string of planned apologies, John answers.

J >> How can I help?

>> i dont have any products on me

>> meant to stock the bathroom

>> sorry

J >> Stop apologizing

J >> What kind do you use? I’ll go to the corner store up the street

You breathe out a sigh of relief, still nervously gnawing at your lip as you send him what you need with an example picture (just in case) and profusely insist you’ll pay him back. John refuses. You’ll just have to sneak the cash in his tips or something.

It isn’t long before you hear the front doorbell ring, heavy footsteps, then a gentle tap on the bathroom door. “Y’alright, love?”

You perk up. “John, I’m so sorry-“

“Didn’t ask if you were sorry. Asked if you were alright.”

You snort. “Yeah…”

“I’m goin’ to unlock the door to slide these in. No lookin’ I swear.” John says. As if you were worried about that. You trust John. More than maybe any other man you’ve known (not that the bar is very high.) It’s nice of him to say, though. The door barely cracks open, just enough for him to toss the box to you across the floor and shut it immediately. You barely even see his arm. “That all you need?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You murmur, bending awkwardly and snatching up the box. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s not really… appropriate.”

“Love, it’s normal. It happens. Just get y’self situated.” John taps the door once before you hear his footsteps drift down the hall toward the front.

You feel a bit skittish the rest of the day. You know it’s stupid. John’s a grown man and it’s a natural thing that happens and it’s fine. He said it’s fine. If it wasn’t fine you probably wouldn’t still look up to him the way that you do - the way that you have since you came here. The way everyone else seems to. Even so, you step around him a little wider than usual on your way out - keeping your head hung low and both hands tightly gripping your purse.

You chew your lip, shifting in place as he locks the front door. “Look, John, I-“

“If you apologize again I’m gonna fire you.” John mutters, pulling on the door to make sure it’s properly secured. There’s humor in it, though, the corners of his lips quirked up slightly.

You scoff, still not quite able to meet his eye.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t move fast enough, apparently, he tilts your head up with a light touch. His eyes are so warm despite their icy blue shade. Sparkly in the setting sun. “Any man worth his breath wouldn’t give a shite. I’m sorry if that hasn’t been your experience, but really, it’s fine. I’ll help you out a thousand times over if y’need.”

“Okay…” You murmur, suddenly very distracted by the feeling of his fingers touching your chin, light as is it. You pull away and clear your throat, hoping he doesn’t notice the growing heat in your cheeks. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”

John nods, still smiling. “Sleep well, dove.”

When you come in the next day, you expect to get teased. A snide comment or a sideways look. You would have at any other job you’d worked - especially one with all men. All giggling and poking at you like a bear they know can’t bite back. No one says a thing outside of their usual greetings when you make your way to the front desk, though. Johnny pinches your hip like normal, Simon greets you with his new pun of the day, Kyle gives you a distracted wave over the hum of his practice gun. John doesn’t bat an eye when he says hello and checks in about the plan for the day.

You open the bottom drawer that you usually tuck your purse into, pausing before you set it inside. At the bottom, neatly tied together with a piece of twine, sits a king size chocolate bar and a pack of Midol.

If John notices the way you become extra smiley after that discovery, he doesn’t comment.

A/N: This was very self-indulgent but I’m having a bad time over here and need to be saved.

[supernatural-bias]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[lyneira]

♡ may I have your attention, please? ♡

-> how the genshin men would try to impress you

They would try to impress you through..

Strength

Itto, Childe, Wriothesley

Would try to impress you with physical displays of strength and show his battle prowess. He'd do this because 1) he's a show-off (more so Itto and Childe), and 2) he would want to show how capable he is of defending you, and let you know that you won't have to worry about anything while he's around.

Maybe if you're also into fighting, he'll challenge you to a duel. It'd be his sneaky way of getting close and up front with you, hehe. You might even end up impressing him with your own skills 😌

(I see Itto and Childe being the type to try to flex at any given opportunity for you, intending that you'll drool over his muscles LMAO)

Being smooth with his words

Kaeya, Heizou, Lyney

Will try to fluster you and will do so using smooth lines. He'll take special note of what gets a smile out of you, a little laugh from you, and especially a blush from you. Thus, he'll attempt to initiate a conversation and form his words in ways that will have you doing all three the entire time. He hopes he can make you feel some type of way and let you know that YOU make HIM feel some type of way too ;)

Knowledge

Alhaitham, Zhongli, Neuvillette, Dainsleif, Ayato

Similar to the previous category, they'll try to capture your heart in conversation, but they wouldn't even intend to be impressive. They simply have pure interest in you and would love to stimulate both of your minds with a good conversation.

More importantly, he'd be able to gain more knowledge about you and, therefore, feel closer to you. He'd keep track of nearly every single thing you've said, so don't be surprised when he brings up that incredibly tiny detail you briefly mentioned in conversations before. It'll be proof of his attentiveness and deep focus on you because he's so down bad for you

After all, while he may be an expert on many subjects, the subject that he strives to become the greatest expert on is you.

Little gifts

Xiao, Scaramouche, Diluc, Gorou, Albedo

They'd prefer to show that you've caught their interest through little, thoughtful gifts. I see these guys as being a bit on the reserved and quiet side. So instead of using their words to display their affection for you, they'd much rather give you gifts, in hopes that you'll understand how much you mean to them.

Specifcally, for example, I see Albedo giving you pictures he drew of beautiful landscapes that you've both seen on walks together or maybe draw cute little creatures for you to play with

I see Xiao or Gorou giving you flowers that you've mentioned you loved. He just so happened to find them as he was out, scouting the area (he actually looked everywhere for them).

Scaramouche and Diluc would probably give you practical things that he also 'happened to find around'. "I heard you needed this", he'd mutter as he handed you a rare artifact or material that you had been looking for that could have only been found in the most dangerous areas.

And every one of them would absolutely melt inside each time they see your face light up with pure joy when you receive their gift. That expression would be the gift you gave them in return, which is why they ensured to keep giving you these tiny gifts

Jokes

CYNO

A special category for him because I JUST KNOW that he'd try to capture your heart through jokes. You know what they say: "Laughter is the best medicine" (and you're the medicine to his heart). Therefore, he'd spend all day just to come up with the best jokes he can. Although they might not always land, he'd be the happiest guy if he could still receive a small laugh or a smile from you for his efforts or for just how plain silly his joke was. (Please laugh at at least one of them, he's trying his best)

Song

Venti, Kazuha

Another special category for these two!

Venti would probably sing ballads for you to get your attention. He might even compose a ballad about you, and within it, he'd describe your traits with affection, and will subtly confess his own feelings within the lyrics.

Kazuha would play his little leaf flute for you. He'd play the most beautiful melodies he knew. He would try to play anything you liked and would basically be your own personal jukebox. If he didn't know a certain tune you wanted to hear, he'd be glad to learn it from you. Maybe you would hum the tune a bit, and he would try to match the pitches. I personally think he'd love doing making music with you, and the same would go for poems, too. He would adore creating haikus and poems with you, as well as creating them FOR you

Sharing passions

Thoma, Baizhu, Tighnari, Kaveh

If there was anything in common you two loved, he would invest in it for sure, knowing that it captivated both of you. It would be a fun and delightful way of getting to know one another better.

On the other hand, if you two didn't share a common interest, then there was no problem either. He would be delighted to learn more about yours. After all, he'd want to know what makes you happy, and hopefully become another source of happiness for you. And he would be over the moon for you if you asked him the same, asking him to teach you about what he loves. (Which means you have to teach him more about YOU)

He'd want to create a strong bond with you through this and hopes that it'll become something even more eventually.

a/n: apologies for the silly commentary throughout this. I was in a goofy mood while writing, teehee

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[22ayla21]

👀 What do you think the reaction of the father(amphoreus male) will be, when their kids ask them how they made a kid (meanwhile we just run away leaving the husband to answer the kid's question).

Can you make this as my request too? ✌😋

A difficult question

The reaction of Amphoreus men when their children ask the very question they are not ready for. And the wife runs away.

From the Author: I imagine how they will take revenge on their wife for this at night in bed🤣

The day was surprisingly quiet. There were rarely moments of complete silence in their house, but now, for a few minutes, everything froze. Mydei was sitting in a chair, sorting through some documents, when his son and daughter, as always, quietly crept up to him.

- Dad? - the eldest spoke up. Mydei did not even look up.

- Mm?

- How do babies appear?

The pen in his fingers stopped. The air in the room became somehow... dense.

Mydei slowly raised his head, only to see the door to the next room quietly close. A very familiar figure literally evaporated from sight. He narrowed his eyes.

- Your mother... left me alone?

His son and daughter nodded in unison. He sighed heavily.

Here it is. The test for which, despite all the years of preparation for politics and battles, no one had prepared him. Midey put the documents aside, clasping his fingers in a lock.

— Children… — he began, choosing his words, — when… two people…

The youngest daughter, sitting on the floor, rocked forward impatiently, her eyes wide.

— Let's not use complicated words!

He closed his eyes. Gods, why did they throw him into this battle alone?

— When two… love each other… very much…

— Well, yes, — the son nodded. — And then what?

Mydei looked towards the closed door. He knew his wife was standing behind it, probably holding her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

- Then, - he drawled slowly, - magic appears...

- Wow! - his daughter exclaimed in admiration.

- What magic? - his son narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Mydei felt sweat run down his back.

- Complex magic. Very complex. Only adults can use it.

- Do you own it?

- Of course.

- Will you show me? - he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

- Later. When you're older.

- Hmmm... - his son was clearly not happy with the answer, but fortunately his sister was already distracted by something else. Mydei felt relieved, but then the door opened slightly, and he heard a muffled chuckle. He turned sharply, his gaze promising revenge.

But his beloved had already run away. The battle was lost.

— Dad, how do babies come about?

Anaxa looked up from his book and saw his daughters, the eldest and the youngest, staring at him curiously. At the same moment, he caught a movement to the side: his wife, who was standing next to him, took a step back. Then another. Then, like a shadow, she quickly turned and... disappeared behind the door. He saw the edge of her clothes flash around the corner, and then he heard quick but quiet footsteps down the hall.

"...Are you serious?"

Taking a deep breath, Anaxa put the book down and focused on his daughters, who were impatiently awaiting an answer.

— How... Do babies come about? — he repeated slowly, as if checking to make sure he had heard correctly.

— Well, yes! Mom said you would explain everything! — the youngest declared happily. A tense silence filled the air.

Of course. It was a trap. He knew his wife was somewhere around the corner, perhaps even hiding behind a bookcase, barely holding back her laughter.

Anaxa closed his eyes briefly, considering how to handle this situation with dignity. If he started a long lecture on biological processes, they would definitely lose interest. If he said something evasive, they would still ask more questions.

Finally, he opened his eyes and said calmly:

- It's a complex process that requires precise calculation, compatibility and... certain conditions.

- What conditions? - the elder one immediately asked. Anaxa thought about it.

- Well... For example, trust and consent of the parties are necessary, - he began carefully. - And also a special closeness that helps create new life.

- Closeness? How so?

He cursed mentally.

- Well...

And at that moment a quiet laugh was heard from the corridor. Anaxa slowly turned his head towards the door.

- ...You won't get far, - he said quietly, but expressively enough. His wife immediately jumped up and, laughing, disappeared into the depths of the house.

The daughters, not noticing anything, continued to look at him in anticipation. Anaxa sighed.

- Good. Then let's start with the basics of biology...

The house was filled with the familiar, cozy noise of the children playing in the back room and their father, a male amphoraeus, sitting in the living room, leafing through notes from the last council. Everything was going as usual until suddenly one of the children ran out of the room and stopped right in front of him.

- Dad, how did we appear?

Phainon froze, gritting his teeth. He looked up and saw how his wife, standing by the door, changed her expression from surprised to extremely guilty in just a second... and then simply turned around and hurried away.

Before he could even call her, the door slammed behind her. Betrayal.

Phainon took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

- Well... it's... - he cleared his throat. The child looked at him with genuine curiosity. He was still a baby, but already smart enough to understand that adults usually did not want to answer such questions.

Phainon looked out the window, where his wife had disappeared out of sight. He knew full well that she had simply left him to deal with this alone. He turned back to the child, forcing a smile.

- You know... it's a long story, - the boys sat cross-legged on the floor.

- We have time, - Phainon ran a hand over his face in frustration.

- Okay. Then let's start with the basics...

He tried to explain as evasively as possible, but with each new phrase the child only frowned more.

- So, you want to say that you transferred some kind of... energy to mother?

- In a sense...

- And then she "shaped" me?

- You could say that.

The child looked at him suspiciously.

- But then why did Anaxa's teacher say that children are born when parents...

- Enough, no! - Phainon raised his hand, interrupting the reasoning before it went too far. The child puffed out his cheeks in offense.

- Well, can you at least say whether it hurts or not?

Phainon thought about it.

- For me? No. But for your mother...

He suddenly realized where this conversation was leading.

- So, mom suffered because of us?!

Phainon felt a cold sweat run down his back. If his boys went to his wife with this question now, he was in for a serious talk. The boys nodded to each other and jumped to their feet.

- We'll ask Mom, she'll explain better!

- No-no-no, wait!

Phainon rushed after her, realizing that he might have just made the situation worse.

[waepenwifestre]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Navigating a Fade manifestation of Lucanis' PTSD as the underwater prison he was held and tortured in, to help him start dismantling his fears, begin healing and also accepting Spite, to help them both stop fighting for control, is certainly not on the list of things I expected from this game, but I'm so in love with it.

Even before that, you just know that Lucanis is not alright. He can't possibly be. He doesn't talk about it much, but who would be after the experiences he's had? And there are signs all over the place. I mean, he keeps hiding in the closed space of the pantry like a feral cat under a couch, and likely not just because of Spite, for example. But he keeps it all in, just like he keeps Spite in. Or out, even, in this case. But you also know that he can't go on like that forever.

And now, Lucanis has finally hit the wall. Thankfully, Spite knows what to do. So, he briefly takes the steering wheel. "Help us." ("He'll listen! He always listens to you!" I feel totally normal about knowing this, thanks, Spite.)

Just... the doors of Lucanis' mental prison opening for Rook by themselves as they gently talk down each manifestation of Lucanis' fears and doubts as a metaphor for Lucanis letting Rook in and letting himself be vulnerable with them is just 👌 Delightful. We don't break a single lock. He opens himself up to us.

And it doesn't magically solve all his problems and restore his mental health, of course, but it's a promising start. I like how the game acknowledges this. Rook is there for him, easing some of the worst thoughts, lending him perspective that he lacks because his mental downwards spiral is so thoroughly suffocating at that point. They're helping him start somewhere. Of course, helping Lucanis reach an understanding with Spite, thus helping him end the constant and surely stressful and exhausting battle over his own body there and then, showing him that Rook accepts and cares about him the way he is, so he can start accepting himself that way, goes a long way. It doesn't fix everything, but it's an important breakthrough.

The way Lucanis looks at Rook afterwards, when Teia asks them if they're alright? Also great. 👌

Though I think Rook should be able to hold Lucanis for at least like 300 hours afterwards, because that's approximately the amount of time I need to cry about it - the whole thing, Lucanis' dynamic with Rook, and Spite's trust for Rook and his willingness to play nice despite having been ignored and pushed away for so long.

Actually, poor Spite doesn't get enough credit for all that. He really goes, "Fuck, if he's not going let me in or go to Rook for help, I'm going to pull them into the deepest crevices of his psyche, so they can see the mess for themselves," and improves the situation for himself, Lucanis, and his budding relationship. Good job, Spite!

[shewriter]

Tropes, Clichés, Themes, Archetypes

A writer’s guide to tropes, clichés, themes, archetypes, and stereotypes.

Trope, Theme, Cliché, Motif, Archetype A post that provides detailed definitions of each of these terms.

Stereotypes, Archetypes, Tropes, Clichés A lengthy guide that provides detailed explanations of these terms, along with examples. Also offers advice and suggestions for how to use them in your writing, and suggests things to consider when using them. Many of the additional resources are broken links. Only about half of the referenced links work.

Tropes vs. Clichés Explains the difference between tropes and clichés. Explains why using a trope that has been used before doesn’t matter, but rather how you use it.

All Stories Have Themes Briefly explains what a theme is, and how every story has themes in it.

Reusing an Idea Too Much A tumblr thread that explains why you don’t have to worry about using the same themes or ideas in your story that have been used before.

How You Tell the Story Matters Explains that different people can do different things with the same basic plot, concept, or trope by using their own voice and style choices.

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I’m a writer, poet, and editor. I share writing resources that I’ve collected over the years and found helpful for my own writing. If you like my blog, follow me for more resources! ♡