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#EMOTIONAL I AM OVER THIS FUCKING OVER THEM
theemporium · 1 day
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hi cece congrats on 10k! what an amazing accomplishment! can i request a 💜violet fluff with luke hughes for this prompt please: "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."
ps the cocktail celebration is so fun and unique i love it!
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
53. "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."
.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget what different worlds you and Luke came from.
Family was everything he knew growing up. There wasn’t a day in his life that he doubted his parents or his brothers wouldn’t have his back, wouldn’t stand by his side, wouldn’t be there for him if he asked. Despite the petty fights and dramatic tantrums, the Hughes family were a tight-knit, loving family who only wanted to see each other thrive. They wanted the best for each other. They loved each other unconditionally. They were what people imagined—what people dreamed of—when they thought of family.
You couldn’t say the same for yourself.
It wasn’t like you grew up in a bad or horrible household, it just felt like you had to earn the right to be there. Because yes, you had food on your plate and a roof over your head and got gifts on your birthday. But you didn’t receive any of those things without being told how much effort it took to give you those things, to be constantly reminded how much of a burden you were, to constantly feel like things would be easier if you weren’t there. 
Because yes, your achievements were celebrated and you knew you were loved. But it was conditional. The happiness and love and affection came with a price. It constantly felt like you were in a competition, and no matter how much you did, you could never win. It felt like an uphill battle that never ended. 
And it was something Luke could never quite comprehend. Not that you wanted him to ever know. But sometimes, it still took him by surprise. 
You tried to avoid phone calls as best as you could. They were usually draining and long-winded, and it wasn’t a situation you always wanted to put yourself in. But you were riding the high of feeling happy and proud of yourself, of your own achievements.
And, like always, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t be that bad this time round. 
But it was. It always fucking was.
A happy, quick phone call turned into an hour-long lecture about how you don’t call home enough, how you wouldn’t be where you were without them, how you were ungrateful and greedy and still not good enough. 
You had mentally checked out by the time Luke wandered into the room, his brows furrowed in confusion when he didn’t hear you call back out as he arrived. He only heard snippets of the berating voice over the phone before he stepped in, making up some trivial excuse that you doubted your parents believed before he hung up. 
You couldn’t even bring yourself to say ‘thank you’ as he climbed into the bed next to you, saying nothing as he wound his arms around your body and hauled you onto his chest until almost every inch of you was pressed against him.
“I just wanted to tell them the good news,” you eventually spoke, your voice a little croaky and your words accompanied by sniffles. “I thought they’d be happy but—”
His arms tightened around you. 
“M’sorry,” you murmured, letting out a breath as you tried to sit up a little. “You just came back from practice, you do not need to hear about my issues when you’re probably tired—”
“Hey,” Luke interrupted, his lips turned downwards and his expression mimicking one of a kicked puppy. “Please never apologise for wanting to be loved or appreciated.”
You let out a shaky breath, feeling the emotions get caught up in your throat.
“I love you,” Luke said, so firmly that there wasn’t even any room for the doubting voices in your head to question him. “And I am so fucking proud of you, baby. Always. You always have me.”
“I love you too,” you whispered because it was all you could bring yourself to say at that moment before you laid your head down on his chest, basking in the feeling of Luke’s arms tightening around you.
.
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thugpugs4lrh · 2 days
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little!matt having a panic attack during a podcast and cg!reader helping calm him down maybe?
Relax, Baby
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Summary: Anxiety can be really, really hard, but with your help, Matt knows he'll always be okay<3
Pairing: Little!Matt x gender neutral and caregiver!reader
Warnings: Panic attack
Word Count: 894
A/N: As always, age regression is a nonsexual and innocent coping mechanism. Also, I am not saying or assuming this is how Matt is irl. It's fiction. If you don't like it, don't read it :) Enjoy!
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Anxiety and panic attacks had been a struggle in Matt’s life for quite some time now. He always thought too much about how people felt about him and how he was perceived, which would usually lead to him having a rather bad panic attack. You had known this going into your relationship with the boy, and together, you two had worked to find a solution that would help him heal and calm down.
When you had first suggested the idea of age regression to Matt, he had heavily refused, insisting that he didn’t need to be babied. With some gentle coaxing, you had gotten him to just try it, only for Matt to realize just how much regressing helped. Allowing someone else to take the reins for a bit, while he went back to a peaceful, childlike state, was like a breath of fresh air. Whenever he slipped into littlespace, Matt could feel the tension leaving his body, especially when he cuddled up with you. But littles were people with big emotions, and on days like today, those emotions took over everything else. 
The triplets were getting ready to film a new episode for Cut the Camera, and Matt was less than excited. Nick and Chris had been getting on his nerves all morning, calling him things like ‘Miserable Matt’ and ‘Mumble Matt’. Normally, this wouldn’t really bother him and he’d just make a joke back, but today, he’d been feeling extra anxious since the moment he’d woken up. Matt sat in his chair in front of the mic, fiddling with the stuffed flamingo he kept there for comfort. His mind was anywhere but the episode; instead, he was thinking about you upstairs in your cozy, shared bedroom. You had been disinfecting his stuffed animals when he came downstairs to film, and all he wanted was to be cuddled up in your arms again, covered up with his woodland animals blanket, paci in his mouth, and Mr. Wrinkleton in his hand. 
“God, Matt,” Nick interjected. “Are you even paying attention?”
Matt flushed scarlet, his ears and cheeks going red. “Um…what was the question?” he asked quietly, biting at his cuticles. 
“Kid can’t even remember the question,” Chris rolled his eyes. “Too busy being ‘Miserable Matt’ to pay attention.”
“I’m not being miserable,” Matt huffed. “I was just thinking.”
“About your significant other treating you like a fucking baby? Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” Chris bit back. 
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Matt hastily pushed his chair back, already sobbing and struggling to breathe. He had been on the verge of panic all morning, and now that Chris had spewed his deepest secret on camera, there was no going back. The brunette ran up the stairs, trying not to hyperventilate as he burst through the bedroom door. You looked up from the desk where you were working, glancing at Matt’s huddled form on the bed, his body shaking with tears. 
“Honey, what’s wrong? I thought you guys were filming?” You asked, checking the time on your phone as you rushed to Matt’s side. 
Matt just sobbed, his wails ricocheting around the room. His hands had moved to tangle in his hair as he hyperventilated, eyes wide with panic. You could see it in Matt’s glazed over eyes that he wasn’t fully ‘there’, whether that be from the panic or from slipping into littlespace. Either way, you knew you had to help him. You gently removed Matt’s hands from his hair as he wailed, holding them softly. 
“Matt. You are panicking. You need to breathe,” You instructed, placing one of his hands on your chest. “In for four, out for four. Copy me.”
Matt tried his best to copy you, and his cries slowly reduced to little sniffles and hiccups as he latched onto you, thumb migrating to his mouth. “Hate Chris. Hate him.” he mumbled, suckling on his thumb as his babyspace lisp made an appearance. 
“Oh sweetheart,” You cooed sadly. “Is that what’s got you so upset?”
Your boy sniffled again, laying his head down on your shoulder. “Feels sicky.”
You pouted, knowing that Matt tended to get nauseous during and after a panic attack, and especially after a fight with his brothers. You didn’t ask what had gone on between him and Chris for fear of upsetting, but you knew the conversation would need to happen eventually. You just moved towards the bed, laying down with Matt and tucking him in next to you. You handed him his water bottle and Mr. Wrinkleton off the nightstand, watching for any signs of another impending panic attack. 
“Can you drink some water, baby? Just a little?”
Matt nodded, taking a few small sips, before cuddling up with his stuffed animal. A great yawn escaped his mouth as you handed him his blue, decorated pacifier that read ‘Baby Boy’ on it. It wasn’t long before your boy was cuddled into your side, snoring softly while clutching his stuffie and suckling away on his pacifier. You knew that you would have to find out what Chris had done in order to make Matt so upset, but for now, you just focused on cuddling the sleeping baby beside you.
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tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @mattsfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxyz @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @bunny-cotton @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @not-phone-guy @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @faygo-frog @oobleoob @runasvengence @aemrsy
note ♡: my taglist is closed for the time being, thank you so much for your support 💐🧸🎀
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kujakumai · 21 hours
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would you like to elaborate on the "catastrophic mommy issues"? I'd love to hear what your thoughts are on that lol
Thief King is a child raised by a mass of vengeful tortured souls in the ruined basement where they all died, all of whom are in effect a stand-in for family/community/parents. They are all TKB has left, and they are highly protective of him; they seem not entirely within their right minds, not capable of competent childcare, and they give him explicit instructions on how to destroy and take over the world, which he follows enthusiastically.
I think about this a lot, like a lot a lot, and while we don't see much I think its gotta be a very tangled dynamic. When writing him I tend to use "mom issues" or general references to his mom as an emotional stand in because I think she's probably the most likely person he'd remember clearly when he needs a real face, but that's not necessary. All of Kul Elna is Mom for these purposes.
There is a lot going on here, for example:
>Kul Elna does not seem to leave the temple unless accompanied, or at very least they prefer to stay there. This means TKB probably spent a significant portion of his childhood in the same ruins and possibly the same room where he watched everyone die. Cool! Great!
>Kul Elna appears to be only partially corporeal, limited in their ability to do much besides menace, and TKB says they are "in hell" (unclear what that means). I do not think they are up to the daily tasks of feeding, bathing, or taking care of a small child. I think he probably grew up as an urchin mainly in squalor.
The closest real-life analogue to this is, probably, simply a child in the care of someone who is ill or disabled such that they cannot effectively take care of even themselves without support; so you have a situation where no one has done anything wrong, and this family loves each other very much, and the only real culprit is the society that failed them. But you're still going to end up with a kid who is not getting their needs met, is in a situation that is often stressful and sometimes scary, and that will lead to a rapid Adultification where the kid takes on the role of steward without ever having a proper childhood.
>The Zork-raising instructions were given to TKB by Kul Elna. He tells us this. I am less concerned by Kul Elna's obviously Zork-influenced plan to destroy everything than I am its effect on a 16 year old boy who loves them very much because they're all he has left in the entire world. When did they bring this up? Is it recent? Has it been an ongoing plan for years--has TKB effectively been raised on the idea that he is to be Egypt's own destined apocalypse maiden? How fucked up would that be?
Fandom is hesitant, I think, to ascribe anything malicious to Kul Elna or suggest that their relationship with TKB is sinister--which, for the record, I don't think it is, I think this fucked-up little family has nothing but love for this kid in the depths of whatever humanity they have left--because Kul Elna gets such an unjust treatment in canon it makes us incandescent. Yet the same would apply to TKB--if they want the world in ruins and him at the top, how could he even think anything different? After everything the pharaoh did to them, and to you, of the life they deprived you of? Impossible to suggest something different. You can't tell him they're wrong. What's that old softer world bit; I am a pacifist, and I will be a pacifist until I die, or someone threatens my mother.
>TKB does not need survivors guilt to be an unfailingly loyal Mama's Boy to his ghost family (Ghost's Boy?) but he's got to have it. A simultaneous immense guilt for getting out when no one else did; the immense loss of being left behind, like they all went to become this without him; the weight of being the only one left, the only one who can take revenge not only for you but for them, and if you fail then no one will remember any of their names, or yours. One chance. Avenge them or die a nobody. Don't fuck this up. It's your responsibility, like it or not, because no one else can help, and no one else can help because of what your enemies did to them, which is why you need to do it. It's almost self-justifying.
If you want me to editorialize, I don't think he actually cares much about ruling the world, nor does that goal make sense. I think in the back of his little brain he thinks that if he wins he finally gets to join them somehow.
tldr; I think TKB's relationship with whatever the hell Kul Elna has going on is way, way more complicated and nuanced than even he is consciously aware of and you can love someone very much and still fuck them up immensely (arguably a major them of ygo itself). TKB's has such catastrophic mommy issues he literally tries to end the world. We are talking literal apocalyptic mom issues. Cataclysmic.
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zanarkandskylines · 3 days
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Hello! I was wondering if I could request a balugou or Todoroki x reader helping reader grieve their father. Their father died unexpectedly, and even years later they haven’t processed grief a lot yet. Like some days they’ll be fine, then something will remind them of their dad, or randomly in the middle of the night they’ll cry when they realize they lost their father. If not, totally okay! Love your work so so much!
omg anon, absolutely! i (unfortunately) have a lot of feelings about grief and have no problem talking/writing about it as i find it therapeutic. i super appreciate the respectful approach and thank you for reading my work! supporting my little fleeting thoughts brings me more warmth than you know. 😭💗 i am gonna choose bakugo over the two of them since i don’t think i could do todoroki well enough, hope that’s okay!!
lost in the echo 『 ♡ 』 bakugo x fem!reader ⇢ it all happened so fast - one moment, your family is happy and healthy. the next? it's broken and in disarray, loss shattering your whole world. in a world of super heroes, people often forget just how painfully human they are when sickness strikes.
꒰ tags & content ꒱ heavy talks of grief (parent's passing), talks of self harm/substance abuse (drugs/alcohol), talks of cancer/illness & hospitals | major emotional hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, sprinkles of angst about being perceived while grieving, soft bakugo, reader’s best friends are bakugo and mina, bakugo’s secretly crushing on reader, “happy ending,” characters are 18+ ꒰ cross posted to ao3 | wc; -1.5k ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 
☆ inspired by "neon grave" by dayseeker ☆
⋆ ˚ʚɞ — just a general note to please, please mind the tags for this fic. it's not dark content, per se, but it deals with heavy subject matter (descriptive self destructive habits & harm) and could be upsetting for some. much love for you all! ♡
───
“This party sucks,” you whine, leaning on Mina’s shoulder. “Monoma’s drinks are weak as hell.”
Mina pats your head and exhales dramatically. “Might be time to call it a night, babe. It’s almost midnight, and they’re weak cause you’ve downed six cups.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”
The two of you had been invited by some of the class 3B students to hang out in their dorms over the weekend, AKA drink and bullshit the night away. Months ago, you wouldn’t have been caught dead at any of these parties, but nowadays? You were looking for any way to silence the nagging voice in your head. Mina tagged along, mostly to keep an eye on you since none of your other classmates attended said parties. She’d been on her phone most of the night, texting and scrolling in the corner as you knocked back drinks.
“Who the fuck are you texting?” Your words came out acidic, but that wasn’t your intention. The alcohol was beginning to sink in, stirring the emotions in your chest. It was Russian Roulette, you never knew which one would be loaded in the chamber and ready to fire.
Mina clicked her tongue at your tone, raising her eyebrows. “Why do you care?”
Ah, that was code for “I’m texting Bakugo updates on how you’re doing because we’re worried for your wellbeing.”
Logically, you knew they just cared about you. You’d had a tough couple of months - nothing crazy, just that your dad fucking died and tragically lost his battle against cancer.
The news wasn’t easy to hear, let alone digest, the longer it sat with you back when your mom first broke the news. Cancer. One of the most gut churning words in any language. The sheer mention of the term is enough to make anyone’s hairs stand on end, especially when it’s applied to someone you love and care about.
Fluorescent orange bottles lined your kitchen counter back home, multitudes of medication prescribed to keep your dad in a haze while his body decayed. They taunted you, a constant reminder of the grim reality your family was stuck in. You’ve memorized the smell of the hospital, too - that faint stench of death mixed with cleaning supplies. Late nights in the glow of vending machines of the ER lobby and long days spent listening to nurses drone on about hope and miracles. They even had the gall to give you and your mom false hope, declaring he was in remission one week before he died.
You shake your head to rid yourself of the memories, pissed off that even in your buzzed state of mind, all of it was crystal clear. Mina gives you a quizzical stare, realizing that you haven’t heard hear her talking to you the last few minutes.
“We’re leaving,” she exclaims, grabbing your wrist. You tug it from her grasp and chug the rest of the drink in your hand, tossing the now empty cup to the floor.
“Fuck off, Mina! I know you’ve been talking with Katsuki all night. You two treat me like I’m a fragile little bitch!” You yell, waving your arms for dramatic effect. At this point, she’s used to your combative outbursts. She knows you’re grieving, but goddamn, she wanted to smack the shit out of you when you got like this.
“Suit yourself, I’m goin’ to bed.” And with that, she leaves.
Mina actually walks out and leaves you.
You storm to the door, throwing it open and pursuing her down the hallway of the Class B dorms.
“Minaaa!” You call after her, slurring the latter half of her name. She’s got her phone to her ear as she cocks her head to the side, acknowledging she heard you but isn’t listening.
You’re not proud of what you’re about to do.
Sprinting to catch up to her, you take the phone out of her hand from behind, the screen blinking the caller ID briefly - Bakugo. A sinister cackle escapes you while bringing the phone to your ear.
“Katsuki fuckin’ Bakugo. You and Mina are the fucking worst. Why can’t you just let me self destruct, huh?!” The rage bubbling in your guts was too strong to ignore. The metaphorical gun was loaded, and unfortunately for Bakugo, he was the target.
“You treat me like I’m some weak-ass bitch. Just ‘cause my dad fuckin’ died doesn’t mean shit! I’m not a goddamn child, Katsuki!” Your voice cracks over the word ‘child.’
“Treating me like a kid is rich coming from you, ya know. Hah!”
Mina attempts to grab the phone from you, but fails when you duck out of her reach, dancing down the hall away from her. Bakugo still hasn’t said a word back to you.
“The guy who treated sweet little Midoriya like shit for no reason, bullied him over a fuckin’ non-existent grudge. You’re the goddamn poster child of a shitty friend.”
“Y/N, ENOUGH!” Mina screeches, ripping the phone from your hand. She turns away from you while raising the phone to her ear once more.
“I’m sorry Baku-“ Mina’s interrupted by soft snivels. She could tell he tried to hide it - you made him cry.
“Hey, she’s just drunk and being an asshole. She doesn’t mean it,” she whispers. “Get to bed, I’ve kept you up long enough.” Mina hangs up the phone and turns her attention back to you. She doesn’t say a word - her eyes tell you how disappointed she is with your actions.
You quietly sulk behind her back to the Class A dorms, reveling in the guilt of your actions.
───
Monday comes along and you still haven't said two words to Bakugo. Admittedly, you're ashamed of yourself and don't have the courage to apologize right now. It wasn’t the first time you’ve gotten into a small tiff, it always goes back to normal. You’re sure this’ll pass and he’ll just talk to you again…right?
But he doesn’t.
Classes wrap for the day and he leaves homeroom without looking your way.
───
The silence in your dorm room is starting to drive you mad, not having a decent enough distraction for the endless loop of thoughts circling in your mind. You wander into the bathroom and lazily open your medicine cabinet. A set of translucent orange bottles occupied the bottom shelf - you’d taken them from home, stealing your dead dad’s various medications. A pang of guilt stabs you in the gut while you shuffle through them. You had zero idea what most of these pills even did, but if it got you high? Who fucking cares.
You’re about to dump a few in your hand when something stops you, dropping the tablets onto the floor.
What the fuck?
“Dad…?” You speak aloud, knowing full well how fucking insane you sound for thinking your father’s ghost smacked the medicine out of your hand. As expected, there is no response, just dead air. You scurry back to your bed, grabbing for your phone. Instinctively, you’re about to click Bakugo’s name when your eyes fall on the time: 11:56PM.
You call him anyways.
After a few rings, the line picks up and you hear shuffling before he verbally answers.
“…Hey.”
“Uhh, hi. Sorry for waking you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can you come to my room?”
There’s a pause.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you. Door's open.”
The line ends with a click.
A minute or two later, your dorm room door cracks open, Bakugo stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him. He hesitantly makes his way over to the bed and sits beside you.
“Y’okay?”
“I almost took some pills. Something stopped me, though and I didn’t.” Shame creeps through you as you're acknowledging the destructive behavior for the first time in months.
“…I’m glad you ditched ‘em.”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry for the other night.”
Bakugo inhales deeply before shifting his gaze to the floor. “Yeah. ‘S fine.”
Obviously, it was not fine.
“Katsuki, seriously. I’m sorry for being an asshole.” You place a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t deserve to have you here right now.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t say shit like that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.”
The two of you sit in silence for what feels like an eternity.
Bakugo speaks up first. “Why’d you call me over? Y’coulda told me about the pills over the phone.”
Your eyes begin to well with tears, overcome with emotions that you'd been withholding for too long.
"I miss my dad," You say between hiccupped sobs. "I don't know what to do...it fucking hurts."
Bakugo doesn't hesitate to pull you close, awkwardly throwing his arms around you. "I know."
Everything comes pouring out of you, every single emotion that you've shoved away into the imaginary closet in your head since the funeral. No matter how many times you tell him that he can leave, he doesn't. He stays with you the entire night, laying beside you as you cry yourself to sleep.
───
When you stir awake the next morning, Bakugo's arm is securely hooked around your waist as he's peacefully resting behind you. You give him a light shake to wake him up.
"Mornin'," he grunts, sleepily opening one eye. "How ya feelin'?"
Honestly? You felt...okay.
"Good, I think. Better than I have in awhile," you say, rolling over to face him. "Thank you. I'm sorry again for-"
Unexpectedly, his lips are on yours, silencing your apology. You let out a squeak before melting into the warmth he offers, tugging on your waist to pull you closer to him. He breaks the kiss long enough to mumble, “Forget about all that. Just shut up and kiss me, dammit.”
You can’t help but feel guilty about his affection, how you didn’t think you deserved it after treating him so horribly. All Bakugo wanted to do was be there for you when you pushed him, and Mina, away.
“But…why now?” You ask while pulling away, perplexed at how casual he’s being about all of this.
He just shakes his head, grin plastered on his smug face. “Cause I don’t like seein’ you cry. And Mina may or may not have blabbed about a certain drunken rant ya went on about me.”
What the hell was he…oh. Ohhhh.
Dammit Mina!
“What did she tell you?!” You blurt out, covering your face with your hands. Bakugo grabs your wrists, pulling your hands away from your flared cheeks as he laughs.
“She didn’t say shit, but now I wanna hear it.”
You smack him playfully in the arm, huffing as you turn over. He scoots up and lays his head behind yours on the pillow.
“I care about you, idiot. That’s why. Do I need another reason?”
You close your eyes, a smile settling on your lips as you grab his hand, moving back to snuggle closer to him.
“No. That’s good enough for me.”
The pain in your heart momentarily subsides and offers you a glimpse of hope.
Things will get easier, no matter how dark it is.
💥 tags; @slayfics
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jon-withnoh · 2 days
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Give me the hot Elisabeth and Rebecca takes!
Sure thing! (Oh boy this turned out long.)
Elisabeth disclaimer: this is purely based on vibes. I have some knowledge of the historical background, but it’s not really my field of study.
Rebecca disclaimer: this is my field of study and I have very strong opinions on it, though I do not claim that I am always correct. I do however maintain that I could back up many of my claims if I had the time to do proper textual analysis and read secondary sources.
I genuinely think Elisabeth (the musical as it was written) is a masterpiece. The framing device, the way certain melodies mirror each other to foreshadow events or indicate character development — it’s amazing! Plus, the music is ridiculously good. 100/10. I love this musical.
Most stagings/recordings of Elisabeth since 2012 though? More than questionable. Levay/Kunze musicals in general appear to be following a pattern where the original production and a maybe one or two productions after it are full of nuance and complexity, only to have that complexity broken down and reduced over time. That is no fault of the musical itself, but a worrying trend of not trusting audience to be able to handle nuance and trying to make every element of a production more palatable and easier to handle. I hate it. Both the 1992 and the 2005 Wien productions have so much to recommend them (I can’t speak for the German productions but would humbly turn over the questions to more Elisabeth-versed mutuals like @fitzrove), but it all seems to be going downhill.
HOT TAKE: I think bringing on more and more “Broadway-sounding” performers to do both Elisabeth and Rebecca is a mistake. For me, Levay/Kunze shows have a very specific sound to them, a sound that fits into European musical theatre and makes sense for when and where they were created. Hiring almost exclusively people with a way more modern, belt-y sound is not a direction I personally like for these shows. Don’t get me wrong, this is not about any specific performers, it’s about trying to change the sound of these shows into something more akin to a big Broadway musical and that really doesn’t work for me. Both Elisabeth and Rebecca are so idiosyncratic in how they sound and how they’re written, trying to make them fit into a mould they don’t belong in does them a disservice. (Looking at you, VBW.)
Maybe not a hot take: but I love the 2005 Wien production of Elisabeth so much. It was my first exposure to the musical and remains my go-to cast album. It certainly has faults and I totally understand why people might gravitate towards different productions, but since I haven’t listened to the full 1992 Wien and 2001 Essen (?) productions yet, I can only compare it to 2012.
REBECCA HOT TAKE: Michael Kunze has stated that he views Rebecca as first and foremost a love story and I think he is WRONG. Daphne du Maurier herself would probably think he was wrong (seeing as she hated the story being described as a romance). This is a core problem with Rebecca das Musical. There are many things to love (Danny, Danny, Beatrice, and did I mention Danny?), but in my opinion, the whole “this is a great love story” angle does it a huge disservice. Let’s make it weirder! Let’s make it as bleak as it fucking is! (Probably not a crowd pleaser but let me have my fun).
Rebecca the musical could have done with some serious editing.
The Magdeburg production of Rebecca, which I am aware was not very accessible to a lot of people, might be one of the best productions of Rebecca ever. Kerstin Ibald absolutely knocked it out of the park with her Mrs Danvers and gave her all the nuance and emotion we so desperately crave. Her Danny is so broken, so lost. Patrick Stanke’s Maxim strikes the perfect balance between the haughty upperclass Englishman who takes kind of a fatherly tone with his young wive, and the haunted, jealous husband who absolutely did murder his first wife. Also in this production Maxim and Ich finally have some chemistry! This production’s Ich (Sibylle Lambrecht, I think) has such a great character arc and it is completely believable that she is into Maxim, even (or especially??) after his confession. Plus, the set design was amazing!!!
More Rebecca hot takes that I’ve definitely brought up before: I know we all like to write Ich as a repressed queer woman who ends up not being all that into Maxim, but honestly, she probably is very attracted to him. We can speculate about the why, but like, it is strongly implied that they have sex for the first time shortly after Maxim’s confession. She wants him.
I maintain and will die on this hill that making Danny sing “Ich liebte sie, doch sie hat mich verraten” is a mistake. I mean, yes please let Danny tell us she loved Rebecca, but come on. Danny doesn’t lose her faith in Rebecca. She doesn’t stop idolising Rebecca. Whatever her reasons for setting Manderley on fire may be it’s not that she thinks Rebecca betrayed her. I don’t even think Danny thinks highly enough of herself to even consider feeling betrayed by Rebecca. Rebecca is god to her.
I definitely have more, but this post is really long and I’m running out of steam… Hope you enjoyed!
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hiii, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a continuing of your rose the hat one shot, maybe where reader pays off her debt? ;) or literally anything with rose / rebecca, i’m sooo obsessed with her and ur fic made me go feral it was amazing !!
[Hi Anon! I originally didn’t consider making a second part to the fic, (I just like the vagueness of one shots), but I am happy to write a second story involving similar themes. We’ll call it a multiverse addition. :3 Thank you for the request!]
Belligerent Collector
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Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader NSFW 18+
Summary: A chance meeting at a supermarket with a specialized clairvoyant brings Rose more than she could ask for. A little too much. [Shifting POVs].
Warnings: Depictions of straight sex between Rose and Crow (oral M and F receiving/giving, 69), one slap (R receiving), choking, depictions of attempted SA, overly emotional for a smut fic, lesbian smut (oral R receiving, strap on use, strap sucking R giving, forced deepthroating, Rose uses a set of vibrating panties to get off), a wee bit dub-con for good measure
A/N: Author pushes her writing boundaries in the name of character authenticity!!! No I’ve never had straight sex, no I don’t want to have straight sex, but boy oh boy, Rose has and will continue to fuck our little corvid boy, and you bet the mattress has some stories to tell. (I promise it ties in!!! It’s very brief!!!).
Word Count: 5.6k
Waking up in a foreign environment had always felt strange. Waking up in a foreign environment in a dream, only to wake once more in reality made realities blend together. Were you really in the rundown motor home of your Grandma’s in Dallas or were you in the divinely furnished home of some elite posing as a trailer park beauty? Then memories… Oh fuck, the memories.
“Rosie, the kid is barely even a kid, not worth eating at this point.” Crow lamented.
“Oh, for fucks sake, she’s not a kid, she’s an adult, let’s just call her that.” Rose spit back, crossing her arms over her bra covered breasts.
“Okay, fine. The adult-kid, this little overgrown shrimp, can see us coming from miles away. We wouldn’t even know about her if you hadn’t brushed her hand in a supermarket.”
Rose rolled her eyes, or more so you felt the motion of her rolling her eyes. These were her memories after all, and you were living them through her eyes.
“The rube brushed my hand, and she brushed right through my train of thought. She skimmed my mind, Crow! She skimmed my mind!”
Rose felt many things in this particular memory. Anger, a sense of deep humiliation, or more so violation. Rose felt that she had been violated by the little bitch child, a half-adult. The little half-ling had brushed her hand reaching for a lane divider for the conveyor belt of the grocery store, and had managed to skim her mind doing so. Like it hadn’t even been a forethought. She read the inner monologue of Rose the motherfucking Hat like it was as simple as brushing her hand in the first place!
“I want her dead.” Rose blurted. “Not just because she’s a little steamier than normal for her age, but because she read my mind. And now she knows who I am, she knows what I do, and she’s an adult, Crow!”
“-And since she’s an adult she has the authority and the ability to cause more problems than a kid, blah, blah, blah, I get it!” Crow cut her off.
Through Rose’s eyes, the bare-chested man was neither handsome nor appealing. He was a fucking vermin. One that had been latching on to Rose like an overgrown calf, sucking her dry; patience, charity, her damned sex drive all dried up like a desert.
“Out.”
The memory ended there, and with it came a brief reprieve, but brief. Another one of Rose’s memories slammed right into your head, the intensity of it hitting you hard. The last memory had been triggered by the touch of the sheets under your fingertips. This memory by the weight your body exerted on the mattress.
I need to breathe, oh fuck I need to breathe-
“Rosie baby, you taste so fucking good.” Crow moaned, sliding up, his dick sliding out of Rose’s mouth.
Rose sputtered, taking in mouthfuls of air. She laughed once she could, wiggling her hips enticingly. A mouth came down on her open entrance once more, tongue rolling wet circles over it; the way she liked it best. It was a 69, Rose was on the bottom because they were trying something new. Rose opened her mouth again, breathing in deep before guiding Crow’s hips down again.
The angle forced her to deepthroat him in his entirety, without exerting too much pressure on her uvula. She felt him licking and kissing her open pussy, moaning into her as she swirled her tongue at the base of his dick. It was the closest to breath play Rose was willing to go, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, jaw aching at the stretch and gag reflex struggling against her higher will, it was fun.
The memory was ripped away, and you shot up as fast as you could, desperately trying to get away from the unwelcome memories that kept springing upon you. Never before in your life had someone's memories been so vibrant, so stubborn to be heard. You felt humiliation, no, violation. These mental images springing upon you without warning, without a trigger other than touch were akin to being violated. Usually you had more control over your abilities, you didn't have the ability to so easily peruse someone's mind, but with Rose it was like you weren't even trying. Well you weren't. Clairvoyance was an entirely conscious effort, at least it always had been. But Rose? Her mind and memories jumped open. It wasn't like a book sliding off a shelf, or a book falling open, no. It was like the books were violently flying off the shelves, ripping themselves open and shoving your face into them.
"Didn't I tell you to get out already?" Rose sighed, setting the book down she'd been reading.
Andy appeared, worrying her lip like a frightened child. Well... Hadn't she been a teen? Rose couldn't remember, age was pointless anyways. Whether she was 32 or 15, she'd look young with a fresh batch of steam in her.
"But.. I thought-"
"It was a one-time thing. My man is coming home today, and I'm not in the mood to pull apart a cat fight." Rose huffed.
This was the morning after she'd turned Andy, the night after she'd eaten the little blonde's pussy again and again until the young woman's body gave up on pleasure entirely. And waking up after that power trip, that victory for the Knot, it put things into perspective. But regardless, she was being a little too harsh on the newcomer.
"Put your clothes on, and come over here."
The blonde wasn't special, like Rose thought. A glorified pillow princess. And the blonde did have an ability that would benefit the Knot, but Rose was hungry now. She'd given Andy her own damn steam, her own life force. Sure, it had been fun, but not fulfilling.
"Why?" Andy whispered, sliding into Rose's open arms.
Rose groaned, sliding her hat over her head. She had her pair of two day old panties on, nothing else. She looked good, as always, but she was tired.
"Because it just can't. It was fun, it was something we could share, but I'm not available. I can get away with one night, one little welcome for the newbie, but I can't justify more than that to my Crow Daddy." Rose sympathetically explained. "You'll find another, there's plenty of youngins in the Knot still. Silent Sarry, for one."
Andy stared down at her feet. Rose watched her large brown eyes fill up with tears. Then she jerked her head, willing them away. A tough cookie, Rose thought. She'd get over this.
"Can I hug you goodbye, at least?" Andy whispered, looking at the floor still.
Rose chuckled at this, pulling the girl in for a gentle hug, followed by the softest kiss she was capable of giving.
"There. Now chin up, go have breakfast with the others. You're True now, you're family."
As Andy gently closed the door behind her, Rose let out a soft sigh, drawing patterns over the floor with her toe.
You dropped to your knees, clutching your head. It was painful, exerting this much energy into viewing her memories, even if it was completely against your will. You'd been in and out of consciousness for... You couldn't be sure. Time had lost all meaning. You were bombarded by memories until your body succumbed to exhaustion, only to wake up and be subjected to more memories. Rose's memories.
You knew her better than yourself at this point.
"Ah, you're actually conscio-"
Rose carried the little rube to her trailer, smirking as the girl twitched spasmodically.
"Bit off more than you can chew there, huh? Too greedy? Viewed too many memories at once?" Rose taunted, watching the young woman as she continued to twitch, her eyes wildly fluttering as her eyeballs roved around beneath her closed eyelids.
"God, she's like the dying." Barry the Chunk commented.
Rose laughed at that. Her fingers were frozen in twisted shapes, like the claw of the arthritic hands of the elderly. It was nothing like Grandpa Flick's nasty rheumatoid arthritis, but it was comparable.
"Well, that's what happens when someone gets too big for her britches." Rose smirked, hauling the girl right atop her bed. "She'll stay here under my watch until she can maintain conscious-
"Oh god, make it stop!" you cried out, clutching your head as it throbbed dangerously.
You were so tired, so hungry, and thirsty beyond belief. Nothing about this place was welcoming enough to allow you even a split second of rest and relaxation. Out of the corner of your eye, a ring covered hand came forward, reaching out to touch you.
"Don't touch me!" you shouted, voice dry and ragged.
Rose raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically. It was one of the few times you'd seen her. And unlike the mirrored effect you were used to viewing her in, the only perspective of herself she had, you were looking at her in the present, through your eyes.
"So now you're calling the shots? Oh, well excuse me." Rose let out an annoyed laugh.
You were scared to breathe, waiting for another memory to suddenly implode over you, but none came.
"I just... I'm tired. And if I move, if I shift my weight over the damn floor I might get another memory."
Rose cocked a brow.
"Get another memory? What, you can sense the memory of objects?"
You hesitantly nodded. Rose let out an intrigued sniff, but that's the only reaction she gave. You had been in her head long enough to understand what her different mannerisms meant. It gave you an advantage, being able to read her so.
"So... You've been reliving whose memories?" Rose asked, brow raised in that calculating critique.
Stern, that's what she was. This was Rose being stern.
"Yours. Only yours."
Rose's nose twitched in immediate disgust and disgraced anger.
"Not by choice," you butted in, trying to calm the storm before it began to brew much farther, "I keep passing out from exhaustion because I can't figure out how to stop viewing the memories. I'm tired, I've had enough of your thoughts and memories and..."
You cut yourself off. The next words out of your mouth would have been 'hedonistic escapades', or worse, 'sexcapades'. Rose eyed you dangerously, neither really believing or listening to your plight.
"Too big for my britches, crude violator, shrimp, halfling, rube, bitch-child," you listed, "I know. And I know too much. I don't want to know, I-"
You cut yourself off, pausing before you reenacted Irina Spalko's inversed lament. This could be something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you supposed. Rose had the special, magical hat after all.
"So, what. I don't care if you do or don't want to read my thoughts-"
"Memories-"
The slap that landed across your cheeks stung, and for the first time since meeting Rose, you were stunned. Slapping someone wasn't something the woman did. She was zealously cruel, calculatingly wicked, manipulating, hateful, over-indulgent and sadistic, but the woman didn't hit people. To lose herself in such a motion would surely seem overdone, by her standards.
"Shut your mouth." Rose seethed.
It was anger. Pure, unbridled, raging fury that caused her hands to shake. You'd never gotten a memory from Rose where she was so angry. Her trailer wasn't a place where she let negative emotions hang about, and that's why it was her safe place.
"You have the audacity to interrupt me when I'm speaking to you? You've been leaching off of me for weeks while I tracked you, reading not just my thoughts, but re-living my memories, and you have the fucking gall to interrupt me?" Rose spit, hands reaching up and choking, squeezing your windpipe.
It was an ego wound, you realized. She was bitter because her ego was being trodden all over by someone who'd been in her head for as long as you had. It was simple, in essence. You knew her. Intimately. More intimately than anyone else. In all of Rose's glory and power, you were interrupting her like any other individual regardless of the fact that you knew her. Knew what she could do, knew what she was.
"I don't even want your steam anymore, I just want to watch you die."
Your stomach lurched, and a memory slammed so violently into your skull that it didn't have somewhere else to go. You grabbed onto Rose's wrists, pulling her down the rabbit hole with you.
"Fucking Rube!" Malte wheezed, hands clinging to Rose's wrists.
Rose was shaking, her hands were shaking. The man beneath her wiggled like a squirrel caught in a trap, his eyes bulging violently, the whites of them rolling wildly. Rose was scared shitless, squeezing harder on instinct, even as the man beneath her slapped at her arms, trying to pull the young teen's hands off him.
He'd tried to rape her. He'd lured her into a street corner, promising her cash if she hiked up her skirts for him. She'd agreed to do so, she needed the money to feed her family. But she'd misheard him, or more accurately, had misunderstood him. The English these American foreigners spoke didn't cling to her Irish tongue easily. That and the structure of the English language was hard. It didn't match up with her native tongue. Combined with a day working in the filthy factories of Jersey had rubbed her hands and mind raw, so "Lift your skirt" meant to quite literally lift your skirt, no other motive or hidden arrangement. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old girl, but he had been stronger. Malte, the son of the factory owner, descended from Dutch immigrants who settled in Delaware, well before it was called Delaware had his eye on her. And he'd shoved her up against the brick wall of the factory, pawing at the front of his trousers, trying to bury himself between her legs as she tried to politely get him to stop.
But Rose was tired. And there was no direct translation for 'no' in her native language, and she couldn't remember the English word for it, so all her words were mixes of jumbled Irish phrases, none of which he interpreted correctly until she struck him between the legs.
His mouth was starting to froth. And the more pressure she exerted on his neck, the more afraid she got. If she killed him, oh god, if she killed him she could ruin her own life, the life of her family. They'd starve, they'd have nothing left to eat. She reached for the first strewn article of clothing she could grab. A top hat, the expensive satin lined kind, one that could fetch enough food for her family if she sold it. Food, eat, live long, stay young... Eat well, live long, stay young...
<------------->
Rose was crying. Sobbing like a fourteen-year-old child all over again. And the body underneath her was seizing, twitching and letting out garbled sounds. Rose grabbed the body, hugging it to her chest with possessive neediness. She needed physical contact, she needed that reassurance. The memory viewing had ended there, but Rose's memories filled in afterwards. She'd run home, falling into her overburdened mother's arms, sobbing and whimpering like her infant brother, still latched on her mother's breast. Her father had been furious, her mother scared. They were all scared in the perpetual twilight of Rose's memory.
Malte had never pressed charges. Whether it was pride or some other vice that compelled him to stay silent about the assault, he never did speak a word of it to anyone. But Rose found that her hours were cut back, her position was regularly filled before she had made it to her station. She looked for other work, worrying over the little bump that grew inside her mother. Worrying about food, about money, about the things that they needed to stay alive, let alone stock up to build their American dream.
"Tá brón orm." she sobbed into the girl's hair. "I'm sorry." she repeated.
Because Rose wasn't holding the rube girl anymore, she was holding a mirror of her younger self.
<------------>
Waking up for the upteenth time was more exhausting than being awake itself. Your head swum with too many thoughts, the mind's way of catching up after being unconscious. Someone was petting your hair, little strokes and teases that pulled at your scalp menacingly.
"We have a debt." Rose murmured. "My people are hungry, and they're going to go hungry because you're not on the menu any longer."
Her words rolled over your head in weary waves, peddling meanings over the valleys of your brain until they slowly sunk in, stringing together cohesive ideas once more.
"And why does that mean I have a debt with you?"
Rose gave the hairs at your scalp a tug, raising an eyebrow as she looked at you seriously.
"Because what I say goes, honey pie."
You closed your eyes, nodding in defeat. The light hurt, everything hurt.
"Got any more memories to view? I have millions, my mind is a cathedral."
You fought back the urge to mouth the words along with her. You knew her little cliches too well.
"I don't think so. The last memory was pushing others out of the way until it could be seen."
The logic behind that theory was imbued with a hidden clarity that had come from somewhere in your unconscious mind. The memories would stop jumping in front of your eyes again.
"Okay, well, you owe me. I'm keeping you alive because you're useful. Clairvoyance is a gift, we don't have a lot of True with such wide sensors as you."
Leaning forward felt like the next best thing with your head throbbing so violently. A soft little 'mmph' left your lips as you did so.
"You're not listening..." Rose said in sing-song fashion.
"Brain hurts."
Rose snorted at this.
"So eloquent. Truly, you should write novels with your linguistic prowess."
You let out another grunt in response.
"Its like talking to a caveman." Rose muttered.
She brought a cup of something to your lips. Tea. You drank it, not really caring that it was lukewarm and half full. It was liquid.
"Not picky. I'll add that to your list of positives."
You eyed her wearily.
"And let me guess, all the negatives include the fantasies of me you can't have because I know you too well."
Rose cocked an eyebrow, momentarily stunned.
"Well. I do have plans for you in the physical department. Crow and I are fizzling out, it might be time to break in a new lover."
She said it so confidently, in a fashion that made it almost unbearably flirtatious.
"You're wondering how good my head game is."
Rose laughed, a stunned kind of bark that caused her chest to jiggle, the swell of her breasts unencumbered beneath her t-shirt.
"Oh god, you're hysterical. I mean yes, but you make me sound so blunt. So, collected." Rose snickered. "I can be blunt, and I certainly try to be..."
Rose trailed off, eyeing you carefully.
"Kiss me."
It was a command that cut through your tired brain. She caught your head as you leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. Rose pulled away after the short kiss, seemingly a little vexed by something.
"How much... How much experience do you have? You kiss like a petrified boy."
You blushed profusely, even though embarrassment in your exhausted state was difficult to even feel.
"I'm tired. Not in the mood."
Rose sighed, nodding at that statement.
"Fine. We'll nurse you back to health before the turn, get you all spick and span. But right before then... You and I are going to sort out this little debt situation we have going on. And then we'll see if you survive the turn."
The thought made your stomach queasy. You were between hell and a hard place. Become like her or die.
"What if I'd prefer being on the menu?"
"Not a lesbo?" Rose teased.
"Not a child eater."
Rose rolled her eyes, leaning in closer as she gripped your hips tight. She kissed your neck chastely.
"Eat well, live long, stay young."
You found yourself looking up at the ceiling, almost willing another memory to intrude, an excuse to pull away from this aggravating situation, but nothing.
"I'd like the luxury of just being normal."
Rose laughed at this, a genuine laugh.
"Whoever told you reading minds was normal. God, you're positively hysterical. I want to make a miniature you and stick her in my hat."
You crossed your arms, perusing the trailer for any signs of food, like a mouse. A little mouse caught in the cat's trap.
"I'll feed you, but first you need to give me a proper kiss." Rose whispered, breath tickling your earlobe.
As if you had anything on your mind other than food. Rose was pushing at your boundaries, playing with you and molding you into a state somewhere between desperate and stubbornly defiant. You leaned in, but you paused. You were coming on too strong. This needed to be natural, not forced. But it was forced, that was the paradox. Leaning in again, slowly, you met her grey eyes, taking a deep breath in. Your hands you drew up to her face, thumbs gently rubbing over the hollow of her cheeks. Rose leaned in, eyeing you with predatory intent.
"Good." she whispered. "You're getting somewhere."
You leaned in even further, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her lip, catching her gaze with hers. It was a game of both movement and eye-lines. Each of you would rove your eyes up and down the other, trying to catch the opponent in the act, making that split second of contact before drawing away to brush noses, to shift grip slightly. You weren't kissing yet, no, this was all about will. Who could tempt the other into making the first move.
"I believe I asked you to give me a kiss." Rose whispered, growing a bit bored of the game.
The softest brush of your lips over hers, making that eye-contact.
"Is that what you want?" you asked.
Rose's eyebrow quirked, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in response. The kiss wasn't as soft as you would have made it had you been administering the kiss. Rose kept you steady with a hand on your hip, a hand in your hair, her mouth occupied with yours. You forced yourself to be more engaged, even with how hungry and weak you felt. She tasted of mint tea, an undercurrent of something sour clinging to the edge of your tastebuds. It was the product of your clairvoyance, surely. Rose didn't taste quite right, a fact that lingered in the peripherals of your thoughts as you leaned into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment, seemingly amused.
"You're so chaste with your kisses. Or perhaps neat is the correct word. It's entertaining to see you so careful and focused."
Rose leaned back, dropping her hands. She easily maneuvered you out of her way, walking towards a fridge on the side of her camper. She wasn't wearing any pants, just too tight lacy panties. Her long legs were on full display, bare feet padding across her wooden floors. Her motions were all so elegantly careless, like she didn't much care what kind of gesture she made, so much as things landed in their respective places.
"Eggs alright with you?" she sighed.
"Yes, thank you."
Rose hummed in reply, starting up her gas powered stove top. She cracked open three eggs, reaching into the fridge for chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits. It smelled good.
"You're pale, drink this."
A glass of orange juice appeared in front of you, and Rose looked down at you with some amusement.
"Like a startled lamb, freezing up in front of a newcomer." she laughed.
You drank the juice, grateful for the liquid. You weren't really paying attention to where your eyes rested as you drank, you were too tired to focus on much else other than the motion of your throat as you drank down the juice.
"I look that good do I?" Rose teased, grabbing your chin and angling it up.
You'd been staring at her upper thighs. Being so tall, Rose's legs filled much of your central and peripheral vision as you spaced out. The couch was low to the ground, and her stance gave a clear view of her inner thighs and the patch of dark hair that clung around her bikini line.
"Sorry, spaced out." you blushed, face going hot with the weight of your embarrassment.
Rose chuckled, squishing your face in soft teasing. She took the glass out of your hand, returning to the stove top. She came back with three eggs piled with cheese, chives and bacon. An American breakfast classic. You ate quickly, and the miserable tightness of your stomach gradually subsided.
"Perhaps you'd like to lay down on the bed and take a nap." Rose suggested.
You nearly choked on your bite of egg. The memory and the feeling of being forcefully deepthroated through Rose's eyes still clung to the back of your mind.
"Uhh, no. Not the bed. Couch is fine."
Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking away the plate of food you were still working on.
"Why? My hedonistic escapades still haunt you?" Rose threw your earlier internal monologue right back at you. "My sexcapades?"
You looked up at her in pure disbelief and jaded embarrassment. Rose wore a shit eating grin, leaning in as she grabbed your chin.
"Poor thing, thought you were the only one with the ability to skim someone's foremost thoughts, huh?" Rose cooed. "Maybe that's what we'll do.. Re-enact that little fixation of yours, get it out of your system."
You found yourself shaking your head and stuttering, hands searching for something to grab onto.
"Mhm, oh you're getting all flustered just thinking about it." Rose grinned cruelly, pulling you up to her feet. "What a perfect way to settle our debt, huh? We'll re-enact one of the memories you collected."
This time, you ardently shook your head, getting over your momentary bout of shyness.
"No, I didn't have control over what I was seeing, I didn't want to-"
"Shush, honey pie." Rose cut you off, pushing you to sit on the bed. "It'll be fun, we'll go slow-ish."
Rose stretched, settling on the bed beside you. She dusted off her hat, gingerly setting it off to the side. Hands looped around your waist, drawing you in.
"You'll like it, I promise." Rose whispered, leaning in to nip at your jaw and ear.
As she placed little love bites over your face and neck, her hands massaged slow patterns on your waist and back. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into her little nips and kisses.
"There you go, warming up to me perfectly." Rose cooed. "Touch me."
Your hands obeyed, cupping her lower face and neck. She placed a slow kiss in the crook between your jaw and neck, opening her lips to suck softly at the skin there. A soft moan broke out of your throat, to which Rose replied with her own throaty hum. One of your legs crept up to straddle her, and a hand from your waist quickly caught your leg, aiding the motion.
"Oh, good girl." Rose whispered. "Warming up nicely."
You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against hers. Her lips caught yours in a kiss, her tongue sliding out to caress your lip. You met her tongue with yours the longer the kiss went on, teasing her with your tongue. Rose's hands slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass and massaging slowly. You moaned immediately, allowing Rose to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your hands were in her hair, playing with the half-braided strands that clung to the base of her scalp.
"Ready for more?" Rose rasped, one hand gripping your rear, the other drawing patterns down your spine.
"Yes." you found yourself saying.
Rose pulled off her top, freeing her breasts entirely. She brought your hands to them, biting her lip playfully.
"Touch, squeeze."
You did as she asked, to which she rewarded you with a sinfully teasing kiss.
"Lay down, top off."
You did as directed, pulling off your shirt, and the loose sports bra she'd found you in. Rose rummaged around in a drawer near the bedside for a moment, grabbing several Items. You watched as she slipped off her underwear, pulling a plain looking black set over her thighs again. A remote, which she clicked just twice. Rose bit her lip immediately, wiggling her hips a few times. A fake dick, a harness. You blushed as you realized just what she was going to do.
"I've never... I can't suck dick." you blurted out.
Rose laughed, sliding the harness over her hips.
"Too bad. You're gonna. And if you leave teeth marks on my nice silicone cock I'll throttle you."
Rose settled between your thighs, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one motion. She spread your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your inner labia. Taking a moment to gather saliva in her mouth, Rose leaned down, spitting on your red, erected clit.
"There's something you can focus on while I stretch your throat."
Rose crawled over you in a traditional 69, slapping the silicone dick on your chin.
"Open."
You could see the soft blur of the panties as they vibrated, producing a noticeable wet spot on the black fabric. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you were careful not to graze the silicone with your teeth. The saliva Rose had placed on your clit slowly began to drip down and cool, producing a maddening sensation. Leaning forward all the way, Rose propped herself up on her elbows, holding your thighs open.
"Breathe through your nose, deep breath, now relax."
Rose pushed her hips down, forcing the silicone past your molars, past your uvula and down into the hollow space of your throat. You gagged, grabbing at her hips and thighs, desperately trying to push away the weight on your head that bore down. Rose laughed as she heard you gag and choke, letting up after fifteen seconds. You sputtered, nose running and eyes blurry with tears.
"Catch your breath, I'll give you fifteen."
Fifteen seconds felt more like five, and the silicone was back down, further this time. You couldn't breathe through your nose, and the burn of your lungs mixed with the stretch of your throat was both terrifying and maddeningly difficult to get away from. Rose let up after a moment, and you were quick to breathe in through your nose, filling your lungs as rapidly as you could, exhaling shortly thereafter. The next time, you breathed in through your nose as the dick slid down your throat, forcing the muscles of your throat to relax. Rose hummed in approval, pressing a soft kiss to your clit.
"Good girl. Now I'm going to rock. If you absolutely cannot manage to get any air in, two taps to my hips, got it?"
Rose didn't wait for you to make any sort of noise or gesture in understanding, she just undulated her hips slowly. You exhaled with every thrust out, inhaling as she thrust in. Your lungs slowly began to accommodate the lack of air, your throat muscles relaxing. Rose kissed your clit again, humming carefully as she rolled her tongue in slow circles over your clit. You found yourself getting the hang of things, more focused on the sensations between your legs than the burn of your throat. Rose's own stimulation was heightened by the pull and stretch of the vibrating panties that shifted with every movement of her hips. You moaned as she licked down into your entrance, and Rose let out a breathy hum in response.
Her mouth settled at your entrance, licking and probing gently. You gripped her hips, helping to support her thrusts. Overtime, your nose brushed her clothed clit as the base of the strap met your lips, adding direct pressure to the vibrating panties. Rose moaned loudly at this sensation, fervently kissing and licking your open pussy. Your lower abdominal muscles coiled rapidly, and by the way Rose was growing sloppy with her thrusts, she must have also been close.
Warm tingles slid up your spine as you climaxed, and your moans were muffled by the strap. Rose slipped the silicone dick out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp and moan through your orgasm without threat of suffocation. Still relatively aware, you had the forethought to find her clit through the panties and rub circles over the vibrating fabric. Rose let out a series of breathy whimpers, pushing her hips back into your thumb until she too climaxed. In need of a place to rest her weary hips, Rose sat back, resting on your face. A mouthful of panty-clad pussy and an eye-full of ass was all you knew for a good fifteen seconds.
"Fine then." Rose sighed, sliding off of you after you tapped the side of her ass twice.
Rose looked down, eyeing your puffy, tear and snot covered face. She smirked, reaching for something on her bedside table. A polaroid camera, one that had to be from the 90s. She snapped a photo of your frazzled state, taking out the photo produced and grabbing a pen.
"What shall we name this one? 'Belligerent collector', perhaps."
Rose gave an evil grin, sliding off the vibrating panties and casting them aside. She swung one of her legs over your face, angling her still wet core over your mouth. Another snap of the camera, capturing your mortified eyes as your mouth was obscured by her vulva.
"And this one we'll title 'debt settled'."
<------------->
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randaccidents · 2 days
Note
Heart's live reaction for the chicken plush:
ehehe mini fic potential ask mini fic potential ask-
For context: This is a part of the au I havent talked about much and links to another part that I am. Slightly stuck on trying to bang out. It's specifically the darkest part of the Heartless story (aka the part that looks the most hopeless).
(digging through story doc) General story beats you need to know for this mini fic are just that. This is after they convince Heart he is wanted, but Heart is not convinced he is needed, and his progress stagnates. Perseverance is too blunt about the issue and starts a MASSIVE argument between them. Heart, reminded of the thoughts and emotions he had in Apathy by the argument, relapses into random bouts of unconsciousness (luckily not back into a full coma like before).
Penitence blames Perseverance, Perseverance blames himself. He had just finished the chicken plush for Heart. He was building up the courage to give it to him. Now Penitence won't even let him be in the same ROOM as Heart. Or hear him out. Or interact with him. It's been 5 days since he last slept, the longest he has ever gone.
He manages something anyways. Sneaks in while Penitence is asleep and places the chicken plush into Heart's arms. He needs to give it to Heart before he tries what he's been considering for the last few days.
SO thats where we are for this little mini fic >:3.
Heart wakes up to a chicken plush.
---------------
The first thing he registers as consciousness crept back in was the gentle weight of something soft in his arms. He scrunched up his nose, weakly shifting his arms in an attempt to figure out what had been given to him. Finding the object was shaped too weirdly to be deduced, Heart sighed. He really didn't want to wake up and face Mind and Soul. Or well, just Soul these past few days. (Did Mind give up on him after hearing what he did? Is that why he hasn't come to see him? Stupid Heart acting on stupid Emotions too inefficient for him? He is unwanted, unneeded, just keep your eyes closed and push the emotions away and fade back into that blissful emptiness without hurt-)
There is a weight in his arms. Heart was always a curious creature. He slowly let one eye peek open, reluctance to face the dawn making the task difficult. A single, black buttoned eye stared back. Blinking both eyes open in shock, Heart gasped quietly.
It was a chicken plush. A small, round thing, made with familiar purplish-white fabric, black button eyes looking out and into him. It was a little lop-sided, sitting slanted in his arms, a more intense shade of purple peeking out from under its belly. Blackened fingers shivering from disbelief, Heart carefully tilted the plush onto its back, uncovering the orchid-coloured heart that sat sewn into its belly. A familiar, orchid-coloured heart.
It's the same one he had Soul sew onto all his hoodies. He runs a finger over the stitching around it, unwilling to believe it. But no, it is the same heart actually, he'd recognize the feeling of those stitches anywhere. Why would they-?
The sound of shuffling behind him had him hiking up his shoulders, arms curling protectively around his new possession. (When did he decide the plush was his? Maybe when he realized it was definitely made with him in mind.)
A hand on his shoulder gently shook him. {"Yo. If you're conscious, good morning Hear- what the fuck."} Heart tensed up at the curse, digging his fingers into the plush and curling around it, trying to hide it from view. (Please don't take this away from him. He hasn't quite processed the tangle of emotions that the plush brought him, but they are nice and warm emotions, and he wants to bask in nice and warm emotions for once.)
He heard Soul sputter behind him for a moment before sighing. The mattress dipped downwards behind his back, making Heart peek up at Soul's back. (It was still weird to him to see Soul wearing long sleeves. Even in the past, Soul would roll up the sleeve on everything he wore even if stolen from others. They never did tell him why that changed.)
He quickly looked away when he noticed Soul turning to face him, gently digging his fingers into the chicken plush in his arms. The chicken was much nicer to him than his halves had been anyway. So soft and squishy, its little button eyes unable to express judgement, only innocence. It made the long-lost feeling of happiness bubble up in his chest. Someone made this for him.
Soul's hand returning to his shoulder stole his attention again. {"...sorry for the poor response Heart, I was just surprised,"} Soul mumbled. Heart tilted his head slightly. Didn't Soul make the plush?
Confusion drove his leaden tongue into movement. ("I thought you made this...?")
{"What- I- no! I mean, I am making something for you- ignore what I just said it was supposed to be a surprise- point is, I didn't make this."}
Heart rolled over, staring wide eyed up at Soul. He didn't make this? But that only left... ("...Mind? I thought he hated me.")
He watched Soul's equally wide eyes blink back at him, forgetting in his shock that it had been days since he had shown this much energy, much less willingly met their gaze. He watched their mouth open and close silently before words finally escaped. {"Where did you get that idea?"}
Heart winced, looking away as days-old bitterness surged up his throat, turning his words to poison. ("He hasn't come by since we argued. He must hate me to stay far away like that, stupid Emotional Side making stupid decisions.")
Soul groaned behind him, muffled curses leaking through his red lips. Heart gently pet the chicken plush, letting the soft plush fabric calm him and remind him of his confusion. Mind made this? For him? For him.
{"I'm a fucking idiot."}
Heart tilted his head, curious to know more yet not wishing to face Soul again. Soul muttered before raising his voice once more, addressing Heart. {"Perseverance hasn't been avoiding you, Heart. I just haven't allowed the two of you to be in the same room as each other. I don't want another rela- another fight."}
(Curious, the word that Soul tripped over. Heart was almost certain he almost said "relapse". But Heart wasn't sick, he was doing just fine without the plague of emotions in his chest. He was finally being efficient. He promises.)
He grumbled quietly at the other implication in Soul's words instead. ("Of course it was you. It's always you.") Blackened fingers squeezed the plush in his hands firmly, feeling the shift of what must be pellets inside. ("Mind would never be able to stay away. Only you would keep us separate after a fight. Not like it worked well the last-") Choking on his anger and betrayal and hurt and bitterness, Heart shoved his face into the fabric of the chicken, shuddering. No. He cannot think about Apathy right now. The memory of it was too cold, and today he wants to stay awake and appreciate his new chicken plush.
Breathe. The chicken plush is soft and warm against his face. A rock in the tide of his returning emotions. He isn't sure he hated their return at the moment. Breathe. Mind cared about him, had made the weight that he was using to hide his face from the world. Breathe. Soul... probably did too. Separating them after fights was normal, and he did mention a gift he was working on too, even if by accident. Breathe.
A hand on his shoulder had him flinching away, rolling back over to face the wall. Soul's voice is quiet behind him. {"...I can go get Perseverance if you want?"}
Go get Mind, he means. Let them finally see each other face to face for the first time since the argument, he means. (Except that's not true, because Mind must have snuck in to gift the chicken plush. Heart feels grateful.) Heart nods shakily, exhaling a shivering, icy breath.
He waits until the door clicks closed before lifting his face from the plush. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he grimaces. That was definitely one of the downsides of letting his emotions back in, he decides, the choking flood.
Rolling back onto his back, he places the chicken plush on his chest, letting the unevenly sewn toy list sideways as his fingers explored its form, taking in its calming weight. A weak smile crawled over his lips as his fingers found uneven stitches at every seam. Mind never was too interested in crafts, making the effort it put in all the more touching, the emotion warm in his chest. This was something he missed about his emotions, he decides, the soothing warmth.
...he is going to ask why it had to use one of his hoodies though. He recognizes the colour and feel of the fabric. He's sure Mind would give him a logical reason, so it had better be a good one. (Whatever reason it was would already be a good one. The plush is warm and soft and safe, and it is a gift. It makes him, dare he admit it, happy.) Wrapping his arms around the chicken plush, he squeezed it against his chest, letting the warmth of the emotions it inspired ground him as he waited.
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monacotrophywife · 1 day
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because in discussion with @blorbocedes i remembered this wip existed and it will never make it out of the gdocs in its entirety but i am hormonal as fuck and liked this - have a deeply sappy, self indulgent brocedes wedding. (the fic is actually about them getting divorced lmao) *
Even Toto is crying, Nico thinks with a hysterical kind of laugh threatening to escape his throat. He remembers the first lunch with Toto, when this all started again: he’d stared at them as though he was trying to remember whether he left the front door unlocked, as though they were speaking a slightly different language. He got the sense Toto had wanted to give them the talk, or a talk - don’t be shit on steroids - but he hadn’t. Years later, when they told him they were getting married, he’d said nothing for a second, then pulled them both into a neck-shattering hug at the same time, and said, accent thick with emotion: “Good. That’s good.” 
And now he’s there, eyes shiny, next to Susie, who’s gazing at them with the kind of love and pride Nico wishes he could let seep into his bones. He’s proud of them, too. He turns to Lewis, and he’s -
Lewis doesn’t cry often. He calls it a stiff upper lip. Nico called it repression, then, but now he just reminds Lewis it would be okay, if he did. He’s standing there now, though, custom Kenneth Nicholson suit, a piece of white racesuit sewn into the sleeve, and a pair of pearl studs in his ears, and there are tears tracking down his cheeks like tiny rivers of silver in the afternoon light. He’s smiling.
Nico chokes up, again, for the fifteenth time today, and Lewis’s eyes crinkle, a little. “C’mon, Nico. Keep it together.” he says, in a fake-whisper, and George barks a wet laugh from somewhere a couple of rows back. Nico shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak, but he’s smiling too. They’re all smiling, this band of people they’ve trusted to be here with them under the setting Mykonos sun.
The ceremony is short. Keke does a reading that Nico has to stare hard at the floor for, and Lewis clutches his hand so tightly it begins to hurt. They spend the evening in a small open-ended courtyard which looks out over the Aegean Sea, slowdance to Nina Simone’s To Love Somebody. Nico buries his face in Lewis’s neck and cries, again. It feels like the end of something as much as it does the start, aching and hopeful at once, and he feels his chest heaving with it as they sway, their little congregation watching on with hands clasped to their chests. Lewis presses a kiss to his ear.
So quietly only Nico can hear, he whispers, voice just above a rumble in the way he knows makes Nico stupid even now: “How drunk are you?” 
Nico grins, sniffing. Lewis has always known how to pull him out of his head.
“Not too drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.” 
Lewis pushes Nico’s head back so he can see his face, holds him at arm’s length, casts his eyes down at Nico’s shirt, unbuttoned now and creased, and licks his lips, intentional. “Oh, I’m asking.”
Then he leans forward and presses his forehead to Nico’s, and they sway until gradually, others join them on the cobbles. 
They don’t live up to their promises, though. When they make it back to the suite, the sky is already losing its inky blue, a thin sliver of pink creeping over the sea. Nico watches Lewis remove his jewellery, everything except one careful platinum band, as though he’s moving through treacle, his face hurting from smiling.
“Come here, please.” 
Lewis smiles back at him, easy, places his shirt on the chair first, then the trousers. “Wait a sec.”
“I don’t want to wait.” Nico says, pouting, and Lewis mock-gasps. “Demanding. I’ve married someone bossy. I’ve basically married Toto.”
Nico yelps. “Lewis!” He just gets a cackle in response, followed by Lewis draping himself, compact and warm, along the side of Nico’s body. 
They kiss, slow and lazy, for a few minutes, but it doesn’t go anywhere: Nico’s hands stay on Lewis’s face, fingertips tracing his shoulder. Lewis’s mouth stays on Nico’s, soft. 
“I know - it’s stupid, it’s our wedding night, but I'm -” Lewis says, hesitantly. Nico laughs into Lewis’s neck. “No, I know. Me too.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you.” Lewis says fervently, leaning to bite gently into Nico’s lip like a promise. Nico kisses Lewis’s nose back. “Mmm. Do you want to pick a year?”
“Now?” 
“Just to fall asleep to. We don’t need to see the end. I think we’ve seen them all now anyway.” 
A long-held tradition: they’d started it in their teens, picking the races carefully from the available stacks of VHS tapes Nico found in Keke’s office. Then later, with every race available online, they’d taken it in turns to pick a year, the other picking the circuit. It was part competition - who remembered the podium, who remembered the strategy, who remembered the winner - and part dissection, making their own pronouncements about pitstop timings and tyre choices, analysing overtakes. More often than not they’d disagree - that was part of it, too, Nico suddenly becoming McLaren’s most ardent supporter, just because Lewis had disagreed with a two-stop, Lewis renouncing all previous allegiances to defend Red Bull’s team orders if Nico took the opposite stance.
“2003,” Lewis says, voice easy. Nico snorts, racking his brains. “A connoisseur’s choice. I’ll say Hungary.”
Lewis snorts back knowingly. They know them all now. Nico scrolls through, finding the race, and lets Lewis pull him back tightly into his body, hook his chin over Nico’s shoulder to watch.
“Did you pick this because Michael doesn’t win?” Lewis says, sleepy, into his ear. Nico huffs.
“I can’t believe you’d think that of me.”
“Okay, did you pick it because Fernando does?”
Nico laughs now, exhausted and delirious. “Yes. Just to annoy you.”
Lewis nods into his neck. “I love you too. This is the one where Villeneuve has -”
“Hydraulic failure, I know.”
“I know you know.”
They're asleep before the first round of fuel stops.
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secondstar-acorn · 2 days
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season 2 means the world to me and now that it's over it's time for me to Elaborate (while I SOB how dare you anthony)
it being a more complex and less easily fixable storyline fits because they're teens! it really resonates with my early-20s-ass!!! i love season one it's incredible but their goals being more clearly set out also makes sense! all they really want is to get their kids home. the teens have to save the world and kill willy and reconcile with their parents and and and---
also idk why but in season 1 i really only had one dad that i Latched Onto and that was henry. i love darryl and glenn and ron obviously but henry just hit different for some reason and we're not gonna examine that because then i'll have to schedule a therapy appointment. but this season i have latched on to every single one of the teens. they're all extremely, WILDLY important to me and i'm gonna talk about it (scotty mute your dash)
let's talk about taylor first because i ADORE him. i am so freaking proud of him, y'all. he started off the season asking cassandra who his dad was and he ended the season by realizing that all he needs is his mom! that's a fantastic moment of character development. he cares so much about his friends! he knows who he is and he puts on a confident attitude, but he's still just a scared kid a lot of the time. he's so supportive 24/7 (HELL YEAH MY MAN) and if norm is the glue, taylor is the emotional support glitter on the craft project that is team stunt teens. he brings up the mood! he adds pizzazz! he's not. afraid to shine but he's also kinda fragile! that's my fucking guy!!!
ok moving on to my absolute beloved scary marlowe. i was one of those people who started off not really liking scary and not understanding her Deal but i finally GOT her in halt and catch fireball and from then on i've been obsessed with her. she falls into my favourite category of fictional character which is morally grey woman with insane amounts of power who just desperately wants to be accepted by people (i.e. jean grey, morgana pendragon, etc.) she stares willy in the eye as he dies!!! she tells her bio dad to fuck off and she accepts terry as her dad and remembers her mom is her best friend and GODDD SCARY MARLOWE. she's one of the most performative of the teens but she's also one of the most genuine. she is quick to defend each of her friends and once she's back in, she's BACK IN. she backs up every single one of them whenever they need her support, and her friendship with normal especially is extremely special to me. they're siblings your honour. the thesis of scary marlowe's character (imo) is "what if my friends love me more than i hate me" and that is a POWERFUL ASS choice that beth made. that's every teenager i know!!! that's me in high school!!! she's fucked up and she's imperfect but she is trying and she's learning to forgive herself for caring and i could write more but i'm not gonna because this is already getting so long and we're only halfway through.
okay this one is. god. normal oak. you put an oak in front of me and i start crying immediately. normal is no exception. hermie may be the theatre kid but normal has the theatre kid energy of trying so SO hard for attention and love but never getting the appreciation he wants. every single relationship he has is FUCKED. he lives off of validation and he's never learned to love himself as is. (please fucking god get this kid to samantha stampler he needs to hear that he's enough just as he is). he hasn't been loved by his parents the way he should, he's fighting to meet impossible expectations, he's been inadvertently pitted against his sister since birth, and he starts the season filled with the naive sort of joy that comes from doing No self reflection whatsoever and ends it deeply self-reflective and clearly still dealing with his trauma. but now he has friends who accept and love him no matter what. friends who will pull him onto the dance floor! he's the cheerleader! he's constantly giving out the validation he's wanted his whole life. he is so generous and so kind and so fucking sad and he breaks my heart. i need a campaign exclusively about normal going to college and learning how to live without his parents constantly in his business and learning who he really is and wants to be. he is. god. normal oak swallows garcia has been living with two conflicting philosophies his entire life, from sparrow "love wolf" oak garcia to lark "bring this glock to school" oak garcia. it's no wonder his mom is a centrist because who ELSE could love both of those men. (rebecca and morgan should meet up. side note.) and he chooses love every time!!! WE HAVE TO HELP IT. i love normal. i hope he's gone to therapy in the past twenty years and i hope he sees that he's had the people who care about him and love him all along in the form of his friends. i was normal normal was me and i am so proud of him. because even though everything has sucked shit he keeps pushing through. he's resilient and i love him for that.
and now. the teen who came out of nowhere and stole all the space in my brain. the true surprise of the season for me. LINCOLN LI FUCKING WILSON. god what to say about lincoln. so so much. i am so overcome by emotion whenever i think of lincoln that it is nearly impossible to put it into words. i understand this kid on a spiritual level. he has one goal and one passion his entire life. he loves his dads so much and he defines himself by what he loves and what he's interested in. he's never been confronted with the real world before. and then he is. and suddenly his world is no longer soccer and dads and his small house and fifa. now he is realizing that oh, the world is a little fucked up actually, and oh, the man i idolized for 14-15(???) years is kind of the one who fucked it up. he means the best for me but by sheltering me too much i am woefully unprepared for the world i'm living in and now all of my false hopes and aspirations are crashing down around me and the only way i can deal with that is to not care anymore. he has to shut it all out or he'll actually have to Think about how awful it is. his dad has killed people. he was found on the titanic?? scary, the person he immediately latched onto once he started doubting his dad, betrays him, and then he's floating again. and scary comes back!! and they eventually get married!!! and future lincoln has learned to forgive and understand that maybe, if he can forgive scary and love her and know her for who she really is and accept her even though she killed that guy that one time, maybe he can learn how to do the same for his dad. i'll say it. lincoln is the luke skywalker of this season. he is throwing away that lightsaber. he is saving grant from his self-hatred by choosing to love him at the end of the season. he tries to change himself as a way to get space. he hates hermie but he tries to be there for normal. he's best friends (...)with taylor and he finds his first REAL friend that isn't one of his dads through taylor!!! taylor inspires him to finally rebel and steal that laffy taffy!! high school lets him start to figure out who he is. he's able to forgive his dads. his sense of morality is maybe a little fucked up but he's probably working on it now!! he's absolutely the bitchiest out of all the teens and i love him for that!! he does his dads' taxes??????? he's been forced to handle WAY too much responsibility on literally all fronts and he shuts down to try and cope. he is canonically autistic to ME. the way he thinks about everything is Insane. he's besties with a bunch of dolphins. soccer is his safe place. when he loves something he holds on TIGHT. this is an incredibly long-winded way of saying i love lincoln and i will spend the rest of my life losing my mind over this character.
my point here is i love season 2. it's weird! it's freaky! it's eldritch! it's brightly coloured and also dark as shit!! i love season 2!!!!!!!
and don't get me started on dood because then we'll be here for hours.
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southparkhcsocs · 3 days
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I don’t wanna bring any negativity over here and u can discard this if u want but honestly? Some of the asks you get about Veronica are so fuckin rude n it makes me rlly sad when I see all the hard work n effort u put into the comic. I love Veronica - she’s an imperfect character with a lot of likability, and a very fun character to follow around and watch. She’s fucking entertaining, which is the whole point of the comic.
You react to these comments so well, idek if u see them in a negative light, but the way u go about it is very mature and nice idk 😭😭
Once again v v sorry if I’m bringing any bad vibes here I just saw the latest ask and got kinda pissy LMAO. Ur doing amazing pls delete this if it bothers u ❤️
Fr thank you! I don't think people mean for it to be offensive as it's difficult to portray the emotions of text... At least for me. I just try and see everything as a positive message or banter!
I really appreciate that you see how much work I put into this. I am my own person with my own life and this comic, hell, the blog itself brings me so much joy like you wouldn't believe! I want to keep it entertaining and engaging! I want people to enjoy my work because I enjoy the love I receive back!
I'm all for constructive feedback. So don't think you can't suggest something because people's perspectives are everything! I mean, I went through the comic start to now and the amount I want to change is wild. If you think my character needs work, I'll work on her! But give me a suggestion on where you think I should improve.
I don't think you're bringing bad vibes, you're absolutely entitled to how you feel and I appreciate you coming here and telling me how much you like Veronica! 💗
I always try and keep positive ✌🏻
But again thank you so much for the love in this ask!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
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djarins-cyare · 1 day
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WIP Wednesday!
Tagged by @beskarandblasters today (thanks Kel!) and @burntheedges literally like 4 weeks ago but I’ve been working 80-hour weeks and am really behind with interactions (so thanks Kate and sorry this is late!) 💙
They’re slightly different templates, so I’ll use the one with more detail and a poll because that’s always fun…
STEP ONE: post snippets of the fics you’re working on (can be a summary if there’s no snippet) STEP TWO: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on
There’s some NSFW content, so under the cut if you please…
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As usual, I’ve given you far more than is strictly necessary, but you can’t shut me up, so here you go…
1. From To See A Thousand Things (guns n’ angst – the winner of my last WIP poll):
“What was that word you just said? Did you call me something rude?” “Kaan’goran. It means ‘weaponsmith’ in Mando’a. I don’t know your name and that’s what you are.” Oh. He says it matter-of-factly, but you’re strangely disappointed somehow. Maybe it’s time you introduced yourself to the man you’ve been anonymously fucking for over a year. This is a night of firsts, after all. “Well, you can call me—” “Don’t,” he insists, surprising you. Your face instantly falls, wondering why the hell that’s the arbitrary line he’s drawing in the sand tonight. But he sees your dejection and sighs, offering an explanation. “In my culture, names aren’t used flippantly. They’re titles, and they’re used as such: a full name to denote one’s clan when necessary, but otherwise rarely spoken. Those individuals who have a job of high standing are referred to by their professional titles – jobs that provide for the whole tribe rather than just their individual clan. To a Mandalorian, a weaponsmith is a noble profession. You forge the implements we defend ourselves with.” Okay, that’s… weirdly sweet. Oh… no. Oh hell no. Fuck off warm fuzzy feeling that’s rising in your belly. This will not do! You furrow your brow, confused and slightly annoyed about… well, basically everything, from his intentions to your emotions. Time to clarify. “You’re... complimenting me?” “I’m… respecting you,” he counters carefully. You can’t help the small snort of amusement that makes its way unbidden through your nose at that. This is definitely a night of firsts.
2. From an unnamed lengthy oneshot (starts a little angsty but builds to fluff and a helmet reveal):
“Din?” you try. His helmet jerks slightly at his name, but he doesn’t look. You deserve more, so you demand more. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He shifts uncomfortably and shakes his helmet a little. Was that a response? A refusal to talk? Try being more direct. “Hey. That’s not fair. You don’t get to touch me like that and then pull away without saying why.” “That’s the problem,” he responds, voice like steel. “I know it’s not fair. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.” There’s something bitter in his tone, and it poisons the air between you. But you still don’t understand, and the ache in your chest festers higher. “I wasn’t complaining,” you try. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?” For some reason, your hesitancy about crossing this line with him has vanished. You think he erased it when he groped your ass just now. “Yes, I know,” he snaps loudly, suddenly sounding angrier than you’ve ever heard him. “Do you know why it can’t happen?” You shake your head, too surprised at his sudden fierceness to respond verbally. Actually, you have some idea (a lot of ideas), but you’d rather hear his explanation. But you don’t get an explanation. You get a dismissal. “Then you don’t know me very well at all.” And with those acidic, modulated words, he turns his back on you and marches into the canyon.
3. From Final Sanctuary (interestingly, this was the second-lowest rated in my last WIP poll, so I’m giving you a whole little smutty section to see if that’s still the case):
He takes several bites before he remembers she wants his opinion, and he swallows and resets the helmet, glancing up at her. She’s watching him, chewing slowly with what he can only describe as a smug smile on her lips. “Good, huh?” she prompts, punctuating her question with another bite. He’s about to respond when her bite causes a bit of the white dip to ooze out of the bread and smear across the corner of her mouth. Dank farrik, his brain instantly leaps into motion and flashes a full and detailed sexual fantasy before his eyes in a matter of milliseconds. …his hard cock between her warm lips, pressing deeper into her mouth as she moans and sucks his length… She clearly feels the rogue smear of dip, but with both hands clutching the bread, she utilises her tongue to recapture it, a wanton pink delight darting out of the corner of her mouth and Din swells in his pants. …she licks and flutters around his cockhead, massaging the sensitive spot underneath and undulating it along the bottom as she sinks lower again… But the viscous white liquid has dripped farther than her tongue can reach, leaving a smear a little way down from the corner of her mouth, and he intently focuses on it. …the perfect confluence of pressure and suction brings him right to the edge of ecstasy, and he orgasms hard, filling her mouth with so much cum that it leaks and spills down her chin… Before he’s even aware he’s doing it, Din is reaching for her. He sees his hand extend across the crate between them, but he can’t stop it. She’s hunched low to reach the food, and the crate is small, so he doesn’t have to learn far, and although her eyes widen in surprise, she doesn’t flinch or pull away. His thumb only hesitates for a second before wiping up the dip, but it hovers there for longer afterwards, coated in white and unsure how to proceed. …she swallows his cum, and he wipes up what spilled out, pressing his thumb into her mouth so she doesn’t miss a drop, and her tongue eagerly licks it up… Just as he makes the rational decision to withdraw his hand, she turns her head, aligning her lips with his thumb, and a rush shoots through him… but he’s already in motion, retreating back to his side of the crate. It’s too late. Would she have done it? Licked his thumb? Dank farrik, he’s so hard over the possibility. Thankfully, he’s pretty sure that between his loose pants and the cross-legged position he’s in, nothing’s on display, plus he’s sitting close to the crate anyhow. Neither of them has spoken yet, although he’s not sure if his voice works right now. Still, he has to answer her question about the meal, so he rasps out the only word that comes to mind. “Delicious.”
I have several others, but these are the fullest, although they’re incomplete and unedited.
Feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment if you want to discuss these any further!
A few NP tags: @ceapa-mica @penvisions @papurgaatika @for-a-longlongtime @draculasfavoritewife @whxtedreams @alltheotps
I'll just get comfy and wait for the poll results...
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going insane over the fact that happiness and care and concern and love is underneath every interaction between newt and hermann in pacific rim
#HEAR ME OUT. they’re introduced and newt and being a groupie and behind him hermann is all huffing and rolling his eyes and shaking his#head but he’s Not Angry. no. he jumps to defend newt albeit in a somewhat mocking and sarcastic way BUT THE THOUGHT IS THERE. and then when#hermann is rambling on about numbers being the handwriting of god newt is in the background smiling and laughing and making silly#hand motions and yes the hand motion was a bit mocking BUT THATS THEIR WHOLW THINF. anyways i’m not done. when newt drifts with the kaiju#and pentecost is there talking to him and hermann and newt r yelling back in forth u can hear the unease and shakiness in their voices and#especially the frustration in hermanns. he’s frustrated abt newt risking his life and is worried abt that which translates out in anger.#and yeah maybe he’s salty abt being proven wrong too lmao. BUT CONTINUING ON. stacker could have just told newt to go to hannibal chau and#he would have done it. but instead they watch the film of him on HERMANNS computer as HERMANN controls the computer to look at the film. if#thé film was shown it was for a reason. newt doesn’t seem like the type to need reassurance abt chau before he goes. he was willing to die#for his trash drift. and stacker gave him the card and info so there’s no need to do anything else. the video is most likely there for the#viewers but it needs a reason to be there in the show. hence my reasoning that HERMANN asked to see it out of concern for newt who would be#doinf this alone. hermann demanded to see some proof to reassure himself. stacker having the card on him makes sense. him having that bulky#tape doesn’t. meaning hermann pressured him into leaving getting the tape and coming back to show him. anyways one more bit. so the drift.#hermann is clearly scared out of his mind and thinking abt the impending triple event. yet he still drifts with newt he does it to protect#him to take part of the neural load. and it takes a toll on hermann it makes a big enough mess of his brain that he ends with him bleeding#and shaking and sweating and coughing and throwing up. and he knew it would take a toll. he knew it would be a lot he’s seen the jaegers.#he’s seen what happens. he knows it will be rough. he knows it’ll be much worse for him who wasn’t drifted then for newt who has. yet he#still does it to help newt and to show his care and trust and concern and love and THEYRE DRIFT COMPATIBLE U DONT UNDERSTANDABLE HOW#EMOTIONAL I AM OVER THIS FUCKING OVER THEM#anyways one last thing. the way that they full body slapping each other on the back bear hugged when the throat collapsed (they were behind#herc and tendo so it was a little hard to see. i missed it the first time) in pure adrenaline happiness before we see the quiet tender hug#when they know everything is over for good (for now at least) when it’s time to celebrate when it time to think abt their drift and their#bond and their relationship and their LOVE. i’m so ok abt them rn actually#toad.txt#i wish i wrote this in a keep reading bit and not the tags now. anyways#pacific rim#pacific rim spoilers#newton geiszler#hermann gottlieb#newmann
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h0estar · 1 year
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Yukine's journey toward acceptance of the life that was robbed of him, this time with finality, exemplifies the emotional and beautifully rendered arc that has defined his character.
Yukine finally accepting the reality of his death. Yukine stepping out from the fridge that contained memories of what was once his life. Yukine freeing himself from the shackles of his trauma. Yukine running to protect the person who cherished him the most in the world. Yukine standing up to an abusive father. Yukine wholeheartedly apologizing. Yukine's growth, and Yato tearing up as he stretches his little arms to pull him for an embrace.
Yukine's gratitude for what Yato did for him is evident throughout the series. He was given a name more precious than any other. He was treated like a human--an ordinary teenage boy. And life after that was one exciting journey after another. Now, Yukine can no longer be entirely consumed by the horrors of his past because he knows that his reality with Yato is so much brighter. Far brighter.
Yukine could break out from that refrigerator because of the true, sincere, and nurturing love shown by the only father figure in his life. Yato has said multiple times throughout the series that Yukine was his priority above all else, and Yukine was the only person he swore to protect the most. Hell, he even went straight to hug him after Yukine apologized for turning into that form! Yato did not need to summon Yukine. Yukine came to protect Yato on his own decision. As he always did.
The journey to their healing will be painful, and this chapter shows that Yato and Yukine will face it together. No more secrets and no more miscommunications. They will help and be by each other's side as they always have, not only as god and shinki but, this time, as family.
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"I will not let him die. Not Yato. No matter what happens... I swear I won't let anyone take him from me!" -Yukine, Noragami Vol. 17 Chapter 67.
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charmac · 2 months
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A decade ago, Sunny sent out their Season 10 press, highlighting the milestone they were about to reach with 10 seasons, including a comparison graphic with the few other long-running comedies in existence:
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This week, at the 2023 (in 2024) Emmys, Sunny presented alongside many celebrated TV shows, including Cheers, all of which ‘reunited’ or were honoured for their past runs. Sunny has now out-run every show on the above graphic, they didn’t have to reunite (as press may want you to believe) to celebrate their show, because they continue to air as the longest running network show on television today.
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Nah, still no Emmys, still no nominations, but they're a part of television history that has grown impossible to ignore. They're taking their space on the stage now, and they're gonna continue to remind everyone they're still around for years to come. Extending their historical run every year, press acknowledgement and prestigious awards be damned.
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sharkbait-33 · 5 months
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"you have already left kudos here" WELL MAYBE I WANNA LEAVE MORE KUDOS DID YOU EVER THINK ABT THAT ???? god. limiting the amount of love i can show to my fellow fic writers. g o d. the audacity.
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skitskatdacat63 · 6 months
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Yes these have all already been posted, but 2023 Vettonso comp post for me because I'm going to have an emotional breakdown
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#i dont want to sound like a maniac but. i manifested this JDKFLGLVLV#okay but understand. ive been vettonso posting for like 3 or so weeks now#have been drawing them like its my god damn career#have been squealing and screeching over them with everyone#and like oh hey! they're both gonna be at suzuka! and seb is having a bee event! maybe nando will go!#BUT THEN NO I DONT HAVE TO JUST LIVE WITH SCRAPS. I GOT A WHOLE FUCKING MEAL#I AM GOING TO SCREAM AND CRY AND ROLL AROUND THE FLOOR#*i say as if i haven't done all of those things in quick succession after seeing these#yknow very fortuitous time for my parents to have gone on a vacation. so they didnt have to be witness to the emotional breakdown i just had#i was making noises that have not been uttered by human beings before :)#BUT LIKE INWAS LITERALLT JUDT DRAWING VETTONSO FANART#AND I FINISHED IT AND SCHEDULED IT#and was all silly in the tags like 'haha wonder if we'll get any interaction'#and then i go to scroll tumblr one last time before slepeing and I RECEIVE THIS FUCKING 12 COURSE MEAL#i cannot actually describe the emotion i felt when i first saw the pic#like genuine fucking shock through my body like just was like 'is this actually happening'#i said to C today 'i will be happy if we even get a pic of them within eachother's vicinity'#and well wow. theyre certainly within each others vicinities rn#if we actually get any more pics i think i will keel over i think i will actually turn into dust and powder on the floor#UGHHHHHHH JUST THE TIMING!!!!!! THEY DID IT FOR ME 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺#sometimes manifesting does work. after you draw like 20 hours worth of art of them#im trying to be concise but i really cant#because its literally just animal screeching and whining noises in my head rn#HOW DO I SLEEP AFTER THIS???????????????#formula 1#sebastian vettel#fernando alonso#vettonso#2023 japanese gp#we do a little bit of f1
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