#((I don't expect there to be much interaction though...))

[seventeendeer]

as a fat person who's always clamoring for more interesting fat characters in media, I honestly think one of my all-time favorite depictions of a fat character is Jumba from the original Lilo and Stitch - both visually and personality wise

from a design perspective, even though he's an alien, he has so many little anatomy quirks that make him a more believable fat character than many fat human designs in other media. I love the realistic sag and layering of the fat on his arms, the lack of neck definition, the rim of chub around his face and upper back, the way his back is rounded. his clothes pull taut and pinch in anatomically accurate places (e.g. shoulders are firmer = smoother outlines, the sides and back are squishier = bumpier outlines).

and he's stylized so well! all these great details boiled down to some simple shapes and pen strokes. IMO the Lilo and Stitch art style is extremely appealing - it's warm and clean and visually pleasing, but every character is super unique. Jumba isn't supposed to be pretty, but even though he's a very large, very fat, bald older guy who spends most of the movie in crop tops, the way he's stylized and staged makes it clear the audience is supposed to find him interesting to look at, and variably intimidating/cool/powerful/capable. he's often funny, but the physical aspect of his comedy is derived from being so hefty the other characters struggle to prevent him from barreling ahead and doing whatever he wants; being fat makes him come off more in control of the funny situations he gets into, not less. also, because the art style is what it is, a lot of his character acting also just makes him look kind of cute ... though that's universal across the cast

I also really like the fact that his size clearly gives him both realistic advantages and realistic disadvantages. along with having a stronger sense of agency in the comedic scenes, his size in combination with his impulsivity also makes him a more intimidating antagonist. you never know what he's going to do, and his size makes it difficult for other characters to stop him when he's made up his mind. at the same time, it seems to take him longer to catch his breath, he sometimes grunts when moving around a lot to imply it takes more effort, and he clearly struggled to find clothes that fit him when putting together his disguise. I think it's awesome that the character's size impacts how he interacts with the world so much, and again, in relatable ways

and personality wise, it is ALWAYS great to see fat characters portrayed as intelligent - not only is Jumba an accomplished scientist, he's also crafty and witty! a few quiet scenes imply a philosophical side, as he ponders on Stitch's existence and feelings as a living weapon. with Stitch explicitly being made in his own image to an extent, I'd argue there's even room to interpret some of the things he says about Stitch being hints to how he sees himself; we never learn much about Jumba's past, but it's clear he's a social misfit and strongly defiant. I don't think it's a stretch to assume some of what he said to Stitch about being a monster who can never belong anywhere was intended to read as projection (which makes it all the more heartwarming when both of them find a place to belong on Earth)

it's also a nice twist that toward the end, Jumba is the one who is unexpectedly compassionate toward Nani, while Pleakley tries to urge him to ignore her. again alluding to a level of emotional depth and intelligence that is often missing from even well-intentioned depictions of fat people. his character isn't even fully explored, and yet he's one of the most dynamic and interesting supporting characters in a movie full of fantastic characters. the audience is expected to find him fascinating and even sort of mysterious, and he is!

the sequels and spinoffs were more merchandise-driven franchise fluff for kids than the artsy direction of the original movie, but even so, I remember Jumba went on to become Lilo's lovable, amoral uncle figure, which I also thought was so fun as a kid. I love that they committed to the fact that he was more caring and compassionate than he seemed. not only was he a cool evil mad scientist character, but he was also eventually ... a friend ...

and he was even gay

[lyricwritesprose]

"Aaaand now we get the fuck out of here," Clay said very quietly, and started walking. I fell in step beside him. The paramedic looked as if she was going to call after him, but Clay's pulled-up hood and scrunched posture may have discouraged her. Or else she wasn't sure what she had seen.

I was sure.

Look, Clay was my roommate. Right? And he intimidated me at first. Well over six feet tall with jet black hair and a profile to die for, green eyes that I swear change color with his mood like some teen wish fulfillment, muscles like a Greek statue under warm brown skin—he looks, on the surface, like a guy who could fold up a skinny nerd like me and stick me through a basketball hoop.

As time went on, it became subtly obvious—that was the least of the things he could do to me if he chose. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to pick a fight with anyone. He didn't want to pick a fight with Jared who made fun of him for belting "Let It Go" in the shower. (Does he have perfect pitch of fucking course he has perfect pitch. And really good tone quality, and a killer high note. Also I am not sure he knows how hot showers are supposed to be, because the steam just rolls out. Anyway.)

So there are a lot of things, including the one time we went down to the frat house and got tipsy (you would not believe the amount of alcohol), there was an odd trail of wildflowers the next morning where we crossed the grass on our way back—almost like someone had forgotten that flowers weren't supposed to sprout in his footsteps. He was careful-ish, but you don't live with someone and not see things.

This was the first time I'd seen him raise the dead, though.

We took several turns almost at random. As if to throw off anyone following us. "Any reason we can't just—zoop—vanish to wherever?" I asked in a low voice finally.

"I honestly don't know what that would do to you," Clay said. Voice equally low. "It looks like—just a sort of rainbow tunnel, to me. But I don't know what it is for you, and I don't want to hurt you."

Okay. Made sense.

"My mother told me that if I ever show you my true form, you'll actually catch on fire, even though I mostly just look—this, but moreso." Clay motioned to himself. "Of course, Mother had—sort of strained relationships with mortals even back when we interacted with them. They basically just called her The Maiden rather than use her name. I think she found it kind of hurtful? Although being widely recognized as the most terrifying thing in the room at least kept her out of idiotic fights over apples and things, which is worth its weight in gold."

Oh. Well. That explained the wildflowers. It was also one of the least reassuring facts I had ever absorbed. "So the reason you can bring people back from the dead—"

"Is that Dad will snarl a little bit about his bookkeeping, but he's not actually going to get angry angry. Yeah. It doesn't always work. Sometimes there's another power involved, and if I started a fight—yeah, I might win against someone my age, I've got the lineage and 'kind of everything to do with earth and soil' is a crazy strong dominion if you know how to work it—but typically they'd find a way to screw over the mortal as they lose, and that's usually worse. Than just letting death take its course. As much as that sucks. You're not freaking out."

I considered. "I think I am a little?"

"You're a Classics major, I expected you to freak out a lot."

"You've been going out of your way not to intimidate me ever since we met. I mean. I've told you a little bit about what happened in high school, you know how twitchy I was about bullying, and you not only made it clear that you weren't going to do that—you shielded me from the people who would, and you did it without ever throwing a punch. If this had happened freshman year, then yes, I would have lost it, but I've gotten to feel safe around you. I've—" I stopped.

"You've what?"

I looked at my shoes. "Picked-up-sort-of-a-crush," I admitted, "but I'm fine, it doesn't have to be a big deal or, or any kind of deal, half the campus has fallen for you at one point or another and mostly you've been fine just waiting for it to go away."

Clay stopped, and turned to face me. I swallowed. I come about to his shoulders. Have to look up to meet his eyes.

Which were very bright green, just right now. He pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. "It—usually doesn't work. You know that. Something fucky happens and someone gets turned into a tree or a constellation."

I swallowed again. "It always ends between—mortals, too. One way or the other. No real happy endings, just—the best happy middle we can manage."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would—I'd like to try it, but—look, there are so many pitfalls, we have to make rules." He stroked the side of my face. It felt divine. In several senses.

"Talk about it back on campus?"

"Yeah. Let's go get the bus."

A passer-by yelled, "Get a room, assholes!" and then tripped on a dandelion growing through the pavement and ate shit spectacularly—no serious injuries, I didn't think, but he'd look like he did a round with Mike Tyson.

I barely noticed.

You've always had a sneaking suspicion that your friend was secretly a god pretending to be human, but you've never been able to prove it. Until they slipped up one day by doing something only a god could do.

[ronearoundblindly]

Lineage

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: A news story leads your father straight to you, but do you care what he has to say? Steve and Bucky sure don't...

Warnings for mild language and talk of bad situations (child abuse, alcohol abuse, injury, death) ((that sounds awful but it's quick, I swear)). Angst with a happy ending. For safety, though these things are only vaguely discussed, MINORS DNI for this chapter! WC ~2k

The storms have lasted 44 hours so far. Since his apartment is too small for two full-grown humans (who aren’t a couple) to live, you’ve spent the majority of these cooped-up days as Alpine. Buck has resorted to cleaning a rifle on the coffee table, and in doing so, he triggered the laser scope.

Of course, now he’s going on the second hour of using the laser to play ‘kill the bastard red dot’ with you. He’s delighted at your animated, affronted attack on the lightning fast devil, playing along that the perfectly uncatchable point is simply slipping from your paws. It is a blast to chase, but his laugh values even higher than you can jump up the wall.

The dot disappears.

Your eyes are wild, your furry chest heaving from the exercise of jumping and flipping.

Bucky’s phone is turned over in his hand, and he glares seriously at the screen, taking a deep breath. You think it’s because he’s been called to a mission.

Instead, he bites his cheek and looks your way. “Pretty girl,” he says softly, “I need you to not freak out, okay?”

That can’t be good.

“Human-style freak out, I mean.”

Your eyes sting in the drying wind lashing past your fur, but as much as you’d like to blame the alarming tap of errant raindrops in your face, it’s actually that you would be crying were you in your real form right now.

By the time you and Bucky walk up to HQ, you’ve decided it’s best to get this over with. You’d choose to never do this, if you could, but that ship has sailed.

“You don’t have to go in there,” Bucky assures you, the stairwell door clicking shut to give you some privacy to shift. “You give me the word and Steve sends him packing.”

“I’m fine.” You yank the door open and barrel past him. “I’m fine.”

Bucky whistles and ticks his head the other way down the hall. In your defense, you’ve never gone to Steve’s actual office. You’ve only been in this building a handful of times really.

The first face you see inside is his, deliberately placed to show you concern and empathy, because Steve, like Bucky, fears this interaction.

Your father doesn’t even look up.

He sits on a small couch, wringing his hands, a flask and the news article with your picture, smiling, on the coffee table in front of him.

That’s how he found you: a candid photo where Tony Stark stood beside you after creating your collar. The blur in the corner of the photo is Steve’s back if you remember correctly.

Dad focuses on the small vessel like booze will answer all his prayers. 

Some things never change.

“Could we have some privacy?” he asks you meekly.

Before your lips can part, both men behind you bark “no,” punctuated by Steve’s “no way.”

As much as you don’t want Steve and Bucky to know about your previous life, you’re comforted. You cannot stand for them to leave you alone with this man. Buck perches in a corner, looking fittingly scary. After you take a seat across from your father, Steve remains at your shoulder but not too close, arms crossed over his broad chest.

And so it begins.

Though less contentious than you expected, Dad starts into a long-winded excuse that lacks almost any detail. When your father says he looked for you, Steve bristles and bites out a strained “not good enough” before chewing his tongue instead. The sudden gesture not only made your father squeak in alarm, but you shrank away from him in the chair.

He brought alcohol in a flask but swears it’s been hours since he’s had a drop.

“I have a theory that you’re like me…and I drink so I won’t…change.”

 He’s ready to tell you even if you aren’t; Mom knew only that he left home at a very young age, but the truth is he ran away.

Your grandparents fought a lot apparently, and grandpa beat his wife and son. Dad was abused, and abused, and then he escaped by ‘changing.’

He doesn’t specify. He just…changed. He ran, terrified for many reasons, and couldn’t get back home, couldn’t control it, and got caught in a sticky trap and had to rip skin off of his foot.

It hurt, your father swears, so he tried to numb it like he saw his mother and father do. Alcohol made it easier, but he couldn’t control it. 

“Stole jewelry mostly, small things I could carry and hoard, so when I changed back, I could pawn them,” Dad confesses. “You see, when Princess came around and meant so much to your mom, I drank. It was the only way I knew how to stay human! So—so the cat wouldn’t hurt me, but if I couldn’t…”

That’s how he lost ‘his job,’ which wasn’t a real job and wasn’t being supportive of you and mom and certainly wasn’t being a good man anyway.

He hoped you weren’t like him. If he’d told you or Mom and you’d freaked out? He thought he’d end up in a lab somewhere. He was so afraid all the time. Then Mom died, you ran away, he realized you could have shifted and been scared. He looked for you but has no answers, no real understanding of any of it, no stability to offer.

Dad is close to tears, his fingers instinctively stretching toward the flask.

“I wasn’t worth coming back to. I know that. I’ve done too much—too little in the past to be forgiven. I was never wanted this way.”

He becomes jumpier and more agitated by the minute, and then Steve grumbles a single phrase.

“Abused becoming abusers in different ways.”

Your father shivers, squeaks again, and begins to shift. His clothes pile there empty, cascading from the cushions to the floor until a pink nose nuzzles out from between a shirt tail and waistband.

“Oh,” Bucky startles. “Oh.”

“It’s…it’s a rat,” Steve deadpans in confusion. They weren’t paying the closest attention to your father’s implications, likely horrified to know this much more about your past and childhood, this stuff you never talk about because you like to focus on the future.

“Give us some space,” you sigh reluctantly. “Please.”

You know he needs to feel safe but won’t with two super soldiers towering over him in an unknown building.

“Only because you asked,” Bucky says loudly. “Be right outside.”

Steve’s hand rests on your shoulder for a long moment while he debates moving at all. Finally, when Bucky holds the door open for him, Steve lets go and steps closer to the couch, several terrified squeaks coming from the corner.

“We would never hurt her.” Then near silently. “We love her.”

He’s out before you process the words.

In the quiet that follows, while your father calms down and you…think, you go around to the other side of Steve’s desk, hoping the physical distance will help both of you feel less caged.

There—in the righthand, prominent spot by the pen cup—is a framed sketch of you, as Alpine, sleeping. Your chest tightens, full of the lucky feeling that springs from being so much better than the broken creature on the other side of the room. You were older when you shifted. You found Bucky on day one. Those two sweet and patient men barely blinked when you posted needed them.

Dad had none of that.

He coped, but he coped poorly.

Sure, you were both scared and confused, completely caught off-guard by the shift, but you were angry, too. You were grieving and determined. You were…

…not alone.

“I learned to control it,” you project over the desk. “You can, too. In fact, I—I hope you do because burying all your worries and insecurities in alcohol isn’t fucking working.”

Dad reforms in the corner by the couch, pulling his clothes over him quickly. “I know,” he admits.

“Mom would have wanted you to get better, to feel better without numbing yourself. She…she really loved you.”

“I know.” You spin the desk chair around while he slips on his clothing. “They really love you here, too, huh?”

You bite back a smile, realizing the truth of it. You’re not in a ‘phase’ of life. You don’t have to move on from them, your people, your family.

“This—“ you say confidently “—is not a place people like us need to hide.”

Bucky takes over handling your father’s travel back to his home. Dad will be offered any resources he needs to learn to shift at will, but it won’t be you who oversees it. You’re not there yet.

Steve’s hand is on your waist or the small of your back from the instant you emerge, uncaring who in the hallway is watching. Once your father is out of sight, he steers you into his shadow and asks what he can do, what you need from him right now, and you squirrel yourself into the office again.

Steve’s steadying hand becomes an arm then the other, an all-encompassing hug that warms you somehow deeper than your very bones.

Family is exhausting. Family is everything, too.

“I was so young,” he whispers, face buried in your hair while yours nuzzles to his chest, “but I know Ma was…I know my father had his demons. Then my ma fought everybody’s—taught me to fight everybody’s demons—but you don’t have to. It’s an excuse. Unless he proves he’s sorry? Well, even saying it doesn’t undo—“

“Can I stay here a while?” you interrupt. It’s not that you don’t appreciate what Steve’s telling you, but you’ve had enough of talking, you’ve had enough of listening, and you want to settle your soul in the comfortable place it was just hours ago, joyfully bouncing around chasing an uncatchable dot. That feat seems more possible now than fixing a broken relationship.

“Of course,” Steve mumbles to your temple.

You let the shrinking feeling takeover and shift into Alpine. He immediately understands you’re done talking, returning to his desk, assuming you’ll curl up on the couch for some distance.

Rain batters the lone, thin window. Bucky won’t ride back to the apartment in this weather if he can help it, so he’ll wait it out as well.

Instead, you hop into Steve’s lap and watch him type out a message to Buck that you’re okay.

Before you lay down for a nap, one desperately needed to replenish your wiped out emotional bandwidth, you step up on Steve’s pec to headbutt his strong jaw. The fondness makes him chuckle.

He cups his hand around your side and kisses your soft head.

“Careful there, cutie, or I’ll take you home with me.”

Wouldn’t be so bad, you think, enjoying the soothing pitter-patter of drops down the glass pane and the subtle roar from wind, since he loves me an’ all.

[Next Part: Borrowed For Blue]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

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[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Platonic Yandere Batfamily x

Child Girlscout Reader!!

'In world where you can be anything be kind......'

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 This is part 4!!

'Your beautiful, where did you get your looks from?'

'Thank you! I look just like my mommy.....'

Your cute smile and round eyes had Bruce matching your reaction.

What you said was very true though you did look exactly like your mother.

Well, a smaller version atleast.

You tilt your head up to look at him still holding the purring cat in your arms peacefully.

'Who do you look like?' You ask.

It was a simple ,innocent, question really. One that you probably didn't put much thought in to ask.

Truthfully, it hurt bruce more then you'd expect. He knew that if you had known it would've hurt him you wouldn't have asked.

So ,obviously, doesn't blame you.

Instead he keeps composer and replies with a soft smile.

'I suppose I get my looks from my father.'

Truthfully he didn't really know. After his parents death he tried forgetting what they looked like. It was easier that way.

But he'd have nightmares and their memories never did fade their faces just kind of blurred.

He stopped staring at their pictures and painting in the manor along time ago. He didn't even know if Alfred had ever taken them down. Or if their still hung up in their old room.

'My mama says I have my daddy's smile!'

Your voice drags bruce out of his tournamented thoughts and he's quick to compose himself.

He had seen you smile alot. It was almost like you smiled more then you didn't. But he never really thought you had gotten it from your father. Although your smile doesn't really replicate your mother's.

'Is that so?' Bruce replies with an almost forced smile. Bruce loved the idea of you looking like your mother.

He loved the image that he could paint in his head with it. You could pass as his daughter because you had more traits of your mother then you did of your biological dad.

So bruce could always lie and say you were biologically his. That lie didn't really make much sense to him anyway. Because to him you were already his.

You nod softly looking down at the black cat in your small arms.

Glancing back up Dick's quick to grab your attention.

'There's someone we'd like you to meet..." He says grasping your shoulders gently and leading you to the astonishing living room.

You however don't catch jason nudging bruce towards your mother as she looks out a window admiring the sky.

'Don't mess this one up.' Jason mutters in his ear before following you and Dick to the living room.

Sat on the unnecessary big couch is Cassandra Cain.

Softly letting the cat down on the floor you tug on dicks shirt motioning for him to come closer.

Dick almost smiles at your adorable antics as he hears your next words you whisper in his ears. 'Who is she?'

'Our sister.' Dick declares and jason leans against the wall watching the whole interaction from a distance.

'Oh....' Is all you mutter and for a moment the two oldest Wayne's think your disappointed in that fact until you speak agian.

'She looks really cool.'

'She is.' Tim states like it's a known fact. Dicks flinches at his brother unannounced presence having not heard him step into the room.

'Why don't you go speak to her?' Tim nudges you forward but your quick to run behind them instead.

Peaking your head out like a kitten that doesn't know if she should trust a human.

Cass giggles at your innocent behavior. The boys however look quite bewildered at the thought of you being scared of the only girl in the family.

You tilt your head from behind them watching as Cass giggles at your actions. Maybe she wasn't so scary....?

This time you actually move towards her without being nudged and she offers a soft smile silently begging you to come closer.

She pats the cushion beside her and you hesitatently take a seat.

Cass sends the boys a quick glance silently telling them to leave so she could have some time with you.

Their quick to do as she wishes despite their longing to stay.

'Your very pretty....' You mumble ,eyes cast down, small hands playing with the fabric of the lavish couch.

Cass doesn't speak but hums in delight at your kind words.

The boys had told her you were as sweet as candy ,but she hadn't believed anything but bitterness was reserved in gotham.

Until now.

She pondered for a moment not knowing what to say or do but your timid voice breaks the silence.

'You seem so..... cool.'

Cool? Is that what you thought of her? Is that why you had hesitated to meet her? Because you believed she was cool?

The young vigilantly had never been described as 'cool'. Cold? Yes. Quiet? Definitely.

But cool? Never.

It was a term that was often us as for her brothers not her. Yet, just by the sight of her you had deemed her....cool.

Maybe you were sweet. Like candy that'd rot your teeth ,but she'd gladly let her teeth rot just to have you. And that was made very clear to her in just these small minutes with you.

She didn't utter a word to you and somehow you didn't need her to.

You opened up to her on your own pace ,and she found it quite memorizing how quickly you considered her a friend.

Your smaller hands played with her larger calloused ones like you would with a toy.

But not harsh. No, you were soft. Gentle, as your fingers traced the lines in her palms like she was something to cherished.

'Can I be your friend?' Your quite voice sounds more like a prayer then a question.

It takes Cass atleast three awkward seconds before she's swiftly shaking her head yes. She'd never been asked to be a friend.

Truthfully, she never really cared for it either. But right now she does.

You smile, your naive eyes squinting at the ends. You giggle joyfully as if she'd just handed you a bag of candy.

'I'll be the best friend! I pinky promise!' You bable happily like a person who just won the lottery.

Cass's pinky wraps around your extended one ,carefully sealing the deal. It's safe to say she sees why everyone cherish's your happiness like a gem.

Because in a city full of monster's it seemed you truly were the only angel left.

And she'd gladly keep you safe even if you can't see it ,yet.

While you were being coddled and adored by your new found best friend your mother simply looked out the big windows of the manor.

Bruce's mind raced with ideas of how to approach her without seeming like a creep.

After all she did accuse him of trying to kidnap her daughter and she isn't half wrong.

He couldn't mess this up. He wouldn't ,but your mother was so diffrent then the women he's been with.

She wasn't spoiled or tainted. She wasn't a thief or a killer. She was a nurse.

A simple women with so much heart and love. But it seemed like that was only reserved for you.

That was it! He'd reach her through you!

'She seems happy...' Bruce says and he watches as she slightly flinches at his voice but she hides it well.

Your mother turns looking at you as you play and talk with Cass on the couch. Her eyes softening at the sight.

She hums her voice low and calm. Like the sight of you calmed her. It did.

'She's always happy," You mother comments taking a sip from her cup that's filled with some fancy juice.

'But she does look happier.' She continues calm her heart filled with a feeling of bliss at the view of you so happy.

Bruce smiles a rare sight even for his kids. He nods enjoying the sight of you being so compatible with his kids.

'She loves everyone.' Your mom mumbles her eyes still trained on you having an absolute wonderful time with Cassandra.

'Did she get that from you?' Bruce asks finally coming up with a decent question to strike a conversation.

Your mother smiles and ,agian, its because of the thought of you. She shakes her head her mind replaying the memories of you welcoming any stranger like it was your family.

'No, she inherited that from her father....'

'I see....' Bruce nods hands tight at the thought of you inheriting something that from another man.

'He used to be so.....diffrent back then.' Your mother says now turning her attention back on Bruce.

It was pretty clear what she meant by that but Bruce carries on not wanting the conversation to end.

'Diffrent how?' He voices softly, but your mother still feels distressed at the question.

She still answer's though.

'Happy, like her....'

She doesn't have to gesture to you for Bruce to know who she's talking about.

'What changed?' Bruce ask generally wanting to know. He'd first came to her to get to know you.

Yet, the more he talks with her and each picture she paints with her words ,Bruce finds himself digging bigger whole in his heart.

Big enough to make space for her in it.

'I ask myself that all the time..... One day he just...changed. changed into a man I had to let go.'

Her voice is quiet but it's stable ,something that she came to terms with long ago.

Bruce hums realizing that though she may always love the man she once knew that is not the man he is now.

And maybe he can be that man for her?

She smiles one that looks forced ,almost. Like it's something that's funny but it's not.

'In all of Gotham there's only one person that hopes he wakes up.'

'You?'

'No, I think he hurts more people alive then he would dead,' she pauses then points to you.

'He's that little girls world... She looks at him like he hung the stars.' She sighs almost defeated look I her gaze.

Bruce doesn't like the sound of that at all.

Bruce hums not really having the words to put his thoughts in the air nicely.

'She seems to love you alot too.' He finally says trying to soften the mood.

'She does.... But girls do tend to love their fathers more sometimes....even if their dads are the devil.' Your mother turns looking out the window agian.

But Bruce doesn't miss how she quickly wipes her eyes as a tear escapes. How awful is this man to make her cry?

'I stayed with him four more years before I finally left him.' She admits like something that she's ashamed about.

'What was the final straw?' Bruce doesn't even know if it's his place to ask but his mouth speaks before his mind has time to stop itself.

'When he got to her.' She sighs finally looking to where you are agian. It was pretty clear she prioritized your wellbeing over hers even if she didn't voice it.

It was known.

It strikes Bruce deep not knowing what she meant when it she said he gotten to you.

He had no idea what that man could have done to hurt you but even if he just poked you with his fingers Bruce was livid.

'You must love her alot.' He says trying to diminish his anger and focus on the hurt women infront of him.

'I love her more than anything.' She clarifies like she doesnt want Bruce to mistake it ,but he doubts anyone could.

'She's everything to me.'

'Your a good mother.' He says softly but his words are true. Anyone with two eyes can see just how good of a mother you are.

'She's a good kid. With her...it's easy.' She shrugs.

That may be true but even Bruce knows having a good kid doesn't just automatically make you a good mom like she is.

'You don't give yourself enough credit.' Bruce says and he doesn't miss how she doesn't meet his eyes anymore trying to hide her tears like their scars.

'There's still some things I'm not prepared for.' She says her eyes still on the dark clouds that fills the sky.

'Well a parent can never be prepared for everything-' he wants to add that he's batman and he's still not prepared for half the thing his kid's do but he doesn't.

Because he knows he can't. Even if he wishes he could.

Now if there was one person who'd love your bubbly personality more then Dick it would be Duke.

Because who likes living in a house full of angsty vilganty's? Not many and especially not the happy boy named Duke Thomas!

Cass had taken her eyes off of you for no longer then five seconds before looking back to where you were once seated to see that you were gone?!

Standing up quickly she hastily begins to look around for you!

From the living room to dining room to even the bathrooms that you'd have to walk all the way to the other side of the manor to get to!

She eventually had to get the others to help. Even though she truly didn't want to....

'What do you mean you lost her!' Dick all but shouts before Tim tries to calm him down.

'Don't yell! If her mom thinks we lost her she'll never trust us agian!'

'Do you idiots hear that or am I hallucinating?' Damian asks pointing to the ceiling. Who's room was above the living room? Oh right dukes....

And what was that sound? Blasting music and giggles? Yeah they know exactly where you are.....

Opening the young heros door they see you happily sitting on Dukes lap giggling as he describes what the lyrics of the sounds mean.

Leaving out some parts....to keep your innocent intact of course!

After watching enough and hearing your giggles through the door they finally decode to open it.

Duke immediately turns off the loud music his face blank almost confused to why they look so worried.

'Whats up?'

'Whats up? Whats up! We've been looking for her for five minutes only to find out your having a party.' Dick voices voice cracking from how shocked he is.

'Not to mention your teaching her demonic music ,Thomas.' Damian adds crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval.

'Yeah you'd know something about devil music huh ,demon?' Jason quips with a chuckle just to get under the small boys skin.

'First off don't fight infront of her,' Duke says pointing at damian and jason already sensing a fight about to start.

'Second, it's called being cultured. Gotta teach 'em young.' Duke shrug glancing back at your pouting face now unhappy that the music stopped.

'She likes it.' Duke comments smiling at you which brings your smile back.

'I do!' You smile innocently.

'She doesn't even know what the lyrics mean.' Tim utters gesturing at you.

'That's why I'm teaching her.' Duke answers like it's the most common thing in the universe.

Cass quickly goes over to grab your hand sighing as she leads you back to where she had you before one of her brothers ruined her peaceful moments.

'Hey you can't just take her all the time we want to play with her too!' Tim whines dramatically pouting.

Cass complete ignores his request as she continues leading you down the stairs cases.

'Where is my baby?'

'Huh?'

Your mother's eyes quickly dart around the spacious living room and kitchen not being able to see you.

'My baby, where is she?!' She panics not seeing you anywhere?

Bruce could tell the women was definitely about to have a heart attack just from you not being in her sight.

What bruce didn't notice was your mother already thinking of ways to kill this man if she didn't find you within five minutes.

'She's probably with my kids...she's fine.'

'Your kids? The ones that are all practically grown men?!' She says already moving to yell in the man's face.

She couldn't believe how stupid she was! How could she let her baby be alone with strangers!

You being the absolutely ridiculously cute Saint you are saw your mother's distresses state ,and new she was looking for you as you walked down the stairs case.

'I'm here mama! I'm here!' You shout letting go of Cassandra's hand to sprint full speed towards your worried mother.

'Oh my baby...I thought I lost you.' She sighs finally feeling like she can breathe agian as she cups your soft cheeks.

'Nuh uh ,mama, I'm right here!' You giggle as she smiles down at you.

Bruce on the other hand finally realizes that he was about to get murdered by your mother if Cass hadn't brought you back downstairs.

Alfred smiles seeing your mother being so affectionate with you remembering all the times Martha had been like that with Bruce in the past.

It had been along time since a mother's love filled the manors air and Alfred was happy to see how it was finally coming back.

'Dinners ready.' Alfred announces calmly as he gestures to the dining room.

Your mother's sighs at your pouting face because you already know what she's about to say.

'Don't give me that look...we've stayed long enough.'

'Your leaving?' Damian speaks up interrupting your mother's conversation with you.

'It's late we should really get going...' Your mother defends putting a hand on your shoulder ready to lead you out the big manor.

'Wed really like it if you stayed....please?' Dick protest and it was kinda hard to say no to a grown man that was pouting desperately.

Not to mention the other wayne children faces matched their older brother's.

Your mother sighs looking back at you an dshe knows she's lost when she hears your quiet plea.

'Please, mama?'

'Fine...we leave after dinner not a second later.'

All smiles in the manor reach their eyes as they hear her words.

'Well then let's go eat.' The old butler states as you walk over to him grabbing his hand with a smile as he leads you to the beautiful dining room..

Your mother sighs knowing she gave into your cuteness once agian.

'What am I gonna do with you..?' She mutters, watching as you happily skip to the dining room with Alfred, as he matches your skips with long strides.

She rubbed her face, her mind repeatedly saying 'it's just a simple dinner. Get in get out.'

The table was unusually quiet and your mother could tell straight away that this wasn't exactly normal for them as they all fiddled with their hands or their fingers.

Despite their best attempts at seeming normal all eyes did end up falling on you.

You happily spoke and ate not noticing the soft eyes all staring at you lovingly. Your mother did though ,and she was already mentally burying bodies.

You spoke softly your eyes on damian as he told you various facts about animals you didn't know.

And you threw in your two cents when you thought of something you had learned from Wild Krats.

Alfred saw your mother's focused eyes noticing she had caught on to everyone's adoring gaze and she didn't seem to happy about it.

'So you're a nurse correct?' Alfred calm spoken words break everyone put of their deep gaze including you.

'Yep my mommies the best nurse!'

Your mother smiles softly appreciating your kind-hearted words knowing you meant them.

'Yes, I am a nurse.' Your mother clarifies nodding at Alfred.

Alfred smiles at both your mother's profession and your mother-daughter relationship.

'Do you enjoy it?' Jason's ruff voice ask his fork digging into his food as he speaks.

Everyone wanted to ask that was clear by how they all perked up at the question.

The truth was they all new a thing or two about patching themselves up but nothing compared to what a nurse would know.

And they knew nurse helped people. They did too but sometimes they hurt more people then they helped sometimes. A nurse didn't.

A nurse just helped.

You mother takes a moment to think before answering the question.

'I love my job it... it does good.' She shrugs taking a sip of her drink before continuing.

'But it takes alot of time... takes me away from things that I love.' Your mother sighs setting down her cup.

Alfred smiles a rare sight that the Wayne's hardly ever see other then special occasions.

'Being a nurse or really anything in medical attention is a special profession.'

Your mother nods at Alfred kind words enjoying them greatly and appreciating them.

Though your mother barely knew the old man that kept these walls clean. She understood why you talked so highly of him.

The calm silence of dinner was abruptly interrupting by a ringing sound ,but it wasn't a phone.

No, it was your small pinky hello kitty watch that your mother paid about three dollars for.

It was your most prized possession.

As the small watch rang all eyes were on you as you quickly turned it off and ran to your mother's chair in a hurry.

'Mama your phone! Your phone!' You all but scream in a haste as your mother pulls out her phone almost embarrassed at how persistent you are to get her phone.

'Thanks mama!'

Your little legs run as fast as you can to the living room desperately wanting space.

All eyes now turn to your mother silently asking why you had wanted her phone so desperately.

Your mother sighs giving an awkward smile before answering everyone's silent question.

'Her dad calls her every day at this time. That's why she has an alarm set on her phone.'

Soft 'ohs' and hums of understanding reach her ears.

The table goes quiet almost like everyone's in silent agreement to try and hear what your talking about through the walls.

After about three minutes of concentrated silence your mother's voice breaks the silence.

'So I hear your a cop?' She ask her gaze pointed at dick.

He nods an almost shy smile on his face.

'Definitely an honorable profession.' She says her smile warm and dock can't help but smile too.

'What about you?' Your mother's hands tap the table softly but her gaze is on Jason now.

He hated that question. Because he didn't really have a way to respond to it. What was he supposed to say? He lived off of criminals money? No, that wouldn't do.

So he shrugs 'still trying to figure that out.'

Your mother hums soft smile never leaving her lips as she speaks and jason likes that. She isn't judging or looking at him like he's doing something wrong. She looks....understanding.

'You'll figure it out...'

And with how soft her words seemed they sounded...so true.

Maybe he could figure it.

'Ah, and I hear your quiet the genius.' She continues her arms on the table nothing but kind hearted tone in her voice as she looks at Tim.

Now Tim didn't know if you told her that or if she googled him but either way he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to be praised.

'I wouldn't say that I'm a genius...' He shrug trying not to be to cocky.

'I doubt anyone would.' Damian adds with a soft smirk. And while Tim looks annoyed and embarrassed Dick and Jason can't help but snicker..

Bruce however gives them a stern glare which doesn't help much but looking at your. Mother she doesn't look to happy about it so they immediately stop.

Your mother hums her voice carefully and light as she speaks to the youngest wayne.

'You must be Damian.'

'I am.' His voice comes out quiet almost shaky as if her slight glare has him shaken. Now that makes his older brother's want to laugh even more.

'My daughter described you as if you were an angel.' Her voice is tender but there's something behind it.

Like she's disappointed with what she's seeing and that makes Damian feel disappointed in himself.

His heads hung low as she speaks agian. But that disappointment is gone when your mother says her next words.

'You certainly look it. Your absolutely adorable. You must've gotten your looks from your mother.'

She jokes a soft laugh leaves her lips and the other join obviously not goings to miss the chance to diss Bruce.

Bruce laughs himself finding your mother's confidence admirable.

Your mother complements Dukes brightness and Cass for her confidently fiece demeanor.

Slowly the small talk becomes less forced and more familiar.

Like this is how it's supposed to be.

Bruce relivishes in the normalcy and so do the children all while your mother keeps a smile on everyone face.

The once big empty table now feels smaller not with space but with comfort. Like these no gaps missing. Well there is one but you shortly make your way back to the table.

You almost unnoticed by how loud everyone is talking. Cass's the first to see you, your eyes cast down not meeting her gaze. She frowns but decides not to say anything.

You don't sit back on your seat and you don't say anything either.

You just stand there and everyone allows you to thinking maybe you just want to stand.

That is till your mother speaks up noticing how oddly quiet your being.

"You okay, baby?"

You sniffle your eyes still to the ground. Your mother's smile drops and a frown quickly replaces it.

Then everyone sees it. A tear drop. One then two. Then they don't stop.

Your mother's quick to try and comfort you opening her arms to allow you to come to her. But you don't.

No, to her surprise you run right past her.

Her head whips so fast she could've gotten whiplash. Just to see you run straight into Bruce's arms.

Bruce? Bruce!

Everyone's surprised gut Bruce quickly composes himself and sets you in his lap as you cry your little heart out on his chest.

He looks at your mother clearly not knowing what to do. But your mother offers no help. Just as confused as he is but for a totally different reason obviously.

Why would you run to him instead of her?

He awkwardly pats your back and your mother soft voice speaks up.

"What's happened baby...?"

"He doesn't love me mama....."

Your voice is so small and so broken. It hurts everyone how your sobs continue and grow louder.

Your mother sighs your sad small voice breaking her heart. She leans back in her seat.

Everyone's jaw clenched how dare someone break your heart? And this young? Oh, they were gonna pay.

Your mother knows your dad was probably just drunk he probably didn't even mean to call, like he should've.

He probably said something he didn't mean but that doesn't mean anything to your broken heart right now.

Your sad sobs echos throughout the manor cruelly. A reminder of how distressed you truly are.

And despite the other kids efforts; twenty minutes later they still can't bring your glowing smile back.

You cling to bruce like a lifeline, your cries muffled by his expensive shirt that he doesn't mind you ruining with your tears ,and snotty sniffles.

Eventually the kids do give up and just watch as your cries slowly fade. Some watch with curiosity with why you picked Bruce others with jealousy.

Your mother on the other hand watches with neither. She knows exactly why you ran to Bruce and no one else. She understands why you ran to Bruce instead of her.

You wanted something that neither her or the wayne children could give you.

A father's comfort.

Sigh, maybe this would be a bit more difficult then just a simple ,innocent, dinner.

With the dreadful amount of crying you did one would've thought you would've wanted to go home.

But not you!

Somehow you had gotten your mother to stay for a movie. In the manors luxurious house movie theater.

Claiming it would be rude to leave damian on his birthday without watching a movie like you two always did on eachothers birthday.

Normally she would've said no. But she couldn't not when you had just finished crying and she knew that this was your way of trying to forget your father's hurtful words.

So with a sigh she said yes.

Your mother left the movie theater claiming she needed something to drink. Bruce took this opportunity to make the final move everyone was planing.

Securing a date.

What Bruce obviously doesn't know is that you don't try and make moves on a women who's little girl heart just broke.

'What. Did. You. Just. Say.'

Your mother's voice is colder then any blade he's ever been stabbed with and the menacing batman flinches.

He swallows then continues.

'I-I was just wondering if perhaps if you wanted to we could-'

SMACK!

Well, that didn't go to exactly to plan.

And that's pretty cleat with how Bruce's cheek is reddening from the impact of your mother hand.

You mother's glare looks meaner then Clark's when he's angry. Now Bruce knows he really messed up.

But....is it wrong to say he...might enjoy it?

That thought quickly disappears faster then it came with how fast your mother begins cussing him out.

'How fucking dare you! My baby looks up to you! And you just want to get in my fucking pants?!' She takes a pause a short and dramatic cruel pause before she continues.

Hands on her hips and her right palm slightly red from how hard she hit Bruce's face ,but by the look on her face she clearly doesn't regret it.

'I'm not one of your whores you can get a quick fuck out of. And my baby ain't no orphan who needs saving.'

She turns around like the wind itself better fear her fury.

'Fuck you! And your mother-fucking bitch mentality!'

She thinks he got to you just to get to her? Well that's not how it is at all! But Bruce can't say that he wants her just to get you or that'll definitely sound wrong.

So he stands there and watches with a red cheek as your mother pulls you out the manor leaving you no time to whine and complain before your out the door.

The rain is oaking your clothes but you still make a point to wave to everyone watching you through the window.

Your mother's old car drives off like she Dominic Toreto himself and when the cat finally come out their view Jason says the words everyone's been dying to ask.

'What the fuck did you do?'

Bruce sighs hands in his hips copying your mother earlier stance ,but instead of anger fueling his heart it's desire and love.

'Alfred get me the best lawyers in gotham.'

Alfred sighs a knowing look of defeated acceptance in his gaze.

'The adoption one or matrimonial one?'

Obviously Bruce's plan was going to need a bit more.....force.

'Both.'

Thanks for reading!!

Likes ,comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Note: I do not encourage violence readers mother is just very protective of her baby.

Second note: I don't know why I picked that song in particular it just reminded me of reader and her dad relationship.

Taglist: @rovcarmen @yua-who @nervousalpacalady @jsprien213 @blue-flower-lady @ghost-0rch1d @vanilliona @vanessa-boo @cat-lover-over-9000 @itsmossy @nightstarblue @imhere2dosomething @hearts4mica @minny-ka @alishii @tsxukikami @its-simply-just-krys @maskedvoyance @theworldscalamity @kazuuhali @eyeless-kun @bbmgirll @jjoppees @justafank @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @iamapotatoe @asillysimp @whiteoakoak @leogf @sanchann @nisarelle @ratterpatter @venomsvl @sh4rk-k1d @reeyy0-2 @kneelforloki @sirlovel @moon0goddess @cruzerforce4256 @ironsaladwitch @gaychaoticraccoon @dubidumzy @ssak-i

[taintandviolent]

Tricky Situation ; Marquis de Gramont x reader

summary: In an unfortunate turn of events, you are kidnapped by a powerful man looking for someone. However, when he has you all to himself, he decides to take advantage of the tricky situation you're in.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.3K | SMUT, female reader, heavy dub-con (I feel like things got a little blurry in this scenario, whoopsies.), kidnapping, violence, choking, foul language, name calling, elements of sexual torture, use of sex toys, brief knife play, hints of a romance with John Wick if you squint and read between the lines.

a/n: requested by anon! I hope this is what you had in mind! thank you for reading if you do. ♥️ banners by @/adornedwithlight @/strangergraphics and @/arminsumi!

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

So, it finally happened.

After months of being on the outskirts of this dangerous game that operated constantly unbeknownst to most citizens, you finally got caught. A few public interactions with a man named John Wick, and it all came crashing down around you.

It had been worth it though, those nights with John. The dinner in Paris was the last time you'd seen him. It had been a week, and you'd heard nothing. The thought was troubling, but the situation at hand was far more troubling than that.

You're carried by men, one of either side of you. They're rough with you, not caring if they bruise you as their fingers dig into the soft flesh of your arms. Without warning, you're pushed backwards — your ass hits the hard surface of a chair. There's rustling as your limbs are arranged and secured.

"Motherfuckers!!" You scream, though it's muffled by the cloth that's over your head.

Then, the blackness is ripped off your face, harshly, without regard for comfort, and in doing so, pulls your damp hair in front of your eyes. Slender fingers roughly push it from your features, exposing them to the cool air of wherever it is you are. Your clothes are still wet from the rain. It takes a moment, but you adjust to your surroundings, taking note of everything you can.

There's a single metal chair in the middle of the room — which you're tied tightly to. It looks like an underground room; stark and clinically cold. All cement, fluorescent lights and silence. You immediately clock the security cameras in all four corners of the room — they're angled towards you. Wherever you are is heavily monitored. This wasn't a spur of the moment kidnapping — this was planned. This had to do with John.

"Ah, bonsoir."

You lift your gaze to the man, feeling your lip curl into an unintentional snarl. You expected someone… else. Your brain stutters on the visual of him, a melange of emotions fluttering through your system like little moths.

He's tall. Painfully so. Dressed very smartly in a grey, three-piece suit that looks more expensive than your entire wardrobe put together, and a pair of shoes that are so polished that they reflect the lights above. He has sharp, angular features with a pair of full, pouting lips — attractive, and if you weren't currently looking into the eyes of your apparent kidnapper, you might've acted on said impulse of wanting to flirt with him.

He begins to circle you, much like a predator would.

"What's your name?"

Your immediate reaction is to struggle violently against the ropes, wrenching your body to and fro. Two piercing green eyes watch you, unfazed by the weak attempts at getting free.

"First name is FUCK. Last name is YOU."

He stops in front of you and lets out a soft, dark chuckle. He lifts his brows — his expression is one of amusement, clearly enthralled by your vibrancy. "Such a pretty little thing… and so difficult to find. Why is that?"

"Because…. hm. I don't know, maybe your men suck at finding people?"

He smirks. Pauses.

You fill the silence with your voice.

"I haven't done anything, I don't know why the fuck I'm here."

A lie.

Something glitters in his bright, intense eyes; a thought, a revelation. He lifts his hand and snaps his finger, signaling to no one. However, a few moments later, the only door in the room opens, and a man hurries over to his side.

"Oui, Marquis?"

So he's a Marquis, you think. Power. Money. Entitlement. But what does he want with John?

"Apporte-moi mes outils. Dépêche-toi!"

You blink, not understanding. Naturally, because you don't speak enough French to catch it. But the man he's speaking to clearly does, because he nods and briskly walks back out the small, plain door.

"Where is John Wick?"

Bingo.

You set your jaw and glower up at the man. "How the fuck should I know?"

"You were with him three nights ago, non?"

"Yeah, three nights ago. Not now, asshole. Over a hundred thousand flights take off a day. He could be anywhere."

"That's not a very helpful answer, ma belle."

You smile at him, though it feels mean and false as it contorts your lips. There's nothing sweet about it — and he takes note of that. He hinges at the waist, bending to your level.

"I see why Mr. Wick likes you," he comments passively, examining you like a rare artifact. "You have a… fire about you."

"You don't know the first thing about me, motherfucker."

He clicks his tongue and abruptly grips your jaw with his thumb and middle finger. They press into the soft flesh, pulling you forward. "Language, ma petite chose."

You clench your teeth tightly, staring up into his eyes with a burning defiance, wanting nothing more than to bite his nose clean off. Your tongue moves inside your mouth, gathering a mouthful of spit.

"Ah!" He grips harder. Tighter. "Don't you dare. I will make you regret that."

Your eyes narrow. You do it anyway.

THWACK!

The Marquis backhands you with an unimaginable ferocity that knocks your head to the side. Pain blossoms on the side of your face, hot and angry. Your tongue darts out to the side of your lip; the iron, biting taste of blood meets your tastebuds. Your gaze falls heavy to his hand; he's wearing a ring. You let out a weak, trembling laugh as a twinge of arousal clutches you tight. Interesting reaction on your part.

"Do not," he barks, bringing his large hand to your throat and squeezing tightly. "…do that again."

You gasp for air as he increases the pressure. Your head suddenly feels swimmy, and your eyes flick to him, desperate. A few more agonizing seconds, and his hand drops away from your throat. You suck in a large breath of air, coughing harshly, trying to regain your oxygen as quickly as possible.

"So…" Another cough. "…what now? I have no fucking information for you, so what the hell do you plan to do now? Huh? Kill me?"

He smiles. "Kill you? Non, non."

His accent is intoxicating; the way he blends words between French and English has the muscles of your thighs clenching together. Reminding yourself of the situation at hand however, you hurriedly shake it off.

"You saw him. What does John Wick say to a woman like you?"

"None of your business."

It really wasn't — what you and John shared was private. What he'd said to you… how he'd looked at you…

The door opens again, and the same man wheels a tray in front of him. It has a single drawer. You clench your jaw muscles, trying to hide your worry. Once it's close enough, you crane your neck to see what lies on top of the silver tray.

A black handgun, nestled amongst an assortment of glimmering knives.

You swallow back the fear and try to adjust your wrists again — to no avail… they're raw at this point, and the rope does nothing but bite further into your flesh.

The Marquis says nothing, but speaks loudly when he reaches for one of the knives on the small tray. It catches the light as he turns it, examining its perfectly polished surface. It has a mean serrated edge, made for ripping skin and muscle from bone with ease.

"Let's try this."

He runs the tip of the knife along your collarbone with enough pressure to leave a blossoming red line behind, but not enough to break skin. Your breathing is shallow, but your resolve is made of steel.

"Non? Nothing? You are a brave little thing. Interesting."

Not fear, no. Something else, something nastier, blossoms in your core.

"I don't have anything to say to you. I told you. I don't know anyth—" You wince, breath hitching as he lifts your chin with the tip of the blade, the pointed tip digging into the delicate flesh underneath. You feel the blade pierce your flesh and clench your teeth.

"You know something."

He leans closer, his cool breath washing over your face. It smells like peppermint. "And I will get it."

With one swift flick, he cuts the straps of your dress and bra, allowing your tits to fall free. You look down at yourself quickly before lifting your gaze to the Marquis.

He's not looking at you anymore. Instead, his attention has drifted to your thighs. They're both spread, tied to the legs of the chair. Without warning, the Marquis brings the knife back to you. He angles it down, dragging the blade along the length of your exposed thigh. Just as he flicks the edge of your dress up with the blade, exposing your core to him, goosebumps explode over your skin at the dangerous contact. Nimble fingers of his free hand grip the side of your underwear and yank them harshly down your thighs.

He examines her for a moment; his fingers prod your slit, feeling the warmth of her. Your lids flutter ever so slightly and you're thankful he's too focused on your cunt to notice. Despite that, it's wrong, and you know it. You shouldn't be aroused, you should be plotting an escape, trying to figure out how to survive.

One finger slips inside, and you watch enrapt as his pupils dilate, his nostrils flaring. You're wet and now he knows. Aside from the micro-expressions, he doesn't give away anything, though. No vocalizations, no expressive changes. It's unnerving that he's so calm and collected while he violates you.

Turning his gaze suddenly, he lifts his hand to the small, single drawer underneath the tray. He opens it with a painstaking slowness, and you crane your neck to see what's inside — it's just out of your vision's reach however, and you slump back against the chair.

If he was going to torture you, you'd withhold. You'd rather die than be a rat. And a rat against John? That's an even worse crime. The man had done nothing but protect you. You adored him, maybe too much.

Abruptly, you hear a dull click and lift your gaze. He's holding…. a vibrator? It's a dusty rose colour and slightly curved, angled for optimal pleasure, you assume. You squint at it, and lean your head back in confusion. With a neutral expression, the Marquis presses his thumb against the toy again, holding it down until it buzzes to life.

A smirk curls around your lips. You expected something wretched, like needles under the nails. Not this. Perhaps this had started out about John, but it doesn't seem to be about him anymore…

The Marquis slots himself between your tied-down legs wordlessly. He reaches forward to cruelly tweak one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pulling a hiss from your mouth. When he presses it against your cunt once, your body seizes up immediately, and you arch away from the chair. You settle back against the chair and chuckle breathily. A devilish grin curls around his lips as he strokes it along the length of your folds, slowly, deliberately.

"You're gonna' have to…. mmmh…. try harder than that."

"Oh," he breathes, his face absent. He's focused on the task at hand, and for a fleeting moment, that almost scares you. "I plan to."

The first orgasm comes after he turns the vibrator up to level three, and circles it around your clit mercilessly. The muscles in your thighs quiver, and you toss your head back, moaning into the void of the room. The sound of you echoes off the cement walls and the Marquis laughs through his nose at how quickly you come undone.

He gives you no time to recover, holding the vibrator on the underside of your still pulsing clit. He says something in French that you don't understand, and the second comes shortly after when he roughly opens your mouth, forcing his fingers against the seam of your lips and sticks his fingers down your throat, and fucks you with the vibrator.

The third comes with screams, and the fourth comes with tears after he changes the rhythm of the vibrator — something that starts out soft and climbs higher. The fifth comes when he thrusts the vibrator into you again, into your clenching heat, and matching the movement of it, he presses his groin against you, forcing you to feel his hard-on. You come around the vibrator, thinking about how his massive cock would feel as he fucked it down your throat.

Your entire body is on fire, and there's a blinding white hot pressure building on your cunt. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, neck and chest, but it doesn't bring any relief. The overstimulation is too much to bear and you desperately writhe your hips, trying to find relief away from the vibrator's insistent pulses. There's a puddle beneath you, pooling on the silvery surface of the chair. Your arousal drips out of you, incessantly.

With his free hand, the Marquis pinches your mouth open, holding your bottom jaw tight. The stimulation ceases for just a moment as he looks into your eyes, assessing the damage and your willingness to crack. Your gaze is half-lidded, weary with pleasure and agony. He lets go of your face, sensing defeat.

"Had enough, ma petite chose?"

Your hair is damp with sweat, and your body hangs forward in the chair, limp with exertion. Orgasm after blinding orgasm, and you can't take another. You muster up the first place that comes to mind and pray it sounds convincing enough. You knew where John really was, and it wasn't where you were about to say.

"Cah…"

The Marquis urges the vibrator against your clit again, and your legs twitch spasmodically. Your toes curl tightly as another broken moan leaves your lips, sounding something like a sob and a plea.

"Cah… Casa…Casablanca."

The buzzing disappears, and your muscles go slack. "F-fuck… he said… something about Casablanca. Not to me. He was on the phone, but… Casablanca."

"You did well. I have tortured men who have broken sooner than you did."

"…f-fuck you…."

"Maybe I'll do that next, just for fun, hm?"

[resident-idiot-simp]

Masquerade AU

(This will be edited down at some point and posted to AO3)

Also shout out to @shy-canadian-snowflake with helping me with some of the ideas for this

Logan is minding his own business on a job. It's a masquerade dance he has to infiltrate and collect a data drive. It was going well or it was until a man approached him and pulled him into a dance.

Logan fumbled slightly but went with it confused. They were slow dancing, and he didn't know exactly how he got into this situation.

He knows it wasn't good though could feel it in his bones that something wasn't right. It got confirmed when the man leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"Wasn't expecting competition tonight. Got to say I'm flattered it's the Wolverine."

Logan almost locks up, but the other man forcefully keeps him in step.

"Hate to do it to you, really do. Big fan of your work and just you in general. Sadly however, a man's got to get paid. So I can't exactly allow you to get the drive."

Logan growls lightly.

"Oh, don't be like that. Professional courtesy and all that, I won't cause too much of an issue, won't rat you out. No, I'm just going to give you a choice."

Logan feels his heart sink. "What choice?"

"You can either save people or you can get the information. Your decision, though I don't think either of us is fooled for a moment on which you'll choose."

And on queue, an explosion sounds.

The man laughs likely in his ear, "Go get em' cowboy."

With that he twirls away and disappears into the crowd.

Logan curses to himself before heading off in the direction of the explosion. Conveniently in the opposite direction of where he needs to be.

Once Logan gets to the room he is supposed to after ensuring no one's going to get hurt. The explosion was more of a noise maker, no explosion to it, no danger. Logan doesn't know what to think about it, and he also can't help but feel duped.

He spots a note lying next to the computer that the drive was supposed to be connected to. He lets out a displeased rumble. He picks up the note and reads it quickly.

'It's been a fun night. We've got to do this again ~ DP'

Logan stuffs the note in his pocket and grumbles as he quickly exits the mansion. Deadpool of course it was fucking Deadpool who else would it be? He should be more pissed than he is in all honesty, but no one got hurt. At least that's the reason he tells himself.

They run into each other again and again though, it becomes a game of cat and mouse. It seems everywhere that he goes Deadpool is right there with him.

Both after the same thing, both for different reasons.

It takes only three more run-ins before Logan starts actually getting pissed off that he keeps getting outsmarted. He knows his own intelligence, and it's infuriating that this man keeps beating him. Planning steps ahead in ways that Logan hadn't expected.

Not once had he been able to predict something Wade had done. Also annoyingly, he's enjoying their interactions more and more. As well as this whole game they had started playing. Logan starts looking forward to their interactions. Despite it all Deadpool is charming and quite the character.

He's funny and a flirt as much as Logan would love to deny he enjoys it, he doesn't, and he's not sure he can bring himself to either. Deadpool would always spot him first and make his way over. He would then drape himself as best he could across Logan’s shoulders. 

Logan would growl and grumble as Deadpool 'Wade kitty cat, call me Wade' cooed at him.

From there, Wade would confirm they were here for the same thing (again), and Logan would try to get to it before Wade and fail again. Somehow Wade knew him well enough to outsmart and or trick him. 

He would then collect the note Wade left teasing him before leaving himself.

Truly a vicious cycle.

Many nights Logan had lain awake, flustered as he went over their interactions over and over again in his head. How Wade would always get as close to him as he could physically be. How he flirted with him incessantly, and how he was always three steps ahead. Wade was so effortlessly skillful, and he wondered what else he could do if given the chance.

It was another fucking masquerade when it happened. Wade had found him as always and Logan was determined not to fall for any of his tricks this time. He just ignored the merc and made his way steadily to where he had to go. The only issue was that Wade was quite the attention grabber, what with the never-ending chatter. 

But Logan was fine, he had it under control, he was a damn professional. He was nearly home free too when it happened.

Wade had grabbed him, twirled him around, and kissed him. It wasn't chased, it was nothing of the sort. Wade had just moved his own mask aside and shoved his tongue as deep into Logan's mouth as it could go.

Logan just melted. Couldn't help it, he'd imagined this far more than he was willing to admit. Wade giggled into his mouth at the lack of resistance and took the chance to run hands down his back to pull him closer and squeezing at his ass.

Logan was nothing but putty in his hands as he let out soft noises. Then, when Wade pulls back Logan chases after him. He can't help it, the texture and warmth were addicting, he wanted no needed more.

Wade ignores him however, just pulls something from his pocket tucks it in Logan's breast one before mercilessly sweeping his feet out from under him.

Logan goes down hard and Wade just cackles before disappearing in the direction of the objective. As silent and quick as ever when he wants to disappear.

Logan knows it's over as soon as his feet get swept out, he knows he's lost again. He takes out what Wade had tucked into his pocket.

The note, the damn fucking note.

‘You should call me <3’ and his number scribbled down.

He just buries his face in his hands, blushing with a groan that morphs into a cackle.

Fucking typical.

Tags: @seaweedmakesart

It's up on Ao3

[wistfulnightingale]

Facing Loneliness (or, Reaching Out in Courage)

[Part 1 of "Loneliness, in Good Omens"]

This moment doesn't look right, does it?

Aziraphale is alone. Existentially and Totally ALONE. Really, he always has been. In Heaven, on Earth, in all the flashbacks we see throughout history, there isn't one moment where we see our angel in a mutually companionable, understanding, open-hearted interaction with anyone -- until Crowley.

Specifically Crowley the demon, actually. When they first meet in Heaven as angels, Aziraphale is eager to please and earnest to advise and protect his new "friend" -- but there is no genuine connection in response. When the Starmaker shields Aziraphale with his wing, it is simply a kindness, a courtesy. We already know that this moment has great symbollic significance Later. It's a sweet foreshadowing of a much more meaningful wing sheltering on a Garden wall.

The Starmaker, however much we love him, doesn't even care what Aziraphale's name is. He views Aziraphale as a Being of no particular significance, which Aziraphale is well aware of. It seems Aziraphale even expected it. He puts himself at a lower station, and stays there until he drifts upwards during his earnest and protective protest.

And why not expect to be "lesser"? In each interaction we see Aziraphale having with angels throughout time, all but Muriel talk down to him, frown at him, berate him or ignore him. Even the "background angels" who appear to Job and Sitis don't greet or smile at or even acknowledge Aziraphale when he arrives. They merely look.

Aziraphale is Profoundly Alone. No one else sees him. No one else has any sympathy for his thoughts and perceptions. Even dear Muriel, herself totally isolated from others, has no ability or experience to connect her to Aziraphale or to understand his concerns. Everyone else sees Aziraphale as odd, "not like us", and lesser.

Until Crowley.

There. Now the scene feels -- right. It's FIXED.

Each time we see Crowley and Aziraphale meet, they share an understanding, an affinity. Yes, yes, I know -- Aziraphale sporadically spouts off the heavenly rhetoric! But look at his actions... Listen to the rest of how he relates to Crowley. The smiles, the physical closeness, the comfortableness. Even though Aziraphale is profoundly uncomfortable with himself, he reveals his authentic feelings to Crowley, from the Beginnings.

His upset, his pain, his empathy, his tearfulness. His clenched jaw and tightly pressed lips. His rejection of any cruelties, even if they come from heaven. Aziraphale reaches out beyond his loneliness. He shouldn't feel safe with a demon, any demon. But this demon is different. Aziraphale does feel safe -- or at least, as safe as he can feel within a system set out to control and punish. Crowley has the courage to show his genuine self to Aziraphale. Aziraphale responds with the courage to reveal his genuine emotions to Crowley.

By the time they meet again in Uz, each on assignment for the God/Satan bet, Aziraphale is quite comfortable dropping his performance-level facade and being quite natural as soon as he recognizes Crowley.

I'm always struck by how, in their confrontation about the fate of Job's kids, Aziraphale says, "I know the angel you were." Perhaps he did, and we just weren't privy to seeing something more positive in heaven after that first meeting. It seems to me, though, that Aziraphale trusts Crowley to not harm the children precisely because he knows THE BEING HE IS NOW.

And Crowley knows the Being that Aziraphale is now, beyond all the angelic-brainwashing rhetoric. He trusts this angel, this empathetic, softly rebellious, valliant and silly and slightly pompous angel. Crowley (still "Crawley" at the time) reveals his own very dangerous secrets of his disobedience to Hell's cruelty. He didn't even destroy Job's innocent goats, and has no intention whatsoever of harming Job's innocent children. He gives Aziraphale the clues, and waits for the Angel to catch up.

It's a huge moment of trust, as the tension on his face verifies.

The intense strengthening of their bond, even at this early stage, is so obviously shown. Aziraphale quickly becomes even more relaxed and genuine. Familiar with putting on an act, he teases Crawley for the performances he puts on, both for the courtyard crows and for the flaming drama to get the kids into the basement. Whether he can admit it openly or not, they are now friends.

Crawley, in turn, becomes surprisingly open, playful, and honest. His dark glasses remain off. He stops hiding himself, and lets Aziraphale see him fully again. Then, like actors on a stage, he and the angel take turns in a grand spectacle of showmanship for the kids -- and each other!

We all know how the rest of the story progresses. Aziraphale fully trusts that the children are Perfectly Safe with Crowley. The kids are turned to lizards to protect them (and for being annoying -- tho not Jemimah of course!), Crowley "tempts" Aziraphale, Aziraphale gets meat sweats, Crowley lounges and drinks Job's wine, Crowley is a demon who "goes along as far as he can", Job gets to ask the questions, Bildad the Shuhite teams with Aziraphale and together they save the day, and Aziraphale lies to protect the children.

Each step along the way is another bond of trust between Aziraphale and Crowley. Each act of being a little more genuine, a little more open, brings them closer together. A bridge across the loneliness.

Watching God speak to Job was a powerful shared experience. Angel and demon both felt such longing, even if for different reasons. They were standing so close together... a team, a group of two, on the same side, wanting very similar things.

After Aziraphale defies Heaven and they save Job's children, Aziraphale is encompassed by not only dread, but an intense loneliness. He knows he has made decisions that pull him away from the already tenuous heavenly support he had. Not only is he having different experiences on earth than heaven's angels -- he is now embarking on a separate path.

Aziraphale has become something new. He's not compliant with heaven, nor is he Fallen. He's "just an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can."

Crowley, likewise, is something new. He's not compliant with hell, nor is he truly demonic. He's just a demon who goes along with Hell as far as he can.

When Crowley follows Aziaphale to that sunbaked shore, when he sits on that rock, and listens, and shows such compassion, he makes an incredibly profound choice that impacts through the ages. Crowley reaches out of his own existential loneliness in an extraordinarily vulnerable way. Perhaps, like some say, Crowley "fell in love" with Aziraphale on that Garden Wall in Eden -- but this is the moment he truly chooses to be his Friend.

Or maybe that choice, as well, was made on the stones of Eden. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. Aziraphale gave away his flaming sword to protect Adam and Eve, and concealed that from God. Aziraphale thwarted God's apparent wish to have the children killed, and lied directly. This time, however, he had a partner, an ally.

On a stone seat on that lonely shore, Crowley chooses to accept and embrace that alliance, that friendship. He makes a powerful admission, something he avoided just hours ago:

"Lonely? Yeah..." His voice is so sad. Behind the dark glasses, he seems to be staring off across the sea. Loneliness is intense, encompassing, even with a friend sitting close by.

Both he and Aziraphale have lost something profound-- their innocence, their shelter, their faith. Seeing Aziraphale shattered like this surely brought back the shattering loss Crowley himself experienced in a far more wrenching and painful way, feelings that continue to torture him for millenia. "Unforgivable, that's me..."

Loneliness can help people bond. But only true friendship and caring can make it last. Crowley's honest admission, his compassion, his ability to reach out and share in Aziraphale's grief by admitting and sharing his own, is an incredibly strong foundation for the relationship that follows. It has it's ups and downs across the centuries, but the moments we see in flashbacks each show a lasting bond that strengthens across time.

Aziraphale knew and loved who Crowley was, Crowley, not the Starmaker, from their beginnings. It wasn't the Starmaker who reached out in empathy towards innocent children and creatures and a bereft angel. It was a lovely, tender-hearted demon hiding behind dark glasses and a cocky attitude --

-- a mischievous, dramatic, bold demon who also saw Aziraphale in all his flaws and foibles (and meat sweats!) and accepted him anyway. And Aziraphale (despite the frustrating moments of rhetoric through the ages!) sees and accepts him too, and knows that he is safe to be as genuine as he can permit himself to be around Crowley. Over time, this open genuineness grows, until he is dancing, and playful, and doing silly magic tricks for his dearest companion...!

They each reached out in Courage. Again, and again, and again.

That's not an easy bond to break. It's why I believe in Our Ineffables. No matter what, they've always ultimately believed in each other.

*****

If you enjoyed reading this, you might like my other philosophical ramblings:

Finding Forgiveness (Text Barrages & Apology Dances)

Reflections & Divisions (Mirrors of Ourselves)

Forgiveness & Absolution (Holy Hot Chocolate, Jim!)

A.Z. Fell & Crowley (The Demon Who's Always Been Welcome!)

Good Omens & the Existential Art of Not Giving Up (When It's All Exhausting)

Thanks for being here!!

[two-of-tails]

Hi everyone! Tails here!

It's about time I made an introduction for people to see... I forgot to do that earlier, I suppose.

I'm open for questions, anytime, all the time. It might take some time for me to answer them sometimes, though, sorry!

I also go by He/They and am aroace :]

Cya around!

Hiii! Mun (I think?) is @m3tr0n0m333 :]

I did make an introductory animation post WAAAAY back when this whole thing started but I was new to tumblr then and had no idea how to pin posts. So. whoops. Lost to time unless you can scroll all the way past everything.

I don't use tags to organize anything. Sorry. I feel that it's too late for that now. HOWEVER. If you want to see all the art made on this blog, you can go into ' #tails fanart ' which holds all my art/doodles I've made.

I so have common interactors/blogs but don't be scared! Feel free to join in! Drop an ask or interaction! I do respond to most things/characters/people. I do find myself losing interest quickly with crossover things/characters not from same source, though, SO SORRY!

This is in no way a professional rp blog. So don't expect too much. I have a few headcanons for Tails, but I try to stay on canon as much as possible. Save for less children censoring. Whatever you send on this blog WILL influence his future actions. (Ex: He kept getting poisoned by gifts so he no longer accepts food from strangers.)

All I can think of thus far... any out of character things usually have these )) brackets. :]

[civilotterneer]

Totally not a sneak peak at the comic....

Nope, nothing odd here, totally not a hint at what's to come.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[lokisaved]

The wildest thing about getting to take a photo with Tom is that it didn't feel quite real, like he wasn't a real person standing there in front of me that I was about to be right next to. I partially attribute that to how fast the line was going, but even if I had a bit more time to process, I surely would have felt the same: that a man whose life, basically, I had been following since 2013, was in the same room as me and I was mere feet away.

I was lightheaded in the moments prior to the photo, although whether due to being hungry and needed water or overwhelmed suddenly despite not feeling it before (and thrown off by the girl in front of me trying to hold a brief conversation and the crew trying to escort her away), I'm not sure. I do wonder how Tom feels about the whole thing, about how fast it went.

We greeted each other, I got to shake his hand (his hand really is big, much larger than I expected, yet when he shook mine, it didn't feel overwhelming, and he didn't crush me), he put his arm behind me and mine behind him (his coat was quite soft; my mom speculated it's a nice/fancy wool), we smiled, FLASH, I thanked him (I can't recall if he thanked me), and off I went.

While fast, definitely 100% worth it. I've never had the chance to go anywhere else he's been due to time and money, but this time, the stars aligned.

I was lucky enough to have enough income to be able to do that plus get better seating for the live show, which was also definitely worth it; I wasn't as close as I would have liked, but better than higher up—and the general seating filled up really fast, so much so that when it got delayed due to autographs (I get the sense they overbooked him, because he had to go BACK after it was done), they told us not to leave the theatre because so many people couldn't get in.

Anyway, I absolutely loved being able to hear him talk in person, and he told pretty much all new stories this time! At least, new to me, but I'm pretty sure most of them had not been told before, probably because the audience got to ask the questions (using a Google forms from the week before that was only open for twenty-four hours AND I MISSED—and they had apparently 84 questions?? Surely they could have left that open longer, then).

I really hope I get the opportunity to see him in person again in some form or fashion; i.e. I'd probably do an autograph, or if he's got enough live event, just pay for good seating for that. I don't know if I'll get so lucky a second time, and I will definitely cherish this for a long while.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: Grayson (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson/Tiger Characters: Dick Grayson, Tiger (DCU) Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Tiger (DCU), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Forced Bonding, Mating Bites, Mate or Die, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex, Spyral (DCU), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Unrequited Love, Bittersweet, Intense Sex, Hurt Dick Grayson, Whump Summary:

Tiger does what he has to, to save Dick's life. Unfortunately, that just happens to be forcing a mating bite onto Dick. Together, they figure out the aftermath and find a mutually satisfying way to deal with Tiger's subsequent rut.

-

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 3: Forced Bond

[weirdnerdygoat]

Oh look, a younger ford blushing picture...

I... may or may not be making something...

[anaalnathrakhs]

one day i wish to understand exactly what was my parents' modus operandi for my childhood because i cannot for the life of me figure out the logic but also there HAS to be some kind of underlying belief to it because i turned out with mom-n-dad-shaped fundamental flaws to my character

[archersgoon]

rereading ch1 thescreamingskull.gif what is he supposed to do what is he supposed to do!!!!!!!! he can't be a farmer and a soldier hes only got one choice but anytime he moves in that direction they get pissed at him!! gee i wonder why he keeps skipping out on lessons with the priestking do you think perhaps sending him out to torture and kill people (starting at 15/16) and letting him think that's all he's good for may have influenced his thoughts on the matter? why would he bother. genuinely. "oh you'll have to bond with a girl eventually" okay well first of all that's very heteronormative of you perri*. second of all i think it is like, pretty clear to the people around him that to froi being part of the guard in the way they want him to is very much an all or nothing deal. even discounting his relationship with sex&romance if he's not able to do both (family+the guard) now how is he going to be able to expect to do it later? like he's backed into this corner where he "can't do both" explicitly, but at the same time he's expected to do both but only in the way they want him to he is not being given a choice in the matter. "Once a boy with no home, Froi now found himself torn between two." and this is about sayles/the guard in chapter 1!!! how well did this mindset work out for you guys now neither of you get to keep him. they turn him into a weapon (this is text there's the whole flashback where trevanion says like "You're a weapon Froi. Maybe the best we've ever created.") then when he thinks of himself as one they act as though he's wronged them personally

*i know tomas and bosco are sick of his ass

[sergeantofjupiter]

Of course something had to go wrong.

Witchy had Midori, who looked much greener than usual, contained in a magic bubble.

His eyes were somewhat glossed over, and he was groaning with the occasional babbling about Borderland or something while pounding against the magic bubble every now and then. Basically, he is a zombie, but he seems to still have some sentience.

Witchy was looking up potion recipes to hopefully find a cure.