#likely to get killed off. but then they also more thrust upon them. is it better to be unknown and have less trouble or your parent

[batcavescolony]

Demigod: it really sucks that we never get to see or interact with our godly parent.

Other Demigod: yeah, I'd be nice to meet them.

TOA era Apollo kids: *see their dad every once in awhile* ... Yeah

Dionysus kids: *Dad is at camp* ..yeah

Percy: *has been to his Dads home* ...mhm

Nico: *literally has a room in the underworld*

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

No warnings for once - Vortex doesn't get to mangle anyone. Poor boy...

Also the Combaticon playlist is here; https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pyBRAuoKYDEpAFaTm9j5j?si=bf63cc6e018d4ab9 It's very nostalgic to me so it was fun to make!

He got what he wanted. He thought. That’s what he was telling himself, at least – he got Vortex to stop fucking killing people.

The pilots uniform sat awkwardly on him. He didn’t have the muscle the other pilots did, the bulk to their frame that made it sit handsomely on them. He’d always been described as a twig of a boy growing up, and he didn’t fill out much as he grew into his skeleton. Stood in front of the mirror, he missed his medics uniform. It really didn’t suit him.

The back of his head hurt. The surgery had been quick – he had a suspicion Pharma didn’t use as much anaesthetic as he should have, he felt every movement of the scalpel, every connection of the nerves. He tried hard to ignore it and not inspect the swollen, angry flesh with his bare hands.

Spiteful bastard. He hadn’t spoken to him since he’d thrust his transfer documentation into his hands. His lips had been pressed tightly together, locking in the words he was desperate to say. First Aid thought it might have had something to do with the fact that Fortress Maximus was right behind him.

The other pilots treated him like a pariah. First Aid supposed that he was – the mech he piloted was reported to be haunted. The aftermath was graphic. He had been tasked with cleaning it, and now he was the next sacrificial lamb. There was no point in breaking bread with him – he’d be a dead man soon enough. Every time he stepped out whole was pure luck – he didn’t have the training, there was no skill involved. It was only a matter of time until the hourglass ran out and he’d be scrubbed from the cracks with a toothbrush like everyone else was.

Lunch was a lonely affair. Dinner was even lonelier. He ate breakfast in his room on his own – a benefit of being a pilot was having your own room, but he wished more than anything that he had a roommate. Someone who would be forced to talk to him, to take the edge off the loneliness.

The only social interaction he had was Vortex, and even that was limited. Nobody liked for anyone to get too close to him unnecessarily, First Aid included – but for fucks sake it was his mech, who were they to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to go near it?

The exception to the apathy was Perceptor. Every time he saw him, the man was studying him from afar like he were an animal at a safari. The confrontation would come soon enough – he had been the only one to notice that he was there that day he’d stolen the uniform. He must have known what he’d done, put the pieces together with ease. It wasn’t hard – he’d caught the medic red handed in the pilots quarters, and then not long after he’d mysteriously been in possession of a pilots suit and had been dragged by the cuff out of Vortex upon return to the Shatterdome. Honestly, it was childs play.

Dinner that evening played out as usual. First Aid sat down as far away as he could from everyone else, and not long after the other occupants of the table started to leave like he was diseased. He poked at his dinner – apparently, pilots received meals that were far more varied and clearly had a bigger budget than the ones served in the medics quarters did, but still pretty dire and bland – and wondered what he’d read that evening. His legs still hurt from training, and as his implants were still healing he wasn’t allowed to get back into his mech yet, so he’d had to ignore the sirens – his name was still popping up on the board of pilots being summoned, and he could see an aura of rage simmering around Vortex every time. He’d made a point to look apologetic at the cameras and vaguely gesture to the back of his head – connecting now would fry him to the point where they’d never connect again. There wouldn’t be enough time in the drop for him to show him everything he wanted to – Vortex would run out of fuel and he’d die of dehydration before they got to the point of being satisfied. He would have to be patient.

A tray clattered down opposite him. First Aid flinched, and looked up in surprise.

Perceptor.

He subtly glanced around them – nobody was paying them any attention. They were in their own bubble of privacy in the crowd, their words obscured by passing conversations.

“Felix Anwyl, correct?”

“Uhm. Yes? Can I help you? Do you require medical assistance?” He grimaced as his training kicked in – the wrong training. He wasn’t allowed to be a medic any more. Pharma had been extremely clear about that.

“I didn’t think you functioned as a medic.” Perceptor sat down opposite him, neatly folding his hands down on top of the table.

“Force of habit.”

“I see.” His eyes were intense, and First Aid felt like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk. Suddenly, he realised why he was the only ultra-long distance pilot.

“I was a big fan of you as a kid. Collected all the trading cards and stuff.”

Perceptor ignored him. “I was curious about what kind of person you were. Sneaking into the pilots quarters, stealing a suit just to get into a mech. At first I thought you were just some gullible young fool who fancied themselves a hero, that you’d bought into the idea of piloting being some glamorous lifestyle, but that’s not quite it, is it?”

“He was killing them.” First Aid quietly replied. He wanted to look away from the eyes that were looking straight through him, but he couldn’t. “He’d made it clear what he wanted, but nobody would listen – I couldn’t stand any more people dying. Just because they’re cadets, doesn’t make it okay to sacrifice them like that.”

“He?”

“Vortex.”

“You’re talking as if it’s actually alive.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumours?” First Aid quirked a brow. “That he’s haunted?”

“Ghosts don’t exist.”

“You’re not very fun.” First Aid poked at his mashed potato. “Fine. Call it the Tamagotchi effect then, or anthropomorphism. I’m not a trained pilot, it’s different for me.”

“Your colleagues aren’t either, but none of them refer to Vortex as a ‘he’.”

“They’re terrified of… them.”

“And you’re not?”

He was, but not for the same reasons. “Not really.” It was like asking him if he was afraid of his reflection.

Perceptor hummed. He turned to his own dinner – he neatly chopped up his sausage with the blunt knives they’d been provided with and chewed carefully. First Aid felt himself fall into a sense of security, thinking it was over, and took a spoonful of his mashed potato.

“How did you learn to pilot, then?” He suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“You said you’re not a trained pilot, and I know just by looking that you’re telling the truth. You’re a medic. Your clothes still smell of disinfectant and bleach. But the way your mech moves… That’s a fully trained veteran.”

“The AI kind of just… handles it all.” First Aid hoped his expression wasn’t too awful, he felt his face twitching. “I guess with how many pilots he’s had, he’s had plenty of time to memorise it all.”

“I suppose so.”

Perceptor didn’t ask about it again. He pulled out a paper to read, and First Aid had made the mistake of asking him a question about it in attempt to be polite. Thirty minutes later and he was still talking – the words had stopped making sense twenty-five ago.

One lunch time, he’d had enough of the solitary lifestyle he was being forced to lead and the lack of things to do with his hands since Pharma still hadn’t let him back into the medical bay and the brass had caught him running a clinic from his quarters. He grabbed his portion – it looked like it was some kind of soup today – the accompanying bread roll and fruit pot, filled his flask with coffee and marched down the catwalk, sitting himself directly in front of Vortex before popping the lid off and inspecting what the canteen had served that day. It was bright red. Obnoxiously so. He paused and checked the label again.

Yup. That sure was food, alright. Beetroot, beef, pork, assorted vegetables. The good stuff.

… He didn’t know beetroot could get that red.

Vortex’s cockpit popped open with a hiss. First Aid secured the lid back on and hopped on inside.

[WHAT DID YOU GET TODAY?] He asked. For a man without a mouth, he was always curious about what was for lunch.

“I have no idea what it is, but it is bright red.” First Aid replied, sitting down in the pilots seat and popping the lid back off again. He felt Vortex tremble as the cameras zoomed in on it.

[YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME NOW <3]

“You know what this is?” First Aid offered it to the camera. “It’s warm.”

[BORSCHT. YOU DON’T KNOW IT? PILOTS GET IT ALL THE TIME.]

“Medics don’t get fed so well.” First Aid made himself comfortable and took a curious sip. “Oh. That’s something.” He pulled a face.

[NOT TO YOUR TASTES?]

“I hate beetroot.” First Aid stuck his tongue out. He poked a lone piece of pork with his spoon. “It infects everything it touches with mud.”

[CHILD.]

“I would say you eat it then, but…”

The helmet loudly dropped, smacking him in the head. First Aid yelped, narrowing his eyes at the camera pointed at him. “Pot calling the kettle black much?”

[I CAN TASTE THROUGH YOU, YOU KNOW. PUT IT ON.]

The connection at the back of his head was mostly healed. It was safe, they could connect without any issues as of his check-up that morning - but he still hesitated. The marks on his arms felt hot.

[WHY THE HESITATION?]

[DON’T YOU WANT ME?]

“I don’t want to get into trouble again. Pilots aren’t meant to connect outside of combat.”

They’d been very clear to him on that. He’d been labelled a risk, a liability - he was abnormally attached to his mech. Swindle was starting to look at him funny - and if Swindle was noticing…

[PUSSY. I JUST WANT YOUR TONGUE. FINE, HOW ABOUT THIS.] The helmet disappeared up and another panel popped open. The service connection - engineers could connect using similar technology on tablets to diagnose issues with the mech faster. This was much more acceptable. [YOU WERE BITCHING ABOUT THAT PANEL IN MY FOOT. WANNA CHECK THEY DID THEIR JOB?]

“You’re so clever.” First Aid praised him. He hopped over with his soup, sitting against the wall as he let Vortex plug himself in. He had braced himself for pain and a jolt, the cleaving of his awareness in two, but it felt smooth as butter. A brush of fingers along the nape of his neck, the pressure of someone leaning on his shoulders and resting their chin on his head.

Vortex.

… That damn panel still wasn’t right.

“Borscht?” Vortex reminded him. He sounded more like a man than a machine now.

Obediently, he took another sip. He felt Vortex tremble as a memory pushed against his awareness, just out of reach - a vague sense of it ran through his fingers. A wooden table, dried sunflowers in a repurposed jug decorated in bright designs, hands that were clean and unmarked by years of self-inflicted hardship.

“Damn, that’s the good shit.”

First Aid had finished the whole bowl before he realised it, riding the wave of Vortex’s reaction. He hiccuped, firmly putting the lid back over the bowl.

“I still don’t get how you like that.”

“More for me. I suppose I have a more refined palette.”

“Didn’t you smoke? You probably couldn’t taste anything.”

“Heh. Excuses excuses~ You sound jealous.”

First Aid pouted. “Do not.”

“Do too. Come on, don’t be shy, I like it when you get a jealous streak.”

“When have I ever been jealous over you!” First Aid squeaked in embarrassment. Vortex rumbled, memories pushed against him - his face twisted in a shape he didn’t recognise when other people were cleaning him, other people were inside and scrubbing. He felt his cheeks warm.

“I was only jealous that they got to go near you.” He couldn’t look at him, he couldn’t look at the cameras that were all trained on him. “That was when I wasn’t allowed - remember? Because you kidnapped me.”

“Kidnap is a strong word. I prefer borrowed for a moment.”

“Thank you for not killing me that day.”

“You’re welcome? I guess?”

“Forgive me - you’re dubbed the blender for a reason.” He popped the lid of his coffee and took a big gulp – it had already started to go cold. It was vaguely lukewarm in a way that made him feel queasy, but he needed the caffeine.

“Black?”

“Americano, yeah.”

“I thought you’d have the sugary shit.”

“I saw what some of the other pilots were putting into their coffee and it scared me off of it, honestly.” He shuddered. “Did you know you can fit thirty three creamer pots into a pilots standard issue water bottle? I didn’t until I saw someone do it.”

“… That’s disgusting. Coffee flavoured cream at that point – just drink it from the carton. Doesn’t the shop here sell flavoured milk?”

“They had flavour syrup in there too.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Fucking hell.”

Swindle had this godawful idea of pilot interviews. The media were interested, and once the investors had caught wind of that their ears had perked up. Swindle saw coins falling from the sky, and had promptly agreed and cleared his diary. Making them seem more human brought in much more attention, and with attention came money and government contracts and more boots on the ground. It also brought in his favourite thing in the world; unpaid interns. The prestige would be enough of an incentive.

And so First Aid found himself with a docket shoved into his grease-stained hands as he worked on clearing out random debris from Vortex’s right knee – the mechanics were still afraid of him, and First Aid had an idea of what it was supposed to look like in there from when he’d been tasked with extracting a pilots thoracic vertebrae (T4 through to T6 only – he wasn’t sure how they’d even gotten there and he had never asked. The rest of her spine had gone missing), he was doing their job for them. Vortex was doing a stellar job of subtly shifting his plating out of the way to give First Aid better access – it was enough debris that it was pissing him off too.

“What’s this?” First Aid asked, putting it down on the table next to him before reaching back into the joint. He could see something in there, hard and transparent and vaguely blue. It was quintesson hard tissue – he’d have to call the hazard team in. What a pain. He gestured for his visitor to take a step back before reaching in and trying to get a good grip on it so he could tug it free.

No dice. He sighed, knowing he’d need to give Vortex some clear instructions on what he needed but not able to do it with an audience - he had left a walkie talkie up in the cockpit for him, but he knew damn well that it would cause a scene if he started nattering away into it.

So they got his attention instead. They were waiting with impatience thinly veiled with a smile and too-wide eyes. Someone from human resources, maybe? Media? Public relations? He didn’t know. They wouldn’t be hanging around long enough for it to really matter.

“It’s some papers for you to sign. For the interviews. So, you’re not on the interview list, but we did want to get some footage of you with your mech. Is that alright?”

First Aid looked up at Vortex as if expecting him to say something. He blinked at him before he realised he wouldn’t be saying a single whisper, and quickly looked back at them.

“I’m not getting interviewed?”

“Instructions from the big brass!”

“Right.” He wiped his hands down on a dirty rag and shoved it into his belt. “Sure. Fine, I guess. I’m just going to be digging around in his joints – he’s got some quintesson guts in there, so I’ll need hazard around. Is this going on TV? It will give a good show at least, right?”

Their eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

The cameras were obnoxious. The people behind them were worse.

Could you do that again? Can we get this person to do it? Turn your face this way, have your hair like that, take your jacket off, can you try it with your jacket on again but your feet like this?

Real fucking irritating. First Aid wanted them to just get lost. The hard tissue was still in there. Vortex was starting to get annoyed, and nobody wanted to find out how far he was willing to go for some peace and quiet. He’d called the hazard team well before the camera crew had arrived – and they still weren’t there. He could hear the creak in Vortex’s joints, the faint rumbling and vibrations of his systems gearing up, the tremors of plating desperate to move.

Solace came with Swindle, the cavalry marching in behind him. The hazard team. Finally. First Aid quickly scuttled up into the cockpit with a walkie-talkie in hand to play pretend at moving the mech so they could extract the hazardous tissue, covering his eyes to block out the obnoxiously bright flash of their cameras, and wondered if they’d keep his footage in. His parents would worry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a twink writhing.

If he still had a body, he’d be doing awful things to that man. His screams would be perfect, so loud and like music to his ears. And he knew that First Aid would have been thanking him, begging him for more through his tears the whole time. It was such a shame that the human body was so fragile. All he wanted was to be able to take him apart and put him back together after he was done so he could do it again. Over and over, until he was nothing more than a husk of a man.

And he would still be thanking him.

If god were real, he must have been smiling down at him for such a gift. If he were capable of love, he thinks that what it might be.

The tragedy was that he was being punished by finding First Aid too late. They should have been two ships passing at sea - Vortex knew that if anyone gained a single inkling of what First Aid was into when they should have, they’d have thrust him into the system to get lost and fade away into obscurity. A footnote on the family tree. That uncle that vanished as a child. Or maybe they’d pretend that he’d never have existed at all. But no, Felix had glided by unassumingly, his good nature and kind face a front, a shield against what was straining against the surface, shining through the cracks and splitting his skin.

Oh, what a joy it was to have him there with him. What fun it had been to watch him, to study him. The moment he’d seen First Aid chew his bottom lip, core temperature rising as he stared at the disembowelled remains of the first pilot he’d been tasked to excavate from him, he knew he had to have him.

He also knew this should have been working him up. He should have been whipped into a frenzy, unable to contain himself - but lacking any appropriate organ to produce any of the hormonal response that pushed him over the edge, Vortex was left feeling vaguely hollow and empty.

It really, really pissed him off.

Why had they kept him alive if they were just going to waste him like this? It was torture. It was the worst thing he could ever think of.

And it was, annoyingly, the perfect punishment. He’d begrudgingly give those researchers that – they’d achieved their goals on that front. Creative ways to stretch out death row, Vortex had called it at the time. If you asked him now, he’d say that they just gave him a bigger body to create a wonderful slaughter with, but the anger at the situation would be simmering beneath the surface. It was fun popping someone like a grape, but he couldn’t hear their breath whistling out from what remained of their thorax any more.

All he could do all day in between waiting for fights and splitting alien life forms in half with his bare hands was nose around at the cameras and browse the internet.

For such a high security base, their internet security was pathetic. A couple days of poking around at it and he’d been in, briefly toying with the idea of taking down the base and watching them scramble around like the ants they were, before instead heading over to YouTube and seeing if there was anything worth catching up on.

The news announcements about him and his teams deaths had been amusing. Very, very amusing.

But today, he settled on the cameras. He had fun games he’d made to entertain himself with, creating false stories and dramas – he’d spent a lot of time whilst he was still alive figuring out peoples brains, what made them tick, how to get them to tell you exactly what you wanted without them noticing they were even doing it, so he considered his fantasies to be gospel – and looking for people.

He’d always hunted down First Aid. The man had just the cutest face, and he wanted to see how many different expressions he could make. The bad ones, the good ones, the really good ones – god above, especially the really good ones – everything. It was a fun game to catalogue them all, to guess what had been said or done to him to make him look like that. Thinking of ways to replicate it. He wanted him to look at him like that. He wanted him to just look at him.

It had only been a few weeks and already First Aid was as obsessed with him as he was. Mutual obsession was always the best. Matching the energy was so much more fun than watching them tremble and cry knowing they’d just make the bad kind of fucking mess.

The man was excitedly asking Vortex if he’d seen that, preening at something he’d done on the field, eyes sparkling and wide. Looking at him, you’d have been forgiven for thinking he was talking about seeing something as marvellous as a pod of whales arching out of the water instead of the pristine harvest of an alien organ that he was actually talking about. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging hard enough to sprain.

God, he wanted to make him his.

He wouldn’t share. He couldn’t. He’d never been any good at it.

First Aid even came to eat lunch with him. Vortex had called him ‘some kind of loser’ the third time he’d done it, and First Aid had looked like such a kicked puppy he’d never done it again.

He’d thought about it, but he wouldn’t. He’d promised, and his little man had made it clear how highly he valued promises. It wouldn’t do to upset him, he’d grown rather attached.

And having something to do that involved someone else for once wasn’t actually half bad.

Being interred into a mech was a strangely lonely existence. His snippets of social interaction had come in the form of the human sacrifices they’d offered up to him, cocky and overzealous and never recognising that they were sat in his jaws and ready to be consumed. He would never ever admit it, but having First Aid there to actually speak to was… nice. It was a break from the monotony of pushing IT’s buttons and seeing how ruffled he could get the brass to be in just a single sentence.

He hated being forced to stay still. He’d had practice at it, sure - their line of work didn’t come without its fair share of hazards and they were no strangers to bed rest. Fuck, the longest he’d had to entertain himself was when he’d been on the bad end of a grenade - Brawl had tugged him out of the wreckage missing a healthy chunk of his face, blood pulsing down in a fiery heat he didn’t soon forget. His poor handsome looks had been destroyed in an instant - at least the nurses had been nice to him. If it was because they were scared of him or if it was because Swindle was paying them handsomely he didn’t know and he didn’t particularly care - it had the same result. Endless telenovelas in a language he didn’t understand, with a TV he wasn’t able to adjust. He woke up to the opening jingles, and he fell asleep to the ending songs.

He took having to find his own entertainment over that. At least he could set the language.

And today’s entertainment: watching Swindle.

It was weird watching him from cameras. Usually it was the other way around - Swindle would work his way up into their security rooms and then watch the rest of them from the cameras, guiding them around and warning them of any danger. Instead, he was a silent witness, watching his every move. He was on his phone, nattering away into it as he walked with his coffee. A fun game Vortex liked to play was voicing over him - the cameras didn’t come with any audio, so he was left to fill the blanks.

He paused when he saw his mouth clearly form the word ‘Felix’.

Huh. What did Swindle have to say about him? Good things, Vortex hoped. They were more alike than Swindle ever liked to admit - surely he had to see the beauty in First Aid too. But actually - he hoped he didn’t. First Aid was his. He found him, he had done all the hard work. Felix wasn’t someone he was going to share. He’d do what it took to keep him forever.

[see-arcane]

Hearing today's interaction with the General, Comtesse and 'Millarca' out loud really strikes home 1) how elaborate a setup the charade is, which also highlights 2) how little Carmilla ultimately gives a damn about her eventual snacking spree on the lower class women of the village once she gets around to Laura's home. Because look at all the effort that went into planting her with Bertha and the General. It didn't have to be them, of course. Bertha just caught Millie's eye. But the point is the place it happened: a giant extravagant Rich and Important People masquerade.

The General mentions that he's the closest one to a 'nobody' there, just as Laura's father exists in the shallow end of the well-to-do pool--while still living in a castle with servants. And isn't it something how Millie and her crew have sniffed out targets within that balancing area. Obviously well off (not peasants, lame) but also obviously not big enough in the hierarchy to draw attention if a tragedy were to befall them; at least not enough to go hunting after the crew. (Give or take a General with a vendetta.)

I keep circling it now. How Carmilla/Millarca/Mircalla can and does very easily very quickly target random victims to her taste in the village entirely on her own and drinks them to death in no time. No invitation. No theatre-quality ruses with la Comtesse and company and staged tragic happenings. Just her and her own power, settling for the unpolished girls she has access to in order to preserve her honeymoon period with Laura a little longer.

All this pageantry to attach herself to Bertha, to Laura, and, we can guess, other pedigreed victims in the past, is just that for her. Pageantry. Picking her next meal with her pinkie up. And I think that's important to acknowledge when examining the difference between that MO and her attachment to Laura, regardless of what future chapters will try to insinuate otherwise.

Because if Laura had been any other upper(ish) class girl, she would have been as dead as Bertha ages ago. Drunk and loved to death and promptly ditched. But Carmilla is committed to her and to collecting her into vampirism to drag along with or without consent; a decision the novella never shows her making with any other victim. It's just been corpses all the way down. Either with hasty throwaway meals in the village or dragged out loving suppers made of girls like Bertha. However complicit Carmilla is or isn't in her own monstrosity, she is making choices within it, those choices are classist and self-serving to an undead aristocrat's palette, and they have all ended with her victim, treated with care or not, dead.

And Laura breaks that habit. She isn't just another case of Carmilla playing with her food. She is a spur of true love cracking through who knows how many lifetimes' worth of playacted romance with victims past.

For those who think I am taking le Fanu's wedged in explanation, no, I am not agreeing with the bullshit stance of 'all vampires are faking their love for their victims all the time always! especially the gay ones!!' that the story ultimately tries to pin in place. I'm saying that Carmilla has shown she proves that assumption wrong in both directions.

She doesn't seduce the peasant girls. She just breaks in, chugs them, kills them, and moves on.

She does star in intricate traveling theatre setups to get planted in more than one plush abode with a pretty daughter in it. And with them she does bother with friendship, charm, romance, et cetera, because she sees them as worth bothering with.

And Laura? Laura she latches onto with all the possessive bottomless love that the story implies was thrust upon her once upon a time; the same kind of Love that brought her into undeath. A love she hasn't felt herself once since then, not enough to collect any companion into vampirism. Except for Laura.

Apart from being grateful at having the podcast turn up old stones in this story that I'd either forgotten or completely overlooked. It's a refresher in how genuinely complicated Carmilla is as a character and as a villain. I've run into reads of her that are all purely sympathetic to the point of sanding down all her actions into being someone else's will, it's not her fault she's like this, there's nothing to take away from the story that paints her in a bad light that isn't just the man characters being wrong about vampires and lesbians and lesbian vampires!

And I didn't understand why that irked me so much until I realized that this borders on the same edge of Dracula's defanged makeover into a patchwork woeful dreamboy caricature made of traits that belong to anyone other than himself. Because we like Carmilla. We love Carmilla. She is The Classic Lesbian Vampire and Can Do No Wrong!

Except she does. She very much does, regardless of what biases are there to read in the male characters' framing of vampirism/homosexuality/impurity/Other etc.

The classism is there. The needless serial killing (VS taking a few sips and running) is there. The longing so great it demands she must steal Laura away is there. Just as the love is there, bringing with it the bitter agony and self-made misery of fear that Laura, her Laura, will learn the truth soon, that Carmilla's willpower is second to Carmilla's wants, and she will conscript the girl she loves because that is how a monster loves; it was how she was 'loved' and made what she is.

And God! Think of what would come after Laura being turned! Not just the revelation of what Millie has forced on her, but everything Carmilla has done for ages. All that death she's breezed through for so long is now suddenly a sword hanging over her head, held up by the thread of Laura's affection and her ignorance to what said beloved has been up to on her nights out.

Carmilla isn't a tragic monster because she's inherently innocent and the narrative has simply maligned and mistreated her. Carmilla is tragic because she's been a casual, canny and far from helpless monster for well over a century and is only now being tripped up by the bittersweet fact of her love and all the dread and shame that comes with being a bastard (gender neutral) and knowing that any moment your paramour will learn the truth of what you are.

tl; dr: Today's chapter hit me with an epiphany stick. Just as Dracula didn't deserve to be defanged by over a century of sanitizing and sexifying, Carmilla doesn't deserve to have all her sharp edges blunted into a helpless anti-villain/antihero because Girl. She's in on this gothic horror villain shit. Said villain shit needs acknowledging to make the reality of her romance with Laura stand out as truly tragically shattering to her undead lifestyle.

[artdcnaldson]

aannnyyywwaayyyyy! patrick training your ass but totally not because he has this mental image of him fucking you from behind while art gets your pussy! blame the porno he stumbled upon!

and if we're on the topic! he may have also seen where a girl held two dicks together and tried her best to suck them at the same time. not that he WANTS to be that close to art's dick, totally not the case, but he's just saying he'd be down if YOU'RE down that's all.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (assplay, anal sex, sex toys, general debauchery)

A/N: Your mind consistently amazes me 🩷🫡 I did NOT edit this I just blacked out while I wrote this then hit send <3

It started when you mentioned Art for the first time.

“I used to have the biggest crush on him,” you said with a grin. You’d been scrolling through Patrick’s Facebook— giving him shit for all the lame things he’d posted in the oughts (and, yeah, after). “Can’t believe that’s your friend.”

You stopped on a picture of the two of them from ‘06, posing with their doubles trophies.

“Well, if you want him that, I can set the two of you up. I’m sure he’d love to meet a groupie. Maybe you could show him just how big of a fan you really are,” he teased, nipping at the exposed skin of your throat.

You laughed and shook your head. “No! Not unless you were joining too.”

It flipped a fucking switch in him, to say the least.

Suddenly, his old-faithful porn vids, saved to his camera roll like a goddamn caveman, did nothing. He found himself scouring through any porn site he could find for threesomes, of which there were fucking plenty. And lots of ways he could imagine sharing you with Art.

You were on all fours while his cock pistoned in and out of you— back arched tantalizingly, ass rippling with each thrust. He tried to be casual about it. “Has anyone ever fucked your ass before?” Subtlety had never been a strong suit.

You’d gone all shy, hiding your face in your arms as you answered no, not yet. Yet being the operating word. He grinned, satisfied by your answer.

His thumb brushed over your rim, making your toes curl at the barest touch. You were so fucking sensitive and so fucking sweet that it would probably kill him, one day.

“You gonna let me do it someday?” He asked, lips twisted into a smirk. Your response was muffled where you hid your face. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging you up slightly. “Couldn’t hear you, baby. Speak up for me.”

A whine escaped you as you nodded. “Yeah, want you to.” When he dropped his grip on your hair, your face fell back into the sheets.

He moved his thumb and spit onto your hole. You cried out as his cock bullied deep inside of your cunt— he could feel your walls clenching around him, could feel how close you were.

“Don’t be lazy, honey. Rub your clit for me, okay? I’m busy.”

You did as he said— pretty manicured nails between your thighs and rubbed at your clit as he fucked into you. His thumb circled your rim, slick with his spit as he pushed his fingertip within you and let his thumb sink into your your tight hole.

The moan that burst out of you as you came was the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever heard. The feeling of your ass tightening around his finger as you came, feet kicking helplessly as he fucked you through it… he didn’t think he’d ever come harder than that moment.

And Patrick was a fucking degenerate— a dog with a bone— so the next time he got a chance he fucking took it.

He ate your pussy messily— making out with your cunt the same hungry way he kissed. A mess of tongue and spit that left you dizzy and begging more often than not.

Your thighs tightened, squeezing around his head the first time he let himself wander, tongue just barely teasing your ass.

“Fuck! Patrick—“ you cried out, burning hot with embarrassment and arousal from head to toe.

“Just lemme…” he trailed off, using his big hands to spread your legs for him. “Just take it, honey.”

His tongue pressed against your hole, lapping at you messily as your needy cunt spasmed around nothing, craving attention. His nose glistened with your arousal as he buried his face in you, relishing in the squeaks of pleasure you were emitting.

He sat up and grabbed blindly for the lube he kept in his bedside table— half empty and sticky. He coated his fingers in it, warming it up before his middle finger probed at your asshole.

“Relax for me, baby,” he cooed, his voice so sickeningly sweet you wanted to kick him. “Let me in.”

He watched you shakily exhale, letting your body adapt as his finger sunk into the tight heat of you. You moaned, low and breathy as he began working his finger in and out slowly.

“Fuck, there you go,” his words came out on a waver, his voice cracking slightly as he felt you tighten around his finger. “Feels good? You need more?”

You nodded quickly, meeting his gaze with a needy sort of hunger. “Mhmm, feels good,” you practically slurred. “Need more.”

The cutest fucking echo he’d ever heard.

He smiled and let his pointer finger press against your rim, stretching you as he slowly pushed in. You moaned softly, thighs falling open as you relaxed into it. He felt your body accepting the intrusion, sucking him in.

“How’s it feel?” He asked. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee.

“Full,” was all you could manage. You rocked your hips slightly, grinding against his fingers.

He grinned. “This is just two fingers, baby. How are you gonna take all of me, huh?” He grinned down at you, scissoring his fingers slightly just to watch the way your cunt clenched in response.

His thumb moved on your clit, and it took barely any attention to the nub for you to come for him, leaking slick arousal that he eagerly lapped from your neglected pussy as you squirmed beneath him.

Poor thing, you really needed both of your holes filled.

And you were so eager to let him try. A pretty little plaything whose eyes lit up at his filthiest whims.

“This is embarrassing,” you mumbled the next time it came up. You were on your hands and knees, pouting back at him as he lubed up one of your toys— a clear pink dildo that you’d used plenty before he rendered it obsolete.

He squeezed more lube onto his fingers and gingerly fucked your ass with them to get you all warmed up. It wasn’t lost on him how easy it had gotten since that first time, the way your body wanted him in any hole he could take.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, honey,” he said, watching as your cunt dripped a thin string of arousal onto the sheets as he gave a particularly deep thrust of his fingers. Jesus, you were fucking perfect. “Can’t jump straight to the real thing, you’re too delicate, baby.”

You whined, pouting even as you backed yourself against his fingers, toes curling as he added a third finger.

“Fuck, Patrick,” you gasped, fingers clawing into the sheets. He waited until you were gagging for it— pussy smeared with your own arousal, grinding back against his fingers with desperate need. He withdrew his fingers and smiled at the pathetic whimper you left out.

“‘S okay,” he cooed. He slicked up the dildo with lube once more before he pressed the tip of it against your ass. It was a stretch— beyond the three fingers Patrick had prepped you with— but you took it eagerly.

He thrust it inside slowly— inch by inch by inch until it was sheathed inside of you fully. You let out the prettiest moan, panting where your face was pressed against the sheets.

Patrick thought you’d never looked sexier— lips glossy with spit, practically drooling onto the bed. Arched up so perfectly to take whatever he could give you. He was so fucking hard he could barely think.

“How’s that?” He asked, voice breathy.

All you could manage was an eager nod— an encouragement, a plea for more. He began thrusting the toy inside of you, relishing in your pretty, fucked-out moans. Your eyes rolled back and your cunt ached with need for stimulation.

You were panting and whining with need, slick and wet down your thighs. “Need you,” you gasped, eyes shining with crocodile tears. “Wanna feel full.”

And, Jesus, he really couldn’t deny you. He thrust the toy fully inside of you, holding it there as he lined himself up with your dripping cunt.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he didn’t cum the second he bottomed out within you. You were so fucking tight that he could hardly move, wasn’t sure if he could even risk it without cumming in a pathetically short amount of time.

He brushed your hair from your eyes, found them glossy, lust-hazed. “Feels so good. So fucking tight around me. You’re so good.”

You rocked your hips back slightly, moaning at the smallest amount of friction.

“Fuck, gonna move for you, okay?” He thrust slowly, testing the waters. The moans both of you let out were pornographic. You were so wet that the sound of Patrick fucking into you made heat flood your cheeks. As you grew closer and closer, your legs gave out on you and Patrick had to hold you in place as he fucked you.

Each thrust made stars dance in your vision. You could hardly manage anything except moans of his name and cries for more. All you could do was just lie there and take it.

But he liked you like that— so needy and cockdrunk that you let yourself get used.

“Cumming—“ you cried out suddenly. Your cunt spasmed around him, squeezing like a vise. He only managed a few final thrusts before he was spilling deep inside of you.

You whimpered at the loss of him within you, then again as he eased the toy from your ass. Your body was sticky with cum, lube and sweat. Patrick laid on top of you, peppering kisses onto your back and shoulders.

“I want a bath,” you murmured lazily against the bedsheets.

“I want a million dollars,” he hummed, kissing the spot between your shoulder blades.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off.”

ME? Writing ANAL??? Less likely than you think!!! But anything for my pookie wookie 🫶🩷

[obscene-fangirl]

Sammie is monogamous but he’s more likely to cheat. He’s still young and hasn’t had the chance to fully explore his sexuality, but he holds onto some of church’s traditional teachings. Plus, the relationship with Remmick was literally thrust upon him… he was not originally checking for old, stalker vampire peen.

Remmick is naturally inclined towards polyamory, but there’s no one else for him except Sammie. Given his age, he’s more experienced with intimacy and relationships … but he’s also a vampire so most of them have been pretty fucked up.

If Sammie cheats, Remmick is turning the other person out of spite and/or killing them within the week.

But also imagine Remmick fucking Sammie using another vampire through the hive mind. Sammie only has sex with this person (regardless of gender, that g-spot is getting tickled) once or twice, but he notices a few things being off…

1. Their body temperature is unusually cold for a July evening in the delta

2. Sammie had taken the lead in their previous trysts, but this time they’re more dominant. They’re kissing him in all the right places that make his legs go weak, something he’d only expect from Remmick atp

3. They say something Remmick always says (pet name, something bout family, or how beautiful he looks even with the scars) or they whisper something in Gaelic when they climax.

If Remmick cheats (not likely, but I could see him fucking someone to get a reaction out of Sammie, but I think he’d be mostly content knowing he won the prize), Sammie is LEAVING!!! Maybe not immediately, but Remmick would still be wiping the crust out his eyes and the drool off his mouth before he even realized Sammie was halfway across the country and already signing a new lease.

[messitydepressity]

Banger TLOU fics that I’ve read recently.

No real rhyme or reason to this list, just a handful of fics that have grabbed my attention lately and I’m not always best at articulating my adoration for them.

Most are newer and some are throw backs, but they all deserve a little love. 🖤🖤

Hope you find one you like .

—

Hold Back The River - by sporadicallyceaseless (unsure of tumblr handle)

"Maria's gonna be a little late tonight, she’s busy yelling at some kids that got caught jumping off the dam.”

Stunned, Joel eyes the puddle slowly forming under her feet with quiet horror. “But you were smarter than that, right?”

“Or faster?” Tommy cuts in hopefully.

“Both,” Ellie agrees. Then, with a wince, “But also…neither.”

A dangerous dare and a nasty sickness rock the Miller household on an already emotional week. Joel and Ellie learn that something always lurks deeper than the surface

Frayed Cords - by @bumblepony

What does she do? She doesn’t know what to do.

“What-what do I do? Hey, hey…” Ellie turns to the girl, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and begs, “What do I do now? Please, I don’t know what to do.”

She doesn’t know how to do this. She’s alone, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She hears voices and looks up as Tommy and Jesse come into view.

“Oh god.” Tommy breathes.

“Jesus… what…” Jesse stammers.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ellie pleads, holding up the still, blue baby, “Help, please, I don’t know what to do.”

IE: What if Ellie actually did what Mel asked her to do. Or Ellie and crew accidentally acquire a newborn.

The shirt off his back - by @barlowstreet

“Your clothes,” she says. “I don’t mind them.”

“Well, they’re all yours,” he says. “Whenever you want.”

In the moment, he’d carve out his actual heart and give it to her if it made her feel better. His clothes are nothing compared to that.

Or: 5 times someone stole Joel's shirt + 1 time they didn't

Or honey, hope (even on this side of the grave) again - by @captainredspade

While on a FEDRA mandated job, Ellie is paired with a grumpy old man who doesn't talk. Not a single word spoken aloud. No one seems to get exactly what his deal is, but Ellie, she spends one day with the dude and understands him just fine.

Next of Kin - by @ketchupchipsaregross

“Wow,” Ellie breathed, her face turned up to the triceratops skeleton, “It’s super big.”

“His name is Cliff,” Tess read off from the plaque, “He’s 65 million years old.”

“That’s not as old as sharks,” She said.

“Not quite,” She agreed, “But it’s still cool.”

Ellie nodded, still transfixed, “Super mega cool.”

-

(gender equality dictates that sometimes Tess has to be the semi-unwilling foster parent)

These Violent Delights - by @hypnotisedfireflies

It’s 2006. Tess, Joel and Tommy face threats in the open country and grapple with the moral chasm opening between them. Survival must be earned. Evolution cannot be walked back.

Or: Everything wants to kill them and the brothers want to kill each other.

Joel dove off the bridge.

He was enveloped with a sharp, sudden slap. The water was shockingly cold. Murky sunlight streamed through the surface and lit upon rusting cars and mossy debris. Joel pumped his legs and thrust up to fresh air like a cork. He sucked in a breath. Tried to orient himself. The river was moving faster than it looked and the bridge was already shrinking. He needed to find Tommy, but before he could do that he had to get control of his own body because right now, the current was in charge. If he didn’t figure it out, he was going to break an arm.

Or he might drown, too.

Copper - by @two-birds-alone-together

"What do you mean, ‘usual headache’? How often does that happen?" She’d never mentioned having headaches, but he supposed that years of having ‘minor’ illnesses and injuries overlooked in favor of toughening up child soldiers had trained minor complaints out of her.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I dunno, man. It’s like your knee. Always hurts but once you get used to it you don’t even feel it any more."

(Ellie and Joel have been in Jackson for a few months when Ellie develops migraines.)

—

If y’all have any recs of your own, throw ‘em at me.

[prettyyoungandbored]

First Date - Dr. James Wilson

Pairing: Dr. James Wilson x Fem!OC

Summary: Takes place during S.1, Ep.20. Before his date with Cameron, House gets advice from both Wilson and his wife.

Warnings: Certain lines are directly from the show so credit goes to the writer. There is also mentions of a panic attack.

A knock on House’s front door drew both House and Wilson’s attention. House made his way over.

“You made her come here?” Wilson asked.

House opened the door to find Odette Wilson standing there. She scrunched her nose, head cocking back.

“At least put in a little more effort and add a tie,” she commented.

House turned to Wilson. “Number Three is here.”

Odette pat his arm as she made her way inside. Wilson sat up on the couch.

“Honey, what’re you doing here?” he asked.

She gave him a peck on the cheek. “House going on a date with Cameron? I’m not missing this.”

She threw off her coat, putting it on the arm of the couch as she took a seat beside Wilson on the couch.

“You told her?” House asked Wilson.

“Cameron told me,” Odette corrected. “She sounded very excited about it.”

“So why aren’t you at her place bothering her?”

“Because I like bothering you. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get advice from a woman you actually tolerate.”

Wilson turned to House. “She has a point.”

Wilson then laid down, resting his head on his wife’s lap. Her hand carded through his perfect brunette hair, her nails gently scratching his head and easing any leftover tension or stress from work.

She handed him the newspaper lying on the table before picking up a random magazine.

“So, what wisdom can you thrust upon me, Number Three?” House asked as he opened his closet door, which revealed a mirror hung on the back of the door. “Remind me, did Wilson tell you about the wives that came before you on your first date?”

“Funny enough he saved it for the third date,” she recalled. “That said, exes are off the table when it comes to first date conversation.”

“Then what else do we talk about?” he asked as he reached for a red tie.

“Literally anything else,” she said. “It is not that hard.”

Wilson looked up at and noticed House’s tie.

“The wide side’s too short. You’re gonna look like Lou Costello,” he remarked.

Despite his attempts to tie it, he found himself failing.

“This is a mistake. I don’t know how to have casual conversation,” House said.

Odette got up, gently moving Wilson off her lap. She walked over to House and held out her hand.

“Give me the tie,” she said. “I can pre-tie it so all you have to do is just tighten.”

“Do I look like a child to you?” House snapped.

Her hazel eyes glared at him. “Give me the fucking tie, House.”

He rolled his eyes, handing the red fabric to her. As she started to work on the tie, she continued, “House, casual conversations are not that hard. You-.”

House cut her off. “You think you’re talking about one thing, and either you are and it’s incredibly boring, or you’re not because it’s subtext and you need a decoder ring.”

“You sound awfully nervous for a date you say you don’t want to go on,” Odette remarked.

“I’m not nervous. I have been on a date.”

“Not since disco died,” Wilson commented.

Odette snorted as she presented house with the tie. “Put it over your head and tighten it.”

He took it from her and made his way back to the mirror. He put the tie over his head.

Wilson continued. “Comment on her shoes, her earrings, and then move on to D.H.A.”

Odette, leaning on the wall, cracked a smile as House turned to Wilson for clarification.

“Her dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Trust me. Panty peeler.”

House eyed Odette for confirmation. She nodded her head, a slightly embarrassed smile played out on her lips.

“Oh, and if you need condoms, I’ve got some,” Wilson chimed in again. “Got them from a drug rep. They’ve got antibiotics built in, somehow.”

House moved into the kitchen. “I should cancel.”

Wilson and Odette eyed each other before quickly heading into the kitchen together.

“Don’t cancel on her,” Wilson said.

“I’ve got a patient in surgery tomorrow.”

“And if you were a surgeon, that would actually matter.”

Odette then chimed in. “I almost cancelled on Wilson and I’s first date.”

The two men looked at her, stunned by how casually she admitted it.

“You did?” Wilson asked, his face softened.

“Yeah, I had a panic attack about the date and I nearly cancelled,” she said. “I was so terrified and stressed that I would mess it up. I was so attracted to you and I had a history of messing things up on dates. I figured I’d mess up with you and the thought of that killed me. I was at work and I could feel it building up during a session with a client. Once they left I started hyperventilating. The front desk receptionist almost called 911 but the other therapist in the building came in and talked me down. She asked me if I really wanted to cancel and I said ‘no.’ So, I didn’t.”

House rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Wilson asked.

“I figured it didn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, it all worked out.”

He threw his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. “It certainly did.”

The sound of the fridge opened drew the couple’s attention back to House who grabbed something out of it. Wilson went to say something when House revealed a corsage in a plastic case.

“This is lame, isn’t it?” House asked, cringing a bit.

Wilson and Odette smiled.

“I think she likes lame,” Wilson esponded.

==========================

As Wilson and Odette watched House speed off on his motorbike, Odette put a hand on Wilson’s back.

“Should we go to the restaurant and spy on House and Cameron?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

He squinted, pretending to think for a moment. “I actually have a better idea. Let’s go home and recreate the end of our second date.”

She hummed in delight. “That was fun. Definitely in my top three.”

“Top three of what?”

“Our sex adventures.”

His eyes widened. “You rank them?!”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t do the same thing.”

“Dare I ask what number one is?”

“Our wedding night.”

He grinned at the memory. “That was a great night.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. “If I had told you about my ex wives on our first date, would you have gone on a second date with me?”

She nodded. “I would’ve considered it a bold move. But you also were so open and honest and I appreciated it. Made me feel like you actually wanted to be with me.”

“I’ve wanted to be with you since our first date. Why do you think I was so quick to make that second date?”

She licked her lip and glanced at House’s apartment. “Wanna recreate our second date in House’s bed?”

[cynthiav06]

So let's finally talk about it. There's very few things that can actually make me mad on PJO fandom. Calling Percy dumb is the first one. It makes me seethe in rage. And among the other ones is calling Jason Grace boring.

What do you think is worse than trauma? You guessed it. Childhood trauma. Jason Grace is one of the most tragic PJO characters ever. You could almost say the quest with the Seven was one of the better things that happened to him.

Let's recap his life real quick.

Absolutely terrible mother who dumped him near Lupas territory when he was literally 2 years old. And the fact that he would be better off with Lupa than with Beryl Grace is just a testament to how shit of a mother and person she was.

Then he had to win Lupa's approval while she trained him when he was a literal toddler. If you think that's the end of it, it's not even close. Then he was sent to the camp. It was pleasant, as pleasant as a child-soldier factory can be. Which is not at all.

Being the son of Jupiter, he had insane expectations and prejudices forced upon him, along with a certain caged way of living. Fight a certain way, behave a certain way, think a certain way, and repeat. A monotonous, cyclic existence with no escape and no way for self thinking. After all, the Romans are about as creative as a marble is sharp. Imagine it, a child being raised in the legion, by the legion, molded to be the perfect soldier and Praetor who should have only the Legions benefit in mind with no opinions of his own.

Anyone, anyone would go insane and lose their mind because this is torture, complete, and utter torture. But do you know what's worse, that Jason didn't know how the world was supposed to be. Whatever he was used to living, he believed to be the normal thing. He had no idea the things that happened to him were wrong for a long time. In fact, he strived to be even more perfect, all for what? The approval of a god that was his father? A god he had never seen or heard from? That in itself is the tragedy of most Roman demigods or just demigods in general. But at least the Greek ones get to see them every once in a while.

I think Reyna was the first to see his as his own person and to give his individual opinions actual importance. Because she knew what it felt like to live a life of servitude and imprisonment. Under Circe and the pirates. I like to think that's how they bonded. By making each other's lives a bit happier than their former bleak prospects. And I bet they were super close. You can't convince me otherwise. Which is why I will never forgive Rick for ruining their relationship over Piper of all people.

4.

Then, of course, he was demigod too on top of that, so his life was obviously and decidedly terrible. Being sent on fatal missions? Having the responsibility of not only his own life but his comrades life thrust upon him? CAN YOU IMAGINE LIVING LIKE THAT?? THE ABJECT HORROR OF A LIFE LIKE THAT?

5.

If that's not enough his even more repulsive and terrible godly father fucking offers him to Hera to appease her rage like he is some sort of bloody object. An object to be sold. A fuckinhg APOLOGY GIFT. And then what does Hera do to him? She wipes his memories, sends him to a foreign land which was previously considered enemy territory by the Camp he grew up in, forces fake memories upon him of fake friends, and sent him on another death quest. But at least Leo was one of the nicer things about that whole situation. I won't be touching the wreck that is Jiper with a ten foot pole.

And on, of course, he also gets nearly killed by the same goddess he was offered to as an apology gift. If that was enough, he would find out about the existence of his sister who had grown up and gone her own way, thinking he was dead and now was basically a stranger to him? Yeah wow.

And then everything else from the series happens like dear God, him and Percy are practically drowning in trauma. With Hazel, Nico and then Leo after them.

But at least Percy had Sally (even though the reason he put up with Gabe and his mental and physical abuse was Sally) and even though he felt like Sally was always sending him away and no longer wanted him which was fair of him to think but a grave misunderstanding. Sally was still the best thing in his life. Percy had someone to live for something to live forward to even though he was practically almost dying every year, which kept adding to his trauma. And Poseidon, he cared, acknowledged, and helped Percy. The bare minimum and Poseidon actually did even more.

We can assume Jason also had similar experiences with neither a mother's unconditional love nor a god's genuine care and love.

I am not going to say the Camp point because being the son of Jupiter, Jason had certain assurances, but Percy was practically ostracized or badly treated till book 3.

The only good thing that happened in Jason's life was meeting Reyna, the other Seven, and being friends with them, Nico and his sister, and also not falling in Tartarus, so yeah man's living his best life.

So no Jason Grace isn't boring, he is the most in depth character who had his autonomy and childhood stolen, his interests and opinions razed and his entire life molded and shaped for him, turning his mind and body into a tool to serve so called greater interests of Gods and Camp Jupiter. It's like ridiculing a blind man for not being able to see.

Next time, think twice before making that absolutely thoughtless, mindless, wildly inaccurate and cruel comment ever again.

There's no need to blindly hate Jason cause you love Percy or on Percy cause you love Jason. Hell, Percy is my absolute favorite, 90% of my posts are about him, but Percy is awesome and arguably the best all by himself. This is also true for Jason's character. (I am probably the only one who thinks Jason is stronger than Nico just due to greater experience and stamina.) We don't need to be like Rick or ship stans who demean Percy to prop up Annabeth or other characters. They are both iconic and great friends despite whatever rivalry Rick was trying to project.

[captain-joongz]

Here you go my lovelies, this is a pt. 2 to my dressmaker!Hongjoong drabble from hard hours <3 hope you enjoyed reading!!

everybody say thank you to @kpop-will-kill-me who requested it <3

Pt. 1

warnings: pervy obsessed joong, jerking off, oral (f. rec.), cumming on clothes

Hongjoong should have known he'd end up slipping up - he was playing a dangerous game giving into his desires this way. you seemed to be perfectly willing to let him style clothes on you, but he was slowly running out of excuses - exhibitions, assignments, needing a new perspective, he'd tried it all

and he was toeing the line dangerously, forgetting himself and getting too close, hands straying too far, gripping too hard. once or twice he'd brush against you and panic whether you felt his erection on your body or not - he just couldn't help himself and push the limits as far as possible, trying to get away with more and more

you'd been just too alluring for him to stop himself from taking what he wanted

and if he wasn't lost to his internal panic, he'd hear the way your breaths hitched, your little gasps and the way you arched into his hands and fingers, how you'd find yourself wishing he slipped them between your thighs and relieve the tension

you'd never been treated as something precious or beautiful or fragile, and the reverent way Hongjoong's eyes took you in was strongly addictive - you felt sexy and wanted under his attentive hands

and also you'd also started catching on that his motives weren't completely innocent - and you wondered just how far you'd be able to push him before he revealed himself

when one week Hongjoong didn't come to you once - which was very unusual after these past few months during which he asked for your help at least three times a week - you'd thought it extremely strange and went to look for the man yourself

Hongjoong was slumped over his desk, papers with colourful streaks of unfinished designs strewn all over the working space, various fabrics draped over most of the space in the room - it was obvious why he hasn't sought you out. he was in what looked to be a very rough creative block

unbeknownst to you those two things were connected in a very different way - he'd tried to stop himself from slipping up with you and forbid himself from using you like that, and therefore he found that he couldn't create - he needed your soft body under his hands

and when the words "maybe i could help you?" slipped from your lips, he found that he really didn't have the strength to stop himself

this time wearing a half finished dress was a completely different experience, and Hongjoong's dark desperate eyes felt electric on your body and you thought - maybe this is my chance

usually you stood still and let Hongjoong do his thing, but of course now he needed your help more than ever and what better way to get him out of his rut then properly show of his creations

feeling Hongjoong's heavy gaze on your body, you turned and twisted, showing off how the dress fit you, your skin peeking through where it wasn't fully finished. you arched under your own hands as you smoothed the fabric down, feeling yourself up in front of him

and when he came closer, hands already clamping down on your hips like seals, you knew your teasing hit home

that night Hongjoong didn't shy away, not when you clearly wanted him to cross the line - not when you shuddered under his palms when he leaned in closer to smell the mixture of your sweat, perfume and the scent of freshly bought fabrics, groaning into your skin at the tantalising aroma

so when you suddenly found yourself arching under his hands for a completely different reason, half laid upon his bed with his head buried between your thighs, legs shaking and fingers tightly woven into his dark hair, you weren't that surprised

Hongjoong ate pussy enthusiastically, worshipping your body like he always did, wildly sucking and licking and slurping through your juices, tongue everywhere all at once - thrusting into you, licking around your lips, teasing your clit, needy desperate groans spilling out of him into your sex

his eyes were hazy, face wet with your slick, hair a mess from your hands, and yet he was still gripping at the shiny smooth fabric of the unfinished dress, smearing it with your essence and making you soak through it as you came on his face, the juices seeping into it as it dripped from your centre and your thighs

Hongjoong wouldn't waste another second - peeling away from you to hurriedly tear his pants off. in your muddled brain you'd be barely capable of keeping up with him as he took himself in his hand and started frantically jerking off over you

he'd be so wound up that it'd barely take a couple of strokes before thick white ropes of cum were spraying over your satin clad form, the white liquid seeping through the fabric onto your skin, claiming you in the most possessive way

he wouldn't care that he destroyed the dress - after all, he'd make thousands more, moulding them into shape right on your body - and if a couple of those ended up drenched in your combined sweat and cum, he was willing to live with that

divider by @cafekitsune

[acapelladitty]

Captain Boomerang/Female Reader - Punished

Summary - Captain Boomerang is subjected to a little punishment for being unable to keep his hands to himself.

A03 link for all my fics 📝

Kneeling atop his raggedy bed on all fours, Digger's fingers were so tightly wound within the thin sheets that you were surprised he hadn't torn through them yet. His back, sweat-slicked and arching with every gentle move of your fingers, felt very tense beneath your free hand as you pressed down on the lower end of his spine.

"Stop moving." You growl, pulling your gloved fingers free of his fluttering hole long enough to smack his ass roughly. "Be good or I'll move on to your back or thighs next."

The skin of his ass was already reddened and sensitive, thick welts having raised the skin where his own boomerang had been used to punish him for touching himself without permission. A pain slut, he had taken every blow until his ass looked almost ready to bleed and his sleazy face was twisted with lust and unshed tears.

At the fresh smack, a pitiful groan escapes him and his head tilts back at you. "I'm wound up tighter than a nuns cunt here," Digger pants out and you watch as a droplet of sweat rolls down his crooked nose, "so give me a break, sweetheart. Eh?" His accented words are deep, roughened by his arousal and you admire his mild restraint in not dropping from his kneeling position.

"No excuses, baby." You chide, returning the tips of your pointer finger and middle finger to his ass. "You're the one who begged me for this. Begged! Like a pathetic little bitch asking for a treat."

Teasing his hole as you push the tips of your fingers in enough to begin stretching him out once more, your free hand snakes around to his cock - brushing along the very tight cockring which sits along the base to keep him hard and compliant.

"Then again," pressing against the cockring as you wrap your fingers around his twitching length, "I don't think anyone could describe you as little."

And it was true, Digger - for whatever reason - possessed a cock that had genuinely shocked you upon first viewing. Easily two inches larger than any you had seen before, outside of online porn, it was paired with a delicious girth that made your thighs tremble with a discomforting ecstacy when he finally managed to fit it all inside.

God may not have loved him, but goddamn did he give him that at least.

Said cock was painfully hard within your grip, the cockring making it almost impossible for him to come despite all your meddling, and you rubbed your thumb along his throbbing head with a wicked smile. At the extra stimulation, Digger gasps and his hips move of their own accord - bucking down into your cruel hand as he also inadvertently fucks himself harder on your fingers with every thrust.

"Do you want to come, baby?"

"Please." He groans out, his face burying itself in the sheets as he wipes off the sweat. Your fingers move up to tease along the thin smattering of almost reddish hair which decorates his chest and you pull at the strands playfully, enjoying the way it makes his breath hitch as he continues. "C'mon, darling, I've been so good that I'd kill ya for a gobby."

"I'm not putting my mouth anywhere near you." Chuckling, you curl your fingers around inside his ass until you feel the slightly hardened skin of his prostate and you instantly begin to massage it with a teasing friction. "You get my fingers and that's it."

Any smart comeback killed in the crib by the pressure of your fingers on his most cruelly sensitive nerves, he can only whine into the sheets as his knees spread further against the bed. Taking pity, your free fingers fumble messily with the cockring as they snap it free and immediately grip around his length - his breathing stuttering as he realises that he's finally allowed to come.

Hands moving in tandem, in takes less than thirty seconds before Digger is spewing obscenities into the air which are broken by lewd moans as his orgasm hits, hard. His release, hips rutting away into your fist like an animal, arcs far into the air as it covers the sheets beneath him, with a few errand droplets splattering against his neck as he raises his ass high.

"Good boy." You purr, refusing to let up on your ministrations against both his cock and prostate until his legs begin to shake from the overstimulation and his words become little more than pathetic whines as he thrusts in place. "Now, let's wait a minute and we'll see if you can manage another one."

Despite its previous torments, his cock twitches in your hand as the prospect and his unspoken eagerness earns him another throaty giggle as you consider having him eat you out in the meantime.

[the-queen-of-cups1500]

As a reader, I'm not entirely happy with this fic, but since I'm inexperienced in writing I'm not entirely sure how to fix it.. I hope you enjoy a wicked inspired Lilia x Agatha fic (Calderess ?).. there is smut, containes fingering & use of dark magic as a sort of vibrator 😨 (you'll get it once you read it, it's not in a literal sense), also contains angst having to do with loss and death..

recommend listening to the wicked soundtrack and Like real people do by hozier..

Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?

Every witch with a lick of sense had heard of Agatha Harkness, the witch who killed her own coven. A witch who's wickedness got her the darkhold. Rumors said she was able to hide from even death with all that dark magic.. That had gotten Lilia's attention.

Lilia was a hermit, a witch who moved often enough so a coven could not find her, she couldn't go through that loss again. She found herself in front of Agatha herself, her finger tips were coal black, only starting to fade to their natural color at the second knuckle. Lilia bit her tongue "You have the darkhold-" a thrill went down her spine, she could feel the buzz of Agatha's magic..

Agatha smirked, she shrugged with a gesture that brought even more attention to her magic stained fingers as they splayed out in a flourish to frame her face. Her hair was wild and sort of wavy, contrast to Lilia's practically perfect ringlets.. "..How observant-" Agatha mused, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

From there on Lilia and Agatha kept meeting as if fate was forcing them together. It didn't matter where they were, meeting over dead bodies or over alters. Lilia talked to her Maestra often, Agatha learned. Of course speaking to the dead wasn't Lilia's thing, but grief kept her tied to the woman of her childhood, she talked to her Maestra in a.. none magical way.

Lilia sat among the grass and leaves, a pocket alter unfolded in front of her. There were gold trinkets and an old piece of dark fabric along with a tea cup. As Agatha watched from afar Lilia started talking about the wicked witch herself. "..She's just- unusually and exceedingly peculiar, and.. all together quite impossible to describe-" she cut herself off with a short scream of shock, and yet there was nothing there to shock her.. Lilia packed up her alter before turning to see Agatha behind her.

Agatha sort of looked Lilia up and down.. as if she could see right through her "..Kook-" her lips pressed into a thin line..

Lilia scoffed "..Like you wouldn't be-" she gazed at Agatha, two beats of silence pass "..You could be good, you know-" the words seemed to come from no where, but somewhere in Lilia's scrambled mind- she had been thinking about this.. This moment where she could change her fate, and possibly Agatha's.. she just needed to get closer..

It was Agatha's turn to scoff "..Oh- I see.. you want to change me?.. that's what you're about." She pressed one of her fingers to her lips as she thought "..What do you get out of it, Dory?-"

Lilia took a step forward, she knew there were walls between her and Agatha.. things about Agatha that Lilia might never understand.. "..Maybe you'll to a favor for me one of these days.." she shrugged and extended a hand to Agatha..

When Agatha took Lilia's hand she pulled the older witch closer, their right shoulders clashing, Lilia could feel Agatha's breath against her neck as Agatha hissed out her final words "..I'll let you try-"

So, Lilia got close.. perhaps too close. The sent of loathing was still in the air with each meeting, but now the meetings were purposeful. Lilia thought being good was a mindset, so with each meeting she would bring bread and butter.. sometimes jam or soup, she would break bread with Agatha in the same way she would with her coven. They would eat and talk, today Lilia brought blackberry jam, butter, and a rosemary bread.

Agatha got to prepare her bread first, she pinched a bite sized amount from the loaf.. steam rose from the warm bread's insides. A knife was used to smear butter and jam before Agatha ate it with a hunger.

Lilia simply watched, her legs intertwined as she sat across from Agatha. "..I share my bread, and my butter, and my jam. I let you have the first bite every time.. why?"

With a mouth still half full Agatha laughed "Because you're a sucker-" she shifted closer as she crossed her legs, she sat slightly hunched over the placemat Lilia had set out.

"..Because I care-" Lilia corrected with an unamused look, "Caring doesn't make me weak or- a sucker. Not if it is for your benefit." It was Lilia's turn to prepare her bit of bread, she savored it compared to Agatha.

Agatha looked up at Lilia, rolling her eyes "..I don't get it- you're doing all of this- for what? For a favor sometime in the future, Which.. you know I'm not going to hold up my side of the deal anyway- so yes, you are a sucker.. you share your bread, your so called wisdom, and I give you nothing. I take."

Lilia frowned "..You need to take before you are able to give.. sacrifices make-"

Agatha cut her off "..I don't get you." Her eyes are looking past Lilia..

Lilia tilted her head, searching for the right words "...You don't have to-" her lips press together for fear of trembling, no sign of weakness can be shown. Can't flinch, can't react too harshly, for fear Agatha might get up and leave.. she places her hand on top of Agatha's, making eye contact.. she wouldn't back down

Agatha's eyes wondered, to their hands- the bread.. the blanket laid out under them- Lilia's brown eyes. Agatha sneered "...You need me-"

Lilia froze for a moment, shaking her head "..No I- just.. stay."

Agatha's face changes to one of surprise.. she smirked "..Oh, am I your dog now? Sit. Speak. Stay?-" she shook her head.. she would get up- leave this place, never look back.. but Lilia intertwined their fingers.. it was so hard to understand what was going on in Lilia's mind..

Lilia's voice was hushed "..You're not a dog, Agatha- Please.. stay with me, I am not telling you.. I am asking, I want you to stay.. did it ever pass your mind that I might enjoy your company?"

Agatha's brows furrowed "..oh, you're more of a sucker than I thought-" she laughed, she moved to get up, but Lilia pulled her closer.. their faces just a few inches apart.

Lilia gazed at Agatha, like the stars.. like impending doom, Agatha was a train wreck that she couldn't stop watching.. "..I enjoy your company-" she merely whispered..

Agatha grited her teeth "I hate you-" and yet.. Agatha was the one to close the gap between their lips..

Lilia was too gentle, too soft for Agatha.. Agatha wanted their teeth to clash, for blood to be drawn. To feel loved she needed to feel hated, to give she needed to take. It clicked while Lilia cradled Agatha's head against the soft grass as their kiss continued.

Sun streamed down between the branches of the trees that hid this scene from the outside world. Soon Agatha flipped their positions, breaking the kiss.. "..Don't speak- Don't ruin the moment" her words were brash, but the darkened finger pressed against Lilia's lips was gentle.

Agatha smirked "..I know you like them-" she trailed her finger down from Lilia's lips to her collar.. "..I see the way you look at my hands- a bit of fear.." Agatha clicked her tongue "..a bit of lust- Do you want me to.. use them?"

Lilia's eyes were wide as she looked up at Agatha "..You're crazy-"

Agatha cut Lilia off "..Just nod or shake your head-" she looked down at Lilia with a raised eyebrow, waiting for Lilia to make her mind up..

After a pause, Lilia glanced away and nodded, as if she was embarrassed by her own actions.

That was all Agatha needed before she slid her hand between Lilia and her clothes, dark magic practically buzzed against Lilia's skin, her chest rose with each breath as Agatha began to.. tease her- soft, but not gentle, not kind.. Agatha wanted to watch Lilia squirm, it raised the question if this was just some sort of power play.

While Lilia continued to stay quiet with her words, that didn't stop her from making noise. Short gasps, the sounds of her breath hitching.. Agatha was going to break her.

Agatha couldn't do that, no matter how wicked she let people believe her to be.. she pressed a finger inside Lilia. It was almost too much for Lilia.. she had never felt the draw of dark magic, not like this. Lilia's back arched and a desperate moan escaped her lips, she grabbed Agatha by the collar before pulling her closer.

Skin against skin, they were much like yin and yang.. the light Lilia had put in Agatha's soul.. and the darkness Agatha let seep inside Lilia. Agatha added another finger before pressing kisses on the underside of Lilia's jaw as she curled her fingers.

Closer than ever, so close they had become one.. where did the darkness end, and the light start? As Lilia became undone, she forced Agatha to look at her "..Agatha- my favor.. I- I need my favor now.. Please."

Agatha's brows furrowed as her pace came to a stop "..The favor that you know I'm not going to do for you?-"

Lilia sighed "..Listen- people talk about you- since you have the darkhold.. they say you can hide from death.. can you- bring people back?"

As Lilia forced eye contact Agatha couldn't help but hate her, Agatha's gaze softened nonetheless her own grief kept back to her "...Don't do this to me, Lilia-" she tried to pull away.

Lilia only pulled Agatha closer, clinging on to false hope "..Please- please.. tell me you can.. tell me there is hope-" how nature brought out the worst in her- though she was begging to deaf ears..

Agatha could not rewrite what had been done, or disrupt nature's course.. There is no hope, no wishful thinking, no quick fix. One must move on and heal.. Whether it be the loss of sisterhood, a teacher, or a son.. it cannot be undone, ash cannot grow back a forest, but it can be used as fertilizer for the new forest yet to come.

The deal was over, the lessons learned.. the bread left for the crows. Sometimes.. they would try to meet again, wondering into that forest.. but their time together was just another loss they would have to learn to live with.

[thatpersonwhosaidtheywouldnt]

Thinking about how the biggest reason I think the Young Justice show went with the origin they did for Wally and Barry (Wally doing the experiment Barry did, Barry doing the experiment Jay did) is because the creators of the show did not include the Speed Force. Greg Weisman does not like the idea, doesn't see the point of it (and in my opinion clearly misunderstands it) someone on Reddit did a write up on it if you wanna see all he's said here.

So what's this gotta do with the Flash origins in YJA vs comics? Well, first off, the Speed Force was something Mark Waid created to unify the Flash's powers and bring a bit of sense to them:

"It really was just a matter of trying to unify the powers. Barry and Wally's origins were identical, but Jay ostensibly got his speed by inhaling 'hard water,' a.k.a. 'ice.' I never really thought of it as 'mystical' in any real sense, just scientific --- or as scientific as you can get when you're talking about what happens on the other side of lightspeed (which was my original pitch, an idea that to this day I can remember its exact moment of birth)" (Waid from Ask Chris #317 here )

So without the Speed Force, YJA had to solve a problem Waid had solved with the Speed Force a different way. Waid chose not to or didn't have the option to change Wally's origin from being the exact same as Barry's so he made it make sense through the Speed Force, in essence, choosing Wally (and Barry and Jay and every other speedster). YJA had the option so they went a different way.

Barry was always inspired by Jay Garrick. In comics he was a lucky fanboy who got the powers of his favorite comic character and took his name. In YJA, he's not lucky, he, instead, performs the same experiment that gave Jay speed on himself (YJA Barry is simply more unhinged because what).

Wally, similarly, was also a lucky fanboy who got the powers of his favorite superhero (who happened to be the guy his aunt was dating... Very lucky). In YJA... Well it's the same as Barry again expect he's a literal child performing an experiment on himself which puts him in the hospital (comics Wally is notably fine, just wet from the chemicals).

I think it's a pretty significant change to make Barry and Wally want and grab for the superpowers of their heroes (and beg to be a hero before having those powers in Wally's case) instead of them being super fans that have powers thrust upon them. Powers they choose to use for good but not powers they chose.

And then we have Bart... See, with Bart, things are very different. They have to be. Bart's first appearance is in the exact same comic as the first appearance of the Speed Force. Getting rid of it... Basically gets rid of Bart.

Of course, he's in YJA, so that's not quite true. And, admittedly, I think there were ways to do Bart more accurately without the Speed Force... But it's hard. And YJA essentially avoided making a proper attempt at all and made a fully new character. Instead of him being raised in virtual reality while his body was speed aging due to his biological connection to the Speed Force, he is raised in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. He pretends to be chaotic, impulsive, and sorta dumb but is actually very calculating, a bit cynical, and jaded. He is an interesting character for sure... but he's definitely an original character in all but name, and you can see the character type they took inspiration from - the likes of Cable, Future Trunks (Dragon Ball), and Silver the Hedgehog, instead of his original characterization (a characterization I think is much more original and lacks a character that's similar). A final, more minor point, is that the lack of the Speed Force seems to be why he had to build his own time machine, unable to run through time as in comics.

Bart, in comics, is chaotic, whimsical, and impulsive. He was born in the far future because of some chaotic time travel-related reasons, and his father and aunt (the Tornado Twins) were killed soon after his birth. He was taken by the Earth government (in a roundabout way), run by his grandfather (who happens to be a descendant of the Thawne family... making Bart related to Professor Zoom), and instead of trying to stop his speed aging, merely observed him while raising him in a virtual reality. Iris breaks him out and they time travel to the past to get help from Wally. Through a series of events, Wally ends up handing Bart over to Max Mercury (basically the Speed Force expert) to raise cause Iris dipped and Wally is not capable of raising a teenager. Max, Bart's main parental figure, is not and cannot be in YJA because the Speed Force not existing or being known of, makes that impossible. It is the most intrinsic to his character out of all speedsters.

Much of Bart's character arc has him have to learn that life is not a video game and he does not get a do-over. There is a very powerful arc where Bart (who has this speed force power of essentially making clones of himself) loses one of his speed force clones and feels the death of his clone as if he died as well. It terrifies him. But without the Speed Force, without the powers that create that arc, this is not something that can be explored in the cartoon. YJA Bart is, in some ways, the opposite of his comic counterpart. He clearly understands death well; it's all he knows, a dying world. He likely expects to die himself traveling to the past like he does. Bart in the cartoon has to learn different lessons.

I think at the end of the day, this choice to ignore the Speed Force (and therefore the center of Flash lore since the mid 90's), is a bit disrespectful. I don't think Weisman saw it that way, of course. To him it seems he was adapting the Flash lore prior to that. Which does make some sense, seeing as Wally was Kid Flash and the Speed Force is very much tied to Wally's time as the Flash (something he never gets to be in YJA). And I am not saying I dislike Wally in this show, in fact that show is why he's one of my favorite characters. But I think it's all interesting to think about... And I do think the Flashes are much better handled in their comics, no matter the love I have for Wally in the show (except maybe the letting Barry be a dad part). But it's the nature of adaptations I suppose. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 🫡

[in1-nutshell]

Human Buddy 'accidentally' adopted by Chromedome and Rewind

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Human Reader

MTMTE

They meet Buddy at Swerve’s. The pair had just heard about the new human joining the quest.

Buddy was the newest addition to the crew having been sent to look out for any unusual behavior with Megatron. Technically they were simply a glorified babysitter.

“Hey Megs!”—Buddy

“Yes?”—Megatron

“Are you having any evil thoughts?”—Buddy

“No?”—Megatron

“Okay, just making sure. Also, Rodimus is hiding in the supply closet in corridor 12.”—Buddy

“How did you know I was looking for him and rat him out?”

“You have that look in your optics… And he has been slipping in some of his work on my pile, it’s payback time. Happy hunting!”--Buddy

When Buddy sat down at the bar, Rewind was the first to approach Buddy. Chromdome had left earlier to go get their drinks and had gotten caught in Brainstorm’s rants.

He wanted to film a human for the longest time and now he the chance to do that.

“Hello there!”--Rewind

“Oh hello!”--Buddy

“I’m Rewind.”--Rewind

“That’s a nice name. I’m Buddy, but you already knew that didn’t you.”--Buddy

“Kind of hard not to hear the name when you’re the talk of the ship right now.”--Rewind

“I hope that doesn’t last too long.”--Buddy

“Oh don’t worry about that. Usually something bigger will come in and cancel that out.”--Rewind

“I don’t know if you’re joking about the bigger stuff.”--Buddy

“Trust me there have been so many things that have happened on this ship. For example, I’m not even from this universe, I’m from another one that got canceled out.”--Rewind

“What?!”--Buddy

“And the me from this reality was killed by Overlord!”--Rewind

“I thought that guy was dead!”--Buddy

Chromdome came in a few minutes after looking for Rewind. He saw his Conjux talking with the new human, who was showing them some videos from his camera.

He had been curious about the new human amongst the crew. He decided to go and joined in the conversation.

“Oh, Domey you made it!”--Rewind

“Domey?”--Buddy

“That’s his nickname for me. The names Chromedome.”--Chromedome

“Oh! Youre the guy that Prowl’s talked about!”--Buddy

“Prowl?”--Chromedome

“Prowl!?”--Rewind

“Yeah, something about you two being partners and all but it was kind of hard to hear some of the stuff when multiple tables are being flipped near you.”--Buddy

“Heh. He does have a thing for flipping them doesn’t he.”--Chromedome

“Yes! One time he flipped one and I was inside the drawer!”--Buddy

“What! Really?!”--Rewind

“Oh yeah! I was just looking for some of my data pads in there when the next thing I knew I was flying inside the thing and landed with my butt in the air!”--Buddy

“Now you have to tell us the rest of that story.”--Chromedome

“With pleasure!”--Buddy

Everything went on from there.

Buddy soon began meeting up with the couple weekly. The newly formed trio would talk anything under the metaphoric sun. It could have been about the latest reports to stories about the ship before Buddy came on board.

“So that’s where Ratchet’s hands came from?”--Buddy

“Yeah, Drift cut them clean off!”--Chromedome

“Wow!”--Buddy

“That’s nothing on what happened with the Sparkeater.”--Rewind

“What’s a Sparkeater?”—Buddy

The meetings soon became daily. The talks soon became more personal and longer, not that either party minded. It was the level of trust that was shown, and each was glad to have experienced.

Even though Rewind was the first to become acquainted with Buddy, it was Chromedome who first started having other thoughts about Buddy.

He felt very protective over Buddy but not in the way he felt protective of Rewind. Chromedome wanted to protect Buddy from any harm physically, mentally, and emotionally. He wanted to be there for Buddy. He loved them like if they were his own—

Oh

Oh…

He had a talk with Rewind about the sudden situation they were thrusted upon. Thank goodness too because Rewind was just coming up with the same feelings.

They both talked and agreed to talk to Buddy about the situation like civil adults.

Of course, on the Lost Light no plan goes according to plan.

The pair was waiting for Buddy in their usual spot when they spotted Buddy coming in.

They greeted each other as a larger bot came in front of Buddy.

They were clearly intoxicated as they began belittling Buddy.

“What’s a fleshy like you doing here anyways?”—Random Bot

“I beg your pardon?”--Buddy

“There's no way that this is the only-hic- reason you’re here. A puny organic like you. I -hic- I bet I could just flex my digits and you’ll be a smear on the floor. Human scum.”—Random bot

Rewind was ready to throw servos. How dare that bot talk to Buddy like that!?

Chromdome was already standing up not sure if to restrain Rewinds full wrath or to tackle the bot.

But as it turned out, they didn’t need to do that.

“You gonna say something Fleshy? Or is your tiny processor still thinking on what to say?”—Random bot

“…Oh, you’re finally done with the petty names and poor excuse of insults. Where those insults? I couldn’t tell if they were with that poor execution. Anyways since we are calling each other names, it’s my turn.”—Buddy

Buddy gave him the verbal beating of the century.

The bot ran away crying.

The bar was cheering.

“Way to give it to them Fleshy!”--Whirl

“Cyclonus can you please let go of my audials?”--Tailgate

“No.”--Cyclonus

“Drinks on me Buddy. You earned one.”--Swerve

“WOAH! THAT’S MY KID RIGHT THERE! THAT WAS AMAZING!”--Rewind

“Kid?”--Buddy

“I’m proud of you Kiddo. You stood you’re ground and made a grown mech eat his words!”--Chromedome

“Kid?”--Buddy

“…Oh…”—Chromedome and Rewind

“Keep your family drama away from my drinks. And congratulations on the kid you love birds.”--Whirl

“Whirl! Leave my dad’s alone!”—Buddy

“Dad?”—Chromedome

“Dad’s!?”—Rewind

“You’re welcome.”--Whirl

The three did end up talking about what happened in the bar a bit later. It was only to make sure everything was understood about the names.

Now the three carry their new titles with pride as one family unit.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What if Evil Rhian and Evil Rafal interacted? Give me a good show, boys. 🍿

Note:

Expect violence and all-around ugliness.

Also, thanks for the prompt. This was a fun one!

⸻

Rafal: The one thing I can agree with Vulcan on is that we should've kept the name: The School for Evil and Good.

Rhian: What.

Rafal: You heard me. Clear as a death knell. Vulcan should've killed you while he had the chance. Instead I'm bedeviled by you, a foul nuisance spawned from "Vulcan's stithy."

[To clarify: In his Shakespearean insult, Rafal is now referencing the mythological, Roman god Vulcan, not Vulcan of Netherwood.]

Rhian: Well, you're a raging egomaniac, for someone who thinks himself the finest puppetmaster in the Woods despite being inadequate when set next to me.

Rafal: As if you're not one. And such language from the so-called Ever. Dean 'Headache' would blush.

Rhian: All right, let's say I descend to your wretched level, if only to vanquish you: you left me in the Doom Room, to rot!

Rafal: If you weren't a traitorous snake, I wouldn't have left you. Besides, you went behind my back to the Kingdom Council to frame me! To launch a war campaign against me without a jot of forewarning. I should have done worse while you were still vulnerable, hanging there, numb.

Rhian: And yet, I overheard you say to Midas that your aim was to take over all the Woods? What say you to that, devil brother? If I win and take over, I'll string you up by your vocal chords.

Rafal: [derisively] That's anatomically impossible. You're new at this, aren't you?

[Rhian lunges for Rafal, and they get into an all-out duel to the death, executing remarkable feats of arms, considering the pitiful weapons they're armed with.]

⸻

[During an intermission afterwards:]

[They are black and blue, battered and bruised all over, sustaining minor cuts, each gasping for his breath, and they are seated on chairs, beside one another.]

Rafal: I should've brought my poleaxe, or even a halberd, so I could fracture your skull properly. Strike out the brains and dash them on the floor. [shakes his head.] Would've been great fun to ram a longsword through your ribcage, too, had I brought it along. [He twists his letter opener around idly.] This meager, little thing isn't suited for thrusting; it barely did any damage.

Rhian: [nursing a long, open slice on his forearm] I think you did enough with that letter opener. [He sheathes his dagger.] Though, someone should've died, even if you failed to shear me in two. What gives. What's the matter with us?

Rafal: [glances over at the Storian] Looks like someone or some thing wants us alive to provide the entertainment. I'm not opposed to trying again though. Why don't we? I'd love to rip out your heart. It's not as if it's getting regular use anyway.

Rhian: And I wish to wreak the same harm upon you, with your tongue besides. I hate hearing that grating voice. So monotonous. You could be a punishment for others in Hell where you belong. Your lectures are torture enough.

Rafal: Well, you won't have to hear me much longer. Not that you ever listen. Your dismembered ears will make excellent trophies of war. I could have them plated with gold—gold on the outside, rot on the inside, just like your tainted soul. [He smiles to himself, satisfied, and then, fishes through his jacket pocket and finds a long piece of thread in a clump, trying to untie it, so he can use it to garrot Rhian, or at the very least, choke him effectively enough.]

Rhian: And I'm sure your bones would make a lovely tea set, once they're pulverized. [Rhian reaches over to clock Rafal upside the head with a book.]

Rafal: [leans out of reach, rolling his eyes] Child's play. [He shoves Rhian off his chair and that devolves into a second fistfight on the floor, more vicious than the first, in an all-out brawl as they forgo all dignity.]

Rhian: At least I have HONOR! [he bellows to stall Rafal, while attempting to summon his dragonfire.] I'll scorch you like I would a snowman!

Rafal: [raising his voice as he throttles Rhian in the neck, punctuating every sentence with a punch] You? Honor? You're the least honorable man I know. At least my Evil's out in the open, for all to see. Everyone knows I use underhanded means. Everyone knows I'm a two-faced backstabber. And they rightly take precaution and obey me. [spoken through his teeth with a clenched jaw.] My Evil's a publicly-acknowledged fact. Can't say the same about you, you who went to the Kingdom Council, who indelicately skirts around Ever customs despite claiming to be one. Which makes me the "honorable" one, by your twisted definition.

Rhian: How dare you— [as he rakes his nails across Rafal's face, drawing blood that clots immediately due to their self-healing, as per the original oath, leaving shallow, stinging wounds that knit themselves right up.] I will outlast you!

[Don't ask me how they can still heal despite breaking their oaths. The Storian derives sick entertainment from mindless repetition and senseless, brutish violence. That's why.]

[And, the Storian doesn't bother to write because this is a regular occurrence with two Evil twins—it's unworthy of a tale, infighting not balance. And so, the Pen just watches and waits and watches...]

[gerec]

Hi! First of all, thank you for all your amazing cherik fic recommendations. You're literally doing a god's work 💜 Could you please recommend some good fics with Top!Charles? I'd also be okay with them switching. Thank you so much in advance 😊

Hi Anon - thank you for your lovely message and for your patience! Here are some great Top!Charles fics; there's a mix of canon and au along with some dom/sub and a/o ones that I hope you enjoy!

Beneath Me by Magnetism_bind

Charles is a young lord staying at his family's estate for the summer. Erik is his family's stable-hand.

Coup - Alpha!Charles dethrones Shaw and conquers his omega guard.

Treasure by professor

Knight Erik thinks he’s going to slay the dragon and take the beast’s treasure. He’s very, very wrong about that.

Masterpiece by professor

An artist sculpts his finest creation.

Coax me out my love low by tahariel (Frontseat 'verse series)

It’s hard enough waiting a year to meet the man you’re engaged to, but harder still when that man doesn’t even want to stay bonded to you. Charles is determined, however, not to let Erik get away.

deeper than swords (the sun and stars remix) by specficslut (homosociality)

Erik has been traded to a foreign king for a chest of gold and a hundred bushels of grain. In Westchester, he must learn to start a new life... and navigate the roles that have been thrust upon him, whether concubine or courtesan, consort or slave.

Heated Discussion by annejumps

Professor Lehnsherr is an omega and Professor Xavier is an alpha, but somehow in the weeks they've known each other, the issue has never come up....

The Watch by hllfire

Erik decides to take a break one Friday night, going to a club to try and meet someone for a one-night stand. In a dimly lit hallway, with a stranger behind him, he gets what he wants.

twilight by ikeracity, specficslut (homosociality)

"Volatility was a chemical property. Erik remembered Mrs. Berkowitz saying, with the rhythm of a chant, volatility was how likely a substance was to mist into air, and that was how he felt now, like he could dissolve into nothing at any moment, unless he fucked Charles so hard his eyes spun back in his head."

For someone who kills monsters for a living, Erik is irrationally conflicted about the monster in his bed.

Build you up, Break you apart by orphan_account

Charles makes quick work of rolling them over again so that he is once more on top of Erik. This time when Erik reels back to throw a punch, he finds himself immobile. With outstretched fingers, he reaches for the familiar sensation of metal particles but nothing comes to him and Erik’s pupils dilate, a frightening thought waking in its place. No one’s coming to rescue me.

In which Erik is an omega who takes heat suppressants despite the fact that they don't really work well. And on that one day he decides to stay over at Charles' place, his heat cycle starts.

Sharing by ikeracity

One night during the mutant road trip, Erik knocks on Charles's door and brusquely demands to be taken to bed. Charles, who has been very careful about staying out of Erik’s head, is disoriented by the haunted look in Erik’s eyes but is ultimately swayed by the fact that they’ve had this burgeoning tension between them since forever.

They then proceed to have The Saddest And Worst Sex Ever. Erik stalks off all humiliated and unhappy and Charles is confused until he works out that Erik was a virgin--at which point Charles feels equal parts guilty and furious that Erik's basically used him as an instrument of self-harm.

The next time it happens, Charles teaches Erik what it means to really make love.

awoke with a scar by mixture

It isn't so much about the alpha fighting for his honor, but what the alpha does afterwards that sets Erik's teeth on edge.

in the empty moments by soetry

Charles was the only alpha who had ever treated Erik with respect.

That, Erik thought wryly, was probably why his knot was the only one that Erik had ever wanted. 

twenty four hours from tulsa by intentation

After having self-emancipated (aka run away), Erik's been holing up in a shitty motel while he figures out his next step. When Charles Xavier moves into the room just down the hall, Erik discovers his new favorite pastime: sex.

To Have and To Hold by ikeracity

The wedding hasn't even started and Charles is already bored. When he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he doesn't expect to find a gorgeous, stern-faced man having a quiet freak out at his reflection. He doesn't expect said gorgeous, stern-faced man to turn around and start climbing him like a tree. And he certainly doesn't expect to discover only after they've got their clothes back on that the man he just had glorious sex with is the groom.

A Force to Be Reckoned With by firstlightofeos

“No, no, no!” Erik exclaims, slamming his glass forcefully back down onto the bar. “Telepathy is impressive in theory, but realistically, no one’s powerful enough, or has enough control, to make you forget yourself or to get you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“You sound very sure about that,” his companion says, taking a sip of his scotch. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I wonder if you’ve ever really met a telepath before.”

Taking Bets and Making Wagers by windchijmes

Erik is difficult and stubborn. Charles has a saintly level of persistence (and cunning). And neither of them can come to an agreement about who should bottom for their first time. So they have a bet. If Charles can make Erik beg for it, he wins.

And he gets to top.

When the Kids Are Away by dedkake

Charles and Erik have a free moment to themselves, but they're both tired and sore. Erik isn't going to let that get in his way.

Burger Queen by widgenstain

After seeing James in his "stylish" baseball cap that makes him look like a pasty truck-driver, I've decided that there has to be a fic with Charles driving a semi through the country and Erik as a lot lizard (= a hooker working the truck stops).

Rotten Rules by ellenchain

On Erik's first day, he can already tell that prison is indeed not a pony farm. Still, he can't help sticking his nose into dark machinations going on in the depths of the prison. He quickly learns that there is only one rule: eat or be eaten. In addition to all the rumors about dangerous inmates and a corrupt director, a charismatic man from block C in particular does not let him get a good night's sleep. But he too seems to have more secrets than he makes Erik believe ...

a traditional courtship by Helenish

Maybe it’s even a game between them; he catches Charles often enough, watching him, curious, bemused. He lets it go further than he would, otherwise.

[seramilla]

I’m hopping on the Vaggie is Carmilla’s daughter au and riding off that ask where Carmilla has nightmares. But adding to it.

Vaggie has had night terrors ever since her fall. Sometimes she’s reliving the moment Lute takes out her eye and tears her wings away and then Adam yanking her halo away. She’d wake up with phantom pains feeling as though she was just injured. Other nights she’s an exorcist again, slaughtering thousands of faceless demons…at first at least. After she and Charlie got the hotel up and running…she started to see familiar faces. Angel, Husk, Niffty, Alastor…the worst one was Charlie. Over time though they lessened greatly…until she learned the truth about her origins.

The night terrors come back with a vengeance. They were dreadful variations of Charlie and her own mother ripping her wings off for being an exorcist then going in for the kill. And the one where she’s an exorcist she only sees her loved ones as she kills them all with a smile.

Vaggie is more like Carmilla than she realizes. Carmilla has experienced night terrors long before she entered Hell. Thankfully, it seemed to skip Odette and Clara. Unfortunately, Vaggie inherited the trait, and just like her mother, it tends to feed off her guilt -- guilt about the horrible things she did as an Exorcist, lying to Charlie for so many years about her identity, and learning about the origins of herself and other Exorcists; realizing her entire life had been a lie.

Vaggie spent several days after being released from the hospital feeling sorry for herself. She tried to rest during the day, but she'd wake up from a deep sleep and not remember where she was, with memories flashing before her eyes of herself killing innocent humans, Sinners, Charlie, the hotel patrons, Carmilla, and even her sister Exorcists. Her self-consciousness brought to the forefront all the painful things she'd rather forget, and wouldn't let her get any sleep, until Charlie came to bed in the evenings, doing her best to scare all of Vaggie's ghosts away. But they always returned.

Vaggie also remembers feeling the safest when Carmilla had held her in her hospital bed. It's not that she doesn't feel safe with Charlie...there'd just been something noticeably different about being held by her mother for the first time. Some inherent sense of comfort and security that she'd never experienced or understood before. She'd talked about it with Charlie, and while Charlie is no psychologist, she'd helped Vaggie come to the conclusion that a lot of these nightmares are probably her brain processing all the new information that was thrust upon her overnight.

Visions of Charlie or Carmilla hurting her are signs of her own insecurity; everything she'd ever believed in was a lie, so her brain told her that maybe that means the ones she trusted most, her support network, could also cause her the same amount of pain; the same type of betrayal. It takes Vaggie a long time to learn to feel comfortable again in her own skin. A lot of it is with Charlie's help. And also Carmilla's. They help each other a lot, actually. After Vaggie learns of Carmilla's own night terrors, the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. Just knowing, understanding, that she's not alone, was half the battle for them both. Now that they know, they can help each other recover. And they do.