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juuuulez · 1 year

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📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #negan smith x reader #negan smith #twd x you #the walking dead #carl grimes

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onlyyvette · 1 year

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TF NSFW Headcanons #1 - Prowl

Warnings: sub/bottom Prowl + other various cybertronians + free use + implied public sex + manhandling/groping kink + heavy size kink + heavy degradation + rough sex + exhibitionism + very detailed description of a robot that transforms into a police car

A/N: This might seem ooc, but I headcanon Prowl to be an absolute freak in the sheets and is the main reason why I say fuck the cops

Also, yay, first fic in the series!!!

-> Frame Prowl has a gorgeous frame. Prowl may be cold-constructed, but Primus must have blessed him himself. Maybe it's the Praxian in him, but his frame is absolutely sinful, his huge bumper bouncing every step he makes, his headlights gleaming. His small waist widens out to strong hips, his thigh nicely shaped. Prowl's door wings flutter involuntarily nearly all the time when he's agitated, making it a little hard for his crewmates to not stare at them.

Prowl's valve and spike are standard size for his frame. He actually modded his spike to be more plain and uninteresting to really bring attention to his valve. Despite his valve being of normal size, it's fucking mesmerizing. his valve lips are a dark gray, with small lines of blue biolights. His node is a dark red color, and is a bit oversized. Prowl has a piercing valve, a gold bar going through his node. Whenever he's feeling risky, he wears his valve lip piercings and gets off to the feeling his panel grinding them into his valve when he's sitting down. The only modding he's done on his valve was to make his valve callipers tighten much more than needed whenever a mech first enters, causing them to have to ram their spike into Prowl's valve so it'll open up. And of course, Prowl overloads from the rough treatment.

-> Free-Use Prowl is notorious for being an uptight and cold mech, and he knows it. It even turns him on more knowing that multiple mechs could never imagine the Prowl loves to be treated as shareware . His favorite fantasy is of back when the war was still active, and the autobots were beginning to lose terribly to the decepticons. To boost morale, Prowl would offer himself up for a program; A free interface program where whenever an autobot would want to blow off some steam, Prowl would offer his valve up anonymously for that mech to use to their pleasure. He self services to the idea of every mech lining up to get a taste of his tight valve, imagining how they would be caught off guard by the feeling of his valve rings and how damn tight he is. No one will know that it was Prowl's valve they were fragging but the idea of them finding out makes him shiver. Thinking of them discreetly slapping his aft as he walks past them, asking Prowl if he's willing to frag again...

-> Groping/Manhandling Prowl knows his body is hot, and he knows everyone around him knows too. He loves when his partners hands roam all over his body, groping his bumper, especially his headlights. He lets out low, sultry moans as he's fondled in every visible part of his body and lets out high pitched whines when his partners find small bundles of wiring under his plating and pull on them. Whenever he self-services, Prowl loves to watch himself in the mirror as his servos roam around his body, rubbing his bumper hood, groping his headlights as his servos go lower to his array. Watching himself tug on the piercings in his valve, especially the bar piercing his node while his other servo traces circles onto his headlight turns him on so much that he can sometimes lose himself in the sensations, his eyes glazing over as he fondles himself and brings himself closer and closer to his overload.

-> Size Kink Prowl is alright with taking a spike his size, but he loves heavy trucks or tanks because of how easily they ruin his insides. Prowl wants to feel the spike in him rub all the nodes in his valve, to take up all the space there is so that he can feel so full. The feeling makes him feel so giddy that he struggles to keep himself from drooling and giggling a bit once such a huge spike is fully seated inside of him. Once that spike begins to move, good luck trying to keep Prowl quiet because he can get a little empty in the processor when a huge spike is ramming his insides, causing him to care less about his surroundings.

-> Heavy Degradation Prowl absolutely loves to be have degrading and humiliating words thrown at him. He especially loves when his partners humiliate him about the filthy things he enjoys during interface. "This spike of yours is useless. Good thing you're only made to take a good spiking like a good piece of shareware," "I bet you don't care whether you get transfluid in your intake or your valve since it doesn't matter for a spike-hungry slut like you," "Is it really this easy it is to frag you Commander Prowl? It's a surprise your valve isn't all sloppy and loose all the time." All these harsh words will easily have Prowl overloading so hard as the insults keep echoing in his processor, reminding Prowl of how much of a desperate whore he is.

-> Rough Sex Considering all the other kinks that are on the list, it's no surprise that Prowl loves a rough fragging. He doesn't really enjoy slow and gentle interfacing with his partners, it's something he would only enjoy with a dedicated lover. He prefers his partners to be rough though, for them to bite him, spanking his aft or valve, choke him, almost anything is on the table. His doorwings are no exception. Grabbing them will have Prowl whimpering and like putty in his partner's hands. When it comes to Prowl's piercings, he'll be pouting if his partner didn't touch them. Rubbing relentlessly at Prowl's node while pressing down on his piercing or tugging on the rings piercing his valve while eating him out brings him his overload so quickly as he begs you to be even rougher. And the feeling of his partner grabbing him by the helm, pushing it down onto a table while they bully his legs open? It might make him reconsider flipping tables if this is what they could be used for.

#vetty's fics. ✿#vetty's thirsts. ✿#vetty's works. ✿#yvette's works. ✿#transformers #transformers prowl #transformers idw #maccadams #transformers g1 #transformers smut #valveplug

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the-ellia-west · 1 month

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Viasaki and Kila - Villain Rambling

Both Viasaki and Kila are high-ranking shade soldiers who have specific set roles and know what they want. But I can't talk about these two without first talking about the two more major villains they serve.

Viasaki is the First Lieutenant under the King's Vessel, having a battalion of soldiers (mostly of his own selection) under his control, and it's his job to be responsible for them and to carry out any mission with them that the Vessel gives him.

Meanwhile, Kila is the Warrior under Tias, who is the Vessel's Army General. As a Warrior, Kila's job is to basically be a berserker and personal bodyguard, being on the front lines and tanking all the hits for her boss.

Because Tias outranks Viasaki, His battalion, and by extent, Kila, outranks him as well. But to add a little twist, Kila is not only Tias' Warrior, she is also (basically) his girlfriend. And to add to this even more, Viasaki is Tias' Arch nemesis, because they have opposing views and morals of how prisoners and enemies should be treated.

Kila and Viasaki stand on opposing sides of the same coin, and because Kila is the one in charge of the more mundane things in Tias' life outside of combat, she is the one who confronts Viasaki more often than not.

They argue nearly every time they meet, which ha overwhelmed their basic first and root impressions of the other and corrupted it into pure rivaling hatred of one another.

Not only do they hate each other because of their morals, this deeper extends into their trauma. Kila's belief in the world is that it boils down to two factions of people. The strong, who must fight and make sacrifices to survive, and the weak, the ones sacrificed. The weak never survive, so she can't afford to have any sympathy for them. (She Views Viasaki as Weak and Tias as Strong because Empathy makes you weak and more susceptible to distraction and betrayal)

Whereas Viasaki's beliefs boil down to the fact that everyone can be negotiated with, and deserves a chance to turn. But most of all, out of everything, he believes that abusing power is by far the worst crime someone can commit because it inflicts some of the most pain he's ever seen.

And obviously by the way this ramble is framed: Both contradict the other's basic beliefs. - But that will soon change.

Because not only is Kila Tias' sword, she is his shield. Used to take and exchange hits. She loves him more than anything in the world, but he views her as nothing more than a tool. And when the deep-seeded empathy she has worked so hard to suppress, comes to the surface at one of her former colleagues being tortured, Tias decides she's more trouble than she's worth and throws her away.

In a moment, at the alert she will be killed, Viasaki decides to take her in as one of his own to spare her life and give even her the second chance he knows she deserves.

And over the course of the story, he comes to see that she was not the one abusing power, but she was the one used to abuse it, And Kila sees that Viasaki is not weak, and it is not Empathy that makes a person suffer, but the ones who take it for granted.

(Then they learn to work together and possibly moreeeeee)

#ellia writes #ellia tcot #ellia's tcot #creative writing #fiction writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writer things #writerscommunity #writeblr #writing #writers #writer #villains #antagonists #antagonist

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beefrobeefcal · 1 year

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Chubby!Frankie fic

Send in your thoughts, ask box is always open!

The Catfish & The Mouse: Part 3

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary: The trials and tribulations of a pregnant Mouse... and Frankie, too!

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 7,089

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, pregnancy sex, p in the v - unwrapped cos she preggo (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain

Author's Notes: IT'S HERE! And now you have to wait for Part 4! *maniacal laugh* Thanks be to @theywhowriteandknowthings for their eyes & sound judgement in proofing. And also to @harryleatherfit for being an awesome cheerleader.

The THOT TANK is always open for y'all to make a deposit - I'll never not love writing Frankie + Mouse 💜

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As soon as you showed Frankie the positive pregnancy test, he wanted to scream from the rooftops that he was gonna be a dad. He was downright elated and ready to tell everyone, but respected your request to wait until it was officially confirmed by your doctor.

You booked your appointment for an afternoon later that week and both of you took the day off work.

Even though you could have slept in, you found yourself wide awake with excitement. You rolled over and snuggled into Frankie’s side causing his gentle snoring to subside. He moved his arm, allowing you to snuggle in closer.

“Morning, mama.”, he croaked.

“Morning, daddy.”, you crooned back, nuzzling your face in him.

You laid there quietly for a moment, only the sounds of your steady breaths breaking the silence. Then Frankie rolled towards you, pushing you onto your back, his hand gently rubbing circles on your stomach.

“Gonna make sure there’s a baby in there today.”, he smiled, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You smiled back, letting out a happy sigh, and out your hand on top of his. “Yup. But I’m pretty sure there is.”

You could feel Frankie’s morning wood pressing up against your thigh and you knew where he was going with this morning cuddle session. As if on cue, Frankie began sliding his hand from your stomach into your sleep shorts while planting kisses along your neck and jaw.

“You look so good, mama… love you like this… wet and ready for me…”, he cooed, dipping his fingers into your folds.

You let out a few small moans, then gasped as he plunged a finger in. “Fuck… yeah… you’re so ready for me already, princess…”, he grunted, starting to push a second in.

You were whimpering his name along with other unintelligible words while he slowly pumped in and out of you and grinded his hard on against you, grunting. As you were just starting to feel that telltale coil begin to wind up, he removed his hands, and grunted at you, “Take of your shorts… can’t wait…”

Sleepy Frankie didn’t tease or shy away from anything when he wanted you; he was to the point.

You removed your shorts as he did his, stroking his cock a few times, then he crawled on top of you, situating himself between your legs. He lined up himself with your entrance and pushed in slowly, you let out a gasp and he whispered into your ear. “That’s it, mama… there you go... fuck, feel so good…”

He started out at a slow, gentle pace, with an arm around your shoulder and the other on your thigh, pulled up to his hip. Again, the only sounds being both your breathing. As much as you loved when Frankie railed you on the various surfaces of your house, this was your favourite. This was so much more intimate, and you knew in these moments that you had his heart and he had yours.

He kissed your neck and pushed himself up on his elbow so he could see your face, his other hand still on your thigh. You smiled at him and he back at you both breathing in time with each thrust. The look he gave you asked if you were ready for him, and you nodded. He pressed his forehead to yours and picked up the pace, and your breathing turned to little whimpers and cries. Frankie loved that sound. He smiled through closed eyes and gritted teeth as you continued his favourite music.

That coil was now wound up tight, waiting for its cue to push you over the edge. Frankie could feel it and pulled the hand from you hip, two fingers going to your clit and rubbing circles. You cried out, head flung back, and Frankie watched you plummet.

Your walls squeezed him, forcing his orgasm and he came a few beats after you.

Frankie stayed on top for a moment for you both to catch your breath, then kissed you.

“I fucking love you, Mouse.”

I fucking love you, too, Frankie.”

The pregnancy was confirmed that afternoon, and you felt your eyes get glassy while Frankie openly sobbed next to you as you looked at the tiny bean on the grainy ultrasound screen.

*****

You told Benny, Will and Hannah first. You’d arrived at Will and Hannah’s house for dinner, and before you even got your coat off or could be sick from the smell of caramelized onions, Frankie blurted it out at Hannah when she went to give you a welcoming hug.

“Hey Mouse!!", she said, pulling you into a hug, noticing your swallowing a little harder as the smell hit your nose.

“Careful, Hannah. She might spew on you… her nose has been super sensitive since got preg-”, Frankie stopped himself and looked at you wide eyed.

The whole room went silent, save for the sounds of food cooking in the kitchen, and Will stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t handle the tension and looked at Will, then said in a sheepish voice, “Surprise!”

“You’re… you’re pregnant?!”, Benny yelled, excitedly and slapping his hand on Frankie’s back. “Way to go, Fish!”

Hannah squealed and pulled you into a hug, but you could only watch Will. His eyes looked a little sad and he’d yet to say anything.

Hannah let you go and went to hug Frankie, and Benny came bounding over to you, pulling you into a hug that, for Benny, would be considered gentle.

When he finally let you go, Will walked up to you and pulled you into a big hug. You felt his breathing change and shudder a bit.

“Awe, Mouse… this is amazing, sweetie…”, he says, his voice sounding quiet, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Will, don’t start…”, you said, your lip trembling and your eyes watering.

He pulled back and grabbed your head, pushing a kiss to your forehead. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, looking at Frankie.

He stuck his hand out and when Frankie went to shake it, he pulled him into a hug.

You managed to get through the night without being sick, at least until you got home.

*****

The first trimester was rough. Morning sickness hit you like a ton of bricks and was not just relegated to morning. You managed to lose weight from being so ill, but the doctor was confident that it would pass once you got to the second trimester. You kept your fluids up, and Frankie took over making food to the best of his abilities.

One issue with him being in charge of the food was... well, Frankie overseeing the food. It wasn't that he was a bad cook, but he pretty well stuck to frozen meals and quick things that he enjoyed, and given that he was stressed about you, he overindulged most nights, and whatever you didn’t eat, he did. By the time you were midway through month four, Frankie was happily eating as though he were the pregnant one.

You finally started to feel like yourself again in month four, minus the fatigue, so he’s suggested a date night. You were getting ready in your ensuite, standing in a bralette and your panties in front of your mirror, applying your eyeliner.

“Hey mama...”, Frankie said huskily, his eyes trailing down your body; he stopped at your stomach. A little bit more there than before. He smiled, “Now look at that.”

“Hmm?”, you questioned, looking at him through the mirror.

His grin was wide, and he stood behind you, his hand going to your stomach. He splayed his big hand wide on it and kissed your neck and murmured, “I see a bump.”

You leaned back into him and smiled. The whole notion of you being pregnant made Frankie soft in the best way; he was warm and gentle, and so very hands on with you. You loved it, as long as your mood swings allowed it.

“You sure you wanna take me out on that date, daddy?”, you cooed, your eyes catching his in the mirror.

“Fuck, don’t tempt me, mama…”, growls as he kisses your neck.

You didn’t make it to the restaurant, let alone out of your bedroom.

****

Your baby bump had popped finally in month five, or around the 22-week mark. Despite you having had it checked, and checked again, there was only one baby in there, although the doctor did admit it looked like a big baby. While the rest of your smaller frame stayed the same size, your belly reminded everyone and their dog that you were pregnant. You had some insecurities about how your body was changing, especially when getting weighed at the doctors, but you tried to keep yourself in check.

Frankie had told you that his family had a history of big babies. His abuela had told the story about how for each one of her pregnancies, the midwife thought she would be having twins, but each time, there was just one baby. This story, while sweet, made you feel less than confident.

But Frankie loved it; he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off your belly. Whether in the grocery store, cooking dinner, sleeping, watching TV, he had his eyes and hands on you, and while you loved him, your insecurities and mood swings sometimes reared their ugly heads at inopportune moments.

Like today. Today was a hard day. You hadn’t slept well, and work had been particularly grueling, leaving you filled with unbridled, hormonal rage at the smallest inconvenience. That on top of the already insecure feelings you had about your changing body. Even though you were supposed to gain weight to support a healthy pregnancy, every time you weighed yourself, your old body issues would come out and cause you to cringe at the escalating number; just as you had started to have a good relationship with your body, you ended up pregnant and had no idea it would affect you so much.

He could hear you swearing and cursing at the currently cooking dinner in the kitchen; the tell-tale signs of one of your tantrums beginning, and Frankie smiled.

“Fuck�� what you do to me, princess…”, he groaned, walking into the kitchen and seeing you cook dinner while he palmed his crotch.

“Jesus, Francisco! I’m making you fucking dinner!”, you snapped, frustrated by the package of pasta not opening easily. “Do I look like I want you to try and fuck me?”

You were standing in the kitchen, wearing a shirt that was fitted before you were pregnant and a pair of leggings. You were flushed and sweaty, hair up in a messy bun, belly popping out from under the shirt, while standing in front of a pot of boiling water.

“No… but you look so fucking tempting…”, he groaned again, walking towards you slowly. He knew when you were temperamental like this, he could usually coax you into a better mood by sweet talking to you, or, better yet, making you come.

“Don’t you fucking dare…”, you growled at him, turning towards him, bag of pasta in your hands.

“Oof, princess… the mouth on you today…”, Frankie purred with a grin, getting closer slowly.

You scrunched your nose and scowled at him as he got closer. “Francisco Morales! I am warning you!”

“That’s my name, princess…”, he growled with a grin, licking his lips. He loved it when you got into one of your moods – the result being far more satisfying. “Come on, baby… let daddy make mama feel good.”

You gave him a furious glare as he stood in front of you and huffed at him. He grinned, reached his hand out and took the bag of pasta from your hands then gently pulled it open. He kept his eyes on you, still grinning, and placed the pasta bag on the counter and reached over to turn off the burner for the boiling pot.

“Come here, mama…”, he cooed, one large hand splaying on your belly and the other cupping the back of your neck, pulling him towards you. “Gonna help you relax…”

Your temper was getting the best of you, and you tried to push him back with a scowl on your face, but Frankie stayed firm and pulled you into him further.

“None of that, mama... I’m trying to make you feel better, baby... let me take care of you.”, he cooed as he placed kisses on your neck and jaw.

You huffed in resignation at the fact that it really did feel good to have him lavish this attention on you after the day you’d had. You could feel your muscles relax as his hands caressed your back and sides.

“There you go, mama... just relax and let me take care of you...”

The gentle touches and the soothing vibrations of his voice nicked your heart, and you went from feeling loved to feeling guilt. You despised who you became with these mood swings and how you treated your sweet, gentle Frankie. You could feel the lump in your throat and the tears stinging your eyes.

“Do you hate me yet?”, you questioned in a whisper, burying your face in his chest.

Frankie was taken aback, and while his hands stayed on your back, they stopped moving, now almost gripping you like he was trying to stop you from slipping away.

“What? Wh – Mouse! What?”, he retorted in a surprised and almost offended tone. He pulled you back to look at him, and you kept your head low.

“I… I just…” The words you so desperately wanted to say were lost, and you made the mistake of looking up and seeing Frankie’s eye boring back into yours. Hurt and pain and confusion screaming from them.

“Why would you ever ask me that?”, he demanded in a hurt voice.

“I-I’m just so… so bad at… at this.”, you cried quietly.

“At what? I don’t understand, honey. What are you bad at, baby?” He was begging you to let him in, his voice filled with fear. Fear of the words you didn’t know how to tell him: that you didn’t love him anymore; that you wanted to break up; that you thought he would be a lousy father like his dad.

When you didn’t respond, he begged again, eyes searching yours while his tears threatened to drop. “Please. Please, baby… talk to me, Mouse.”

You shook your head, trying to find the resolve to tell him what was breaking you, but all you could muster to say in a quiet and pathetic voice was, “I’m just so bad at... at being pregnant.”

Frankie let out a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding and couldn’t help the small, sweet smile that slowly grew on his face. He pulled you into him again. His arms held you in a warm, safe hug while he murmured soft words of love and praise to you.

He let you go so he could see your face, your belly still snuggly up against him, holding your hands. “You’re not bad at being pregnant.”

One hand went your swollen middle and he rubbed tenderly with his thumb. “It’s gotta be hard on you and I know you’re struggling, princess. You’re growing a fucking human in you, and I can see this taking it’s toll on you. I want to help you in any way that I can, but you need to talk to me, baby. I can’t do what I am supposed to do, what I need to do and what I want to do for you if you don’t talk to me.”

You nodded with your eyes cast down and stayed quiet for a moment to collect your thoughts while Frankie looked at you, silently encouraging you to speak. When you did, it was between small sobs and sniffles.

“I just don’t feel good about… about me. I feel gross and fat, and this is the time I’m supposed to feel the best and I don’t… and I feel like I’m not… good enough. I feel like because I’m so out of control with my emotions, that I’m burdening you… And I feel… I feel sad. And guilty and angry… at myself for it. It’s like a horrible cycle I can’t break out of.”

Sensing Frankie desperately wanting to interject, you continued, “And I know our priority is that the baby is healthy. I get that and I agree, and I know it’s all about the baby. Baby is number one and I just need to get over it. I know it’s stupid to feel this way… but I just want to be… good.”

You finally looked up to meet Frankie’s eyes, and what you saw startled you. No judgement or anger. Just sadness.

His eyes were glassy, and he sniffled as he nodded. “No, Mouse. Please listen to me. You’re my priority. You are. Please tell me you know that. You’re going to make me a dad – I don’t take that gift lightly. Don’t you dare say you just need to get over it like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing and you’re not nothing. You’re mine and I love you so fucking much. The baby is your number one, but you.”, he reached up and held your face in his big hands, “You’re my number one and the reason I bust my ass each day at work. The reason I am here.”

All you could do was nod while tears streamed down both your faces.

“I can’t stress it enough how much you don’t deserve the grief you’re giving yourself, Mouse. I knew you weren’t feeling great, so I wanted to help you feel better, but baby… I didn’t know it was like this for you. Baby, I’m sorry.” He wiped his eyes and continued. “You’re not gross, you’re fucking stunning and beautiful and sexy and strong… and I’m sorry that I haven’t done more to help you see that.”

You shook your head and tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he cut you off.

“I’ll move fucking mountains if it means you’re happy.” He took your hands in his and kissed your knuckles, then said quietly, “I have one fucking job: Dad is supposed to make sure that Mom is happy. That’s my job and it’s a hell of a lot easier than yours. But you gotta tell me what you need, mama.”

You sighed and gave a real smile for the first time in what felt like weeks, then nodded.

“One of the pregnancy books I read said that this can happen and that sometimes hormones can make mood swings and body issues worse and…“

“Wait - you read a pregnancy book?”, you interrupted, almost amused by the admission.

“Well, yeah. I did. I didn’t know what was going on or what I could do to help. A customer was in the shop, and she asked about you… she suggested this book and I picked it up that day after work and…”

Frankie noted your stunned expression and gave a small grin. “It’s in my locker at work… I read it at lunch.”

“Oh Frankie… I’m…”, your voice cracked at you tried to speak, feeling the emotions welling up and attempting to make you feel back about his efforts going unnoticed, but you pushed them down.

“You’re so insanely sweet. Thank you.”, you smiled.

You leaned in and gave him a kiss, saying again against his mouth, “Thank you.”

That was all it took for the dam to break, for you to open up and talk to Frankie about what was going on, he in turn shared what he was feeling. That evening, you both agreed that a daily check in when you got home from work was going to be the way you moved forward.

*****

By 26 weeks, your insecurities had not abandoned you as your belly grew, but you were far more open about how felt to Frankie and he was ever ready to offer support and praise and compliments. By this time, you were able to eat and sleep better, you felt better, and it helped that Frankie had slipped back into his old habits. He had started to fill out again, with his belly, again, bearing the brunt of it. You were more than pleased.

Your second trimester was filled with food, mainly consumed by Frankie, and fucking. Your body grew, like it was supposed to, and Frankie worshipped it.

But what really took over was your insatiable libido. Your body had become so sensitive and responsive to everything Frankie did; from a goodbye kiss in the morning or him accidentally grazing his leg against you in his sleep to him knowing how to quickly get you where he wanted so he could fuck you senseless. He almost felt in over his head with your need for him.

Early Sunday morning, your body woke you to pee. After going to the washroom and climbing back into bed, Frankie rolled over and in a sleepy haze, pulled you into a spoon with him. His hand on your belly and just the feeling of him up against you set fireworks off and your body felt like it would explode if Frankie didn’t do something to make that tension release.

“Frankie…”, you cooed, involuntarily rubbing your thighs together.

“Hmmm?”, Frankie hummed, barely awake.

“Frankie… please…”, you begged, voice dripping with need.

He knew that tone; when you said his name that way he knew what you needed. And as of late, you needed it a lot.

“Really? Seriously now?”, he groaned. Frankie wasn’t a morning person, especially on weekends. Morning sex with Frankie after 9 am was sweet and wonderful. Morning sex with Frankie at this god forsaken hour – 5:26 am to be exact – was probably going to be gruff, and a little clumsy, and oh so satisfyingly to the point.

You rolled over on your back, his hand remaining on your swollen middle. “Please Frankie… I need you. Now.”, you whined, knowing you were going to get your way.

“So bossy… so fucking needy, princess.”, he cooed with eyes stilled closed, his hand moving down your belly as you opened your legs. He slid down and cupped your heat, pressing a finger into your clothed folds. You gasped and bucked your hips.

“So sensitive… god fucking damnit.”, Frankie grunted as he moved to kneel next to you. You noted his hard on in his boxers as he pulled your panties off.

“Take your top off. You wake me up for this, I get to see your tits.”, he grunted with a grin, eyes barely open.

“Where do you want me, baby?”, you keened, feeling your body aching for anything he would give you.

He let out a shaky breath at your words, pulling his boxers down the pumping his hard cock. “On your hands and knees baby.”, he says, swatting at you to get moving. Your belly was more and more in the way of your standard position, and currently, riding him was not the most comfortable for you and your body issues.

Doing as he said, you maneuvered yourself and eagerly waited for him to just push into you. But instead, he ran two fingers through your dripping, puffy cunt, then plunging them in, forcing a high-pitched whine from you.

“Good girl… fuck… your so fucking needy… Jesus… you’re sucking my fingers in…”, he crooned as he pumped in and out of you.

You could feel your orgasm hurling itself to fruition then exploding with no warning. Crying out, Frankie kept the pace, his breath increasing as his own need skyrocketed.

“Oh fuck… you’re coming already?... fuck yeah, baby… yeah, princess… come on, mama…”, Frankie panted as he worked you through your orgasm.

Just as you started to come down though, he removed his fingers then lined his hard cock with your entrance and pushed in. You thought your arms and legs were going to give out under you as Frankie began to pound into you.

You cried out, begging in nonsensical words and phrases for him to keep going.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck… so fucking warm for me, mama… fuck you’re close again… oh shit… yeah… come on baby… I got you… come on… yeah…”, he mumbled in a sleepy timber.

You felt your walls start to flutter, and a sensation you hadn’t felt in a while began to burn white hot through your lower belly.

“Fra… Frankie… fuck… I-I’m gonna… “, you cried out.

Frankie pounded into you and felt a gush of liquid come out of you, soaking him, you and the bed underneath. If he wasn’t quite awake before, he was now. His drive kicked into high gear and his thrusts became more intense while he reached around you, moving his middle finger onto your clit, rubbing circles.

“Oh fuck! Fucking soaked me…. Can you do it again? Come on, mama… give me another one... you can do it…”, he howled as his hips continued to push you further.

You couldn’t even respond as you felt another tight coil threaten to break you apart; all you could go was cry out and pant over the vulgar squelching of Frankie fucking into you.

With a shriek, your cunt clenched down on him and your body convulsed as your third orgasm of the morning ripped through you. This pushed Frankie to come in your tight, quaking heat while a growl erupted from his mouth.

He pulled you down to your side along with him and kissed your shoulders. Your breath was ragged as you let out whimpers, and your limbs shook.

“Good girl… fuck… you did so good, mama. Yeah, come back down, baby… shhhh… did so good for me…”, Frankie cooed between his own laboured breathing while his hand rested on your middle, feeling the baby moving in your belly.

Your breathing evened out, and you let out a chuckle at the movement in you. “Frankie?”, you asked quietly.

“Hmmm?”

“We woke the baby.”

You both laughed as Frankie got up to get a cloth for your clean up.

*****

At 34 weeks, you were done being pregnant. You were all belly by this point and your back ached along with every other body part that had to work harder to accommodate your girth. One highlight though was because you were truly eating for two, Frankie had begun his old habits again. At first, when you had a craving, whatever it was and no matter how strange, Frankie would make it happen for you. Now, your middle-of-the-night wants for burgers or pasta or strawberry ice cream with pickles in it, Frankie joined in. Most nights, Frankie went to sleep with a stuffed belly, out eating you at every turn.

Benny was competing in a championship tournament and Friday night was the big fight. Although Frankie had attended some fights as of late, you’d opted to stay in, not feeling good enough to stand in a loud, packed arena. But Benny had called you himself and begged you to come watch his big fight, saying that he wouldn’t have a chance at winning if you weren’t there. He also mentioned that Frankie was bragging about how beautiful and cute you were pregnant, and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Instead of telling Benny to come to you to see himself, you agreed with a laugh that you would attend.

On the afternoon of the fight, you’d gotten home from work and showered the day off and done your hair and make up again. You picked out a tank top and one of Frankie’s flannels to wear over a pair of leggings. You looked in the mirror and you actually felt cute. While you still felt self-conscious about your body, you were really starting to enjoy how you looked with a big baby belly. You smiled to yourself as Frankie walked back into your room from the ensuite in a towel, catching you admiring your reflection.

“There’s my girl.”, he said, coming behind you and putting his hands under your sizable bump and gently lifting, relieving your back.

“Oh, Frankie… please do this for the next month.”, you sighed and leaned back into him. “Just follow me everywhere and do this… god, I forgot what it felt like to not have a backache.”

He kissed your neck, and gently let your belly down. “You’re doing so good, Mama… soon.”, he cooed, rubbing your bump, and looking you up and down in the mirror. “You look amazing. Wait – is that my shirt?”

“Yes. I don’t have a cardigan that I can do up if I get cold. Baby’s getting too big.”, you stated, and proudly showed him how his shirt can still snap closed over your belly. Frankie just smiled.

Benny and Frankie had agreed that you didn’t need to be there until right before his fight began, so the parking lot was packed when you arrived. Frankie had arranged for Will to meet you at the door while he went to find a parking spot.

Pulling up, Will smiled and waved. You hadn’t seen him since you were around 4 months pregnant and were anxious about him seeing you now.

Will opened the truck door and offered his hand to help you get out. “Hey Mouse! How’re you doing, sweetie?”, he said, eyes bright and happy. You noted that he scanned over your body, his eyes hovering over your middle for a beat.

“Hey Will! I’m good. Tired, huge… but good!”, you laughed, posing with your hand on your belly.

“Knock it off, you’re not huge.”, Will chided while pulling you into a hug.

You stood outside and chatted while Frankie made his way back to you on foot. Frankie hand his hand on your lower back as you tried to not waddle into the arena. Hannah jumped up from her seat when she saw you, pulling you into a hug. She looked you over and squealed, “You look amazing! Oh my god, you’re adorable!”

You saw Frankie talking to Will and then saw Santi in the conversation, too. His eyes look up and he nodded to you and smiled. You nodded back as the announcer started to speak.

Benny’s fight was intense. His opponent was almost evenly matched with him and put up a hell of a fight. Even so, Benny was the victor and was the regional champion. You figured that it could be a late night, given that Frankie would probably want to celebrate with his friends.

Benny’s entourage, Will, Hannah, Santi, Frankie and you, all waiting outside the change room for Benny. Hannah and you continued your conversation from earlier and tried to cram a few months’ worth of gossip and news into a few minutes. Frankie and Santi seemed to be doing the same along with Will. All chatter stopped the moment the change room door swung open, and Benny came flying out towards you.

“Mouse! You came! You saw me win!”, he hollered, as he ran and looked like he was ready to do what he normally did – pick you up and swing you around.

“BENNY!”, Frankie and Will yelled, eyes wide with worry, as Benny got his arms around you.

Instead of him hoisting you up though, he hugged you tight and you did the same right back. Frankie sighed in relief and Will just huffed a laugh and shook his head.

Benny pulled back and looked down at you. “I know better than to fling a pregnant lady around.”, he said with a satisfied smile plastered on his face, then stood back and looked you over. “Let’s take a look at you and see what Fish has been gloating about.”

You smiled and turned in a circle and said “ta-da!” when you pulled the flannel back to show off your bump. Benny hooted and clapped in response.

“Fucking rights, Mouse!”, he hollered at you while the rest of the group laughed.

You all made your way to the same bar you’d met up at before, even finding yourself at the same table, given it was close to the bathrooms for your convenience. Hannah was also not drinking that night and had offered to make sure at least you got home safe that night; she knew corralling up the guys would probably not be easy, and decided that they would cab it if need be. You sat between Benny and Frankie, enjoying your cranberry juice and soda water. Frankie’s arm was around the back of your chair while you talked with Benny.

He was telling you the gossip he’d heard about his opponent while he drank his beer, when the baby gave a big kick to your ribs, causing you to wince.

“Whoa, you okay? What’s wrong?”, Benny asked in alarm. Frankie turned quickly away from his conversation to look at you with a questioning look.

“Baby kicked me in the ribs. I’m okay, Benny.”, you waved him to continue. “it’s fine. Happens sometimes.”

Benny looked as though his mind was trying to comprehend the meaning of existence, then finally asked in the most bewildered voice, “Your ribs get kicked? What the fuck?”

You started laughing and Frankie chuckled behind you.

“Yes, Benny. My ribs get kicked. From the inside.”

From there, Benny asked you questions about your pregnancy, some you hadn’t even thought about asking yourself.

About two hours later, Frankie, Benny, Will and Santi were drunk. One of the bar regulars who knew Frankie knew that you were pregnant and insisted he and his crew buy the guys shots to celebrate. What you didn’t anticipate was that the guy’s crew wanted to buy a round each, meaning that Frankie had four glasses of beer, two rum and coke, and seven shots of whatever hard liquor was poured in him.

Sitting at the table with Hannah, you watched and laughed as the four men enjoyed the libations.

“I’m gonna be a dad!”, Frankie hollered at Will and Benny.

Benny tried to high five him, but missed, and yelled to a fellow patron, “He’s gonna be a dad!”

The other patron, just as drunk, said something but you couldn’t quite hear it. Santi staggered over to Frankie and jumped on him for a piggyback. Then Will, wide eyed with a stupid grin, pointed towards your table. “She’s the mom!”

Frankie whipped his head towards you and smiled, waving. “There’s mama! Hey baby!”

You and Hannah burst into a fit of giggles. The four men came back to your table, Frankie plopping himself down next to you.

“Hey mama… you look hot. So fucking good. Being pregnant and shit. Fuck, I love you.”, he slurred with a grin, hand splayed on your belly. You couldn’t help but grin at the terrible attempt he did at making a pass at you.

“Thank you, honey. You’re great, too.”, you said, trying to supress the laughter.

“Yeah, Catfish. You look good pregnant, too. Fucking… Baby Daddy Fish…”, Santi crooned, wrapping his arms around Frankie’s shoulders from behind and patting his belly like it was a bongo drum while Benny danced in his chair and chanted, “Baby Daddy Fish! Baby Daddy Fish!”

Frankie and Santi started laughing again, and Will abruptly stood up with a glass in hand, startling everyone.

“I have a toast. I have words to say to toast.”, Will declared, wavering on his feet.

“Benny, you did great. Knocked the shit out of that sonofabitch and now you’re a fucking champ – no, THE fucking champion. Proud of you and shit, man.”, he drunkenly stated, then took a drink.

Before you all could join in and take a drink, Will continued loudly.

“And I also wanna say good work to Catfish for knocking Mouse up, ‘cause now I’M GONNA BE A FUCKING UNCLE!”

Will screamed the last part of his ‘toast’, causing most of the bar to look his way then cheer. Your face was red from embarrassment, but the sentiment was not lost on you. Despite the crudeness of Will’s words, you knew he meant well, and you guessed that drunken Frankie would be happy to know drunken Will wasn’t mad at how he’d gotten you pregnant in the first place.

Santi, along with other patrons and regulars at the bar, came over to offer Frankie back slaps and congratulations. You and Hannah laughed.

You knew this was your cue to leave. You and Hannah managed to wrangle Frankie and Will into her vehicle after many sappy and drunk goodbyes from Santi and Benny who wanted to stay out longer.

Once home, Frankie flopped onto your couch, mumbling something about a cactus, and you continued to your ensuite. You, of course, had to pee again.

Once finished, you washed your hands and began brushing out your hair.

“Mouse? Baby? You in here?”, Frankie called out form the bedroom.

“In the bathroom, Frankie!”, you called back.

You saw Frankie’s reflection in the mirror and were met with a very drunk Frankie, smiling like an idiot at you.

You smiled back as he came and stood behind you, eyeing you in the mirror. He leaned in and growled in your ear, “I fucking meant it, mama. You look so fucking good like this.”

One of his large hands lifted your shirt and pushed down the waistband of your leggings, exposing your swollen middle. He palmed at your belly while the other cupped your chin, his thumb running along your bottom lip.

“So fucking hot… Love your body like this…”, he growled while kissing and nipping your neck.

You let out a moan and you hand went up into his hair, knocking his hat off his head. “Oh fuck… Frankie!”, you keened, feeling the heat radiate from his body and his hardon pushing into your back.

“I wanna keep you looking like this, mama… fuck a baby in you every god damn chance I get… breed you... so fucking beautiful…”

You could only whine and pant in response to hearing those words and seeing his eyes staring back at you in the mirror.

“I just wanna worship you… fucking tell you how fucking thankful I am…”, he crooned drunkenly, his hand trailed from your belly to try and cup your heat.

“Oh fuck… yes… please baby…”, you gasped.

He plunged his hands down the front of your leggings, fingers dancing in your folds. Despite how drunk he was, Frankie maintained his ability to get you off with no issue.

He plunged two fingers into you, and you gasped and writhed in his other arm’s grip.

“Please… fuck me, baby… I need you… please!”, you panted as you grinded down on his hands.

He removed his hands after a minute or so, and when you heard him remove his belt and pants, you knew he was not going to take you to the bedroom. He was going to fuck you the way he did when he was drunk – hurried and needy and sloppy - and you loved it. Looking up into the mirror, his eyes caught yours and he reached for your leggings, pulling them down and you stepped out of them.

“I wanna watch you fall apart while I fuck you from behind, princess.”, he grunted as he pushed you to lean forward onto your hands on the sink. “I want you to see how fuckin’ gorgeous you are when I fuck you.”

He spat into his hand and pumped his cock twice before grabbing your hips and pushing into you. You clenched your eyes and gasped at the sudden and very welcome intrusion.

“Open your eyes when and watch when I’m fuckin’ you.”, Frankie panted. He couldn’t hold any composure while being both drunk and balls deep in your cunt.

You opened them, eyes catching his and nodded, needing him to start moving. He snapped his hips into you, each time a moan escaped your mouth. You watched his jaw tighten and brows furrow while he watched you. His breathing came out in huffs while he pounded into you.

“Frankie… please… I-I need…”, you whined.

“So fuckin’ pretty… Look at you… fuck, your pussy is a fucking dream… you’re just too fuckin’ much, princess…”, he pants, and you can feel his thrusts getting messy.

“Please baby… I wanna…”, you beg, but before you can finish, Frankie comes with a few big thrusts and loud grunt. He stills in you, breathing heavily into your neck, and you feel annoyed.

He doesn’t stay in you long, and as he pulls out, his hands grip your hips to turn you around.

“Up’n the counter, princess.”, he said as he tries to get you to hop up.

“Frankie, no… no, I’m not hopping up. I’m too pregnant for that.”, you state annoyed, shaking your head.

You try to push past him, but he stops you. “You didn’t come… you gotta… I need to…”, he panted against your mouth as he reached around and lifted you on the bathroom counter.

He pushes his mouth on yours and kisses you messily. Your annoyance at him melted away and his hand went to your swollen cunt and began pumping you with two fingers; you laid back against the mirror. He got on his knees and kissed your belly and then attached his lips to your aching clit.

You cried out and arched your back and grabbed his hair.

“Oh fuck... yes... Frankie... please... right there!”

He keeps the pace and grunts into your cunt as he licks and sucks on your nub. You can feel your release barreling through your body and you shudder as you come on his fingers and face.

Your body finally relaxes as Frankie pulls himself away from you and falls over on the bathroom floor. He lays back, pants around his ankles and drunker than a sailor on shore leave. You get down from the counter carefully and nudge him with your foot.

“Frankie... honey... you can’t sleep on the floor.”, you laugh as you look down at him on the cold tiles.

He mumbles something in response and opens his eyes lazily at you. He eventually got up, took off all his clothes, and flopped onto your bed. You took your shower, peed again, and crawled into bed next to a passed-out Frankie.

As you started to fall asleep, the baby began kicking, preventing you from getting comfortable. Despite this and Frankie’s snoring beside you, you were content.

--------<3---------

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hareofhrair · 2 months

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Shafan if you could invent your own version of the trolley problem, what would it be?

*squints*

Like, invent a philosophical quandary meant ta illustrate and lead people towards questionin their unexamined moral biases? Or invent a scenario in which I get ta tie people ta tha train tracks? If it's tha former, why is this phrased like comin up with some kinda ethical koan is somethin I ain't normally allowed ta do? Ya know anyone can just cook one a those up, right? Don't need no fancy degree fer it or nothin. Look, I'll do one now.

First, what's a moral or ethical choice most folks take fer granted and don't tend ta examine? How about, what's "real" is always better than what's "fake." What's "natural" is always superior ta what's "unnatural."

Well then, next I just think of a situation what pertains ta tha issue, which draws people ta think about why they have this belief.

Say, fer example-- Yer livin yer normal happy life, more or less exactly as ya are right now, only maybe a lil better. Ya got a nice hive, friends and quadmates, work ya enjoy. Then one day, some son of a bitch in a leather trench coat pulls ya aside and reveals, this whole damn thing is a simulation that's been created especially fer you. In the "real" world, yer in a fancy tank or somethin hooked up to a computer runnin a program that contains everywhere you've ever been and everyone you've ever loved.

In this scenario, there ain't no one else "real" in this simulation with you. Everyone else you ever met was a program. But the simulation is so perfect, they all have fully fleshed out identities, hopes and dreams and memories and such what persist even when you ain't interactin with em. Even now as the leather fella tells you this, there's a world of people goin about their business without you, livin full and complex lives, with no idea they ain't what this fella would call "real."

Now leather fella says he can get you out a here, back to tha "real" world. But if you leave, this program gets shut down. That world a people livin their lives around you disappears, fastern' flippin a switch. Keep in mind, that's yer friends, yer family, yer pets, everyone ya ever met. You have no memory of tha "real" world, no idea what's out there, nobody waitin for ya. And there's no way ta leave without destroyin this entire world.

Do you choose ta leave tha simulation?

Now here's the real kicker. Ya decide ta leave, dooming all yer loved ones to an abrupt end, but who cares they were just lines a code anyway, right? So ya come out ta tha "real" world, and it's just a garbage fire. It's awful. World's been all fucked up and there's robots tryin ta kill everybody and there ain't a damn thing decent ta eat anywhere. But it's real so these experiences are more valuable than yer memories in tha simulation, right? Better ta be sufferin in that real world than livin happily in a fake one. Mind you, there ain't no measurable difference ta tha experience a livin here versus tha simulation. Ya still feel and taste and dream exactly tha same, ya just know now that everything ya felt and tasted and dreamt before was "fake."

Except, wait fer it, yer haulin processed lichen juice to tha gruel extruders one day, when some weirdo in a silver jumpsuit pops outta nowhere an tells ya, guess what, this is a simulation too. It's just a simulation big and complicated enough that it had created its own nested simulations inside it. He offers ya tha same deal as before. He can help ya escape to that "real" world, but it'll mean completely destroyin this one, along with everybody in it, as well as any subordinate simulations it's got runnin like tha one you came from, and all the complex lives those simulations also contain.

Do ya choose ta leave, chasin tha idea a somethin "real?"

Can you ever trust tha world ya end up in?

Maybe that's a bit too complicated. Here's a simpler one.

We figure out tha tech for implantin and removin memories from people's brains. Two fellas walk into a memory adjustment center. One of em just lost his moirail and can't live without them. He wants all his memories a that person scrubbed outta his head. And it just so happens everybody else who knew his moirail have also had this procedure done. Once this fella's done havin his memories altered, there won't be a single person who remembers his moirail existed, nor a single physical trace they ever lived anywhere on tha planet.

Now the other fella, he's desperately lonely. So he wants ta have artificial memories of havin a lovin moirail put in his head, so he knows what it's like ta be loved. He knows this person won't be "real," but he'll have years and years of memories of being with them, exactly the same as though they'd really existed.

The memory adjustment center, as a cost cuttin measure, takes tha memories outta tha first fella's head and implants em in tha second fella's instead a makin up artificial memories.

The first fella walks out with no idea their moirail ever existed. Tha second fella walks out with detailed memories of lovin a person he doesn't think is real.

Nah wait that's too complicated again. One more try.

There are two musicians. One of em has spent years an years learnin their instrument and practicin. The other fella has had tha first fella's memories of practicin transplanted inta his brain (and fer tha sake a argument, let's say they also transferred muscle memory and such.)

Now yer some fancy type choosin performers fer an orchestra or some such. They're auditionin, and they're both on stage performin, and you don't know which is which. You can't tell tha difference at all.

Which one do you hire?

#asks #ic #thought experiment #the trolley problem

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balanceoflightanddark · 1 year

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I've talked about MechaGodzilla in the past, but with a franchise as old and long as Godzilla's, it's inevitable that the character has changed over the years. He's gone from a tool of conquest to a defender of humanity to a raging mech turned against its masters.

But if I had to highlight my favorite iteration of the character, I have to go with the Millenium version that debuted in Godzilla Against MechaGodzilla and appeared one last time in Godzilla: Tokyo SOS. Aside from having arguably the coolest design, this MechaGodzilla (also known as Kiryu), actually does have something that the others don't: he has a character arc and isn't either a threat to be conquered or a tank.

The only problem with Kiryu is that talking about him runs the risk of sounding like a mad man. So disclaimer: everything down below is real. I am NOT making this stuff up. At all.

So our story starts in 1954 with the original Godzilla.

By now you should know the story. Baptized in the fires of the hydrogen bomb, the original Godzilla went on a rampage in Tokyo and completely leveled the city, killing countless. He was only stopped when the brilliant scientist Dr. Serizawa reduced him to a skeleton with the Oxygen Destroyer. Anyone who's familiar with Godzilla lore knows the story.

Well, in the continuity of the Kiryu duology, that skeleton becomes extremely important.

When a second Godzilla appears in 1999, the Japanese government knows they did some kind of superweapon to defend themselves (especially since conventional weaponry won't do jack). Taking a page out of Pacific Rim's book, they decide their best chance is a gigantic mech to fight the monster. But even then, Godzilla's vicious enough that even a conventional robot might not enough.

And here's where things get...interesting.

Thanks to recent developments in robotics and bioengineering, they're able to use the bones of the original Godzilla to build MechaGodzilla. The reason being that a robot that uses organic DNA will be able to react faster than a completely automated one. Plus, thanks to those aforementioned advancements, Kiryu would be able to fight as effectively and viciously as when it was Godzilla while remaining under the JDSF's control. Think of it more as a cyborg than a true robot.

So to reiterate, they built a mech out of the bones of the original Godzilla. It's also able to fight just as well as its organic counterpart. Something like an EVA from Evangelion.

...everyone still with me? Good. Cause it gets stranger.

Kiryu does turn out to be as good of a fighter as they needed. While he isn't as powerful as some of his other iterations, he's able to fight the new Godzilla on equal footing. He's able to fight Godzilla to a draw in the first film inflicting grievous wounds and even defeated him in the second with the help of Mothra.

There's just one problem. Remember how I said Kiryu was a cyborg brought to life by the original bones of Godzilla?

During his first scuffle with Godzilla...Kiryu remembered who he was when he heard Godzilla's roar. And when a monster realizes he's been brought back to life by those that gave him painful mutations, turned him into a living weapon, and made to fight one of his own...

He goes berserk.

Yeah, once the reality of Kiryu's state comes to mind, there's some serious questions on whether or not creating him was a good idea in the first place. For one, how exactly can anybody rely on a machine that thinks like a monster? For another, what are the moral implications of even creating such a thing and forcing him to fight what is essentially another of his kind? Or even bringing him back to life and thus playing God? These are actually given a ton of weight in the film as the ethical lines behind Kiryu's creation are blurred. Especially when MechaGodzilla being brought online is what's triggering Godzilla's rampages in the first place.

But the interesting thing here is Kiryu himself. There's a lot of hints that he's a lot more self-aware and in control than most people give him credit for. For one, he seems to have an affinity for his first pilot Akane and one of his technicians, Yoshido. His eyes almost seem to glow when Akane is in danger and flat out says farewell to Yoshido on a computer in Tokyo SOS. The implications are that he seems to sympathize with Akane's feelings of worthlessness and appreciates Yoshido treating him like he was an actual being despite essentially being a robot.

And then there's his relationship with Godzilla. Thing is...he doesn't want to fight one of his own. While he runs out of power in the first film before he can kill Godzilla, Akane speculates that Kiryu genuinely didn't want to fight anymore. While he'll certainly fight Godzilla to stop the monster's rampage (all the more impressive since this is technically the original Godzilla we're talking about), killing him is another matter entirely. Which creates a bit of conflict since his purpose is to kill Godzilla.

And he gets his chance in Tokyo SOS when he grievously wounds Godzilla...but then stops dead in his tracks when his "brother/son" cries out in pain. He then lets the Mothra Larvae to wrap Godzilla in silk and effectively bring the exhausted dinosaur to the earth, giving him an opportunity to finish the job. Hell, the pilots and mission control are basically ordering Godzilla's execution at this point.

Instead...he doesn't.

He gives off a roar that sounds like the original Godzilla, disobeys every command to finish the fight, and gently embraces his organic counterpart before taking them both out to sea where no one can reach them. Godzilla is able to live, and Kiryu (and by extension the original Godzilla) is finally able to rest in peace.

This is why this version of MechaGodzilla is my favorite. His whole arc to me was about choosing for himself and wrangling with his relationship to both mankind and Godzilla. About whether he should kill his own or let innocents get hurt. Or even just learning to move on past his grudge against people. Those are things you don't typically associate with kaiju movies. Cause in the end, Kiryu isn't just another mech or monster. He's got character to him as well. Something I think the Godzilla movies do well.

#mechagodzilla #kiryu #godzilla #godzilla against mechagodzilla #godzilla tokyo sos #kaiju #long post #i like talking about godzilla

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invinciblerodent · 6 months

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I know this is very specific to myself, but it kind of tickles me how all of my PCs i've been actively playing make a very nice little party by themselves. Like it would be super boring to do so, but it would make sense to play them as a party (with three custom hirelings), and they'd be very much a viable set, for like an honor run down the line or something.

Ray would of course be the leader- he's a fighter/barbarian build, a genuine frontline hero, and a formidable, veteran warrior in-fiction. I mean fuck, he's the Inquisitor, he became a living legend at 24, and the only reason few remember it is that that was 30 years ago. He's very skilled and reliable, mostly chaotic good, and a good tactician to boot. He has the seniority, as well as the experience, for everyone to default to letting him lead.

Arvid, the cleric, is their healer, and the other frontline soldier. In-fiction he's also cool-headed, mostly lawful good, and very good at following the orders of a commander- together, these two men are a veritable meatshield. Not to mention that with Ray as their tank, the healer being on his heels would probably be a good move- and though they might occasionally disagree on the reasons, but they'll generally agree on the right thing to do and hold sway over the other two.

Iona is not only a high-damage ranged- and utility caster, but also a very charismatic person: a haggler, a negotiator, and, while not the most morally upstanding person (she's kind of.... true neutral to neutral good, sort of), in general she can be very useful as the public face of the party. While it'd be Ray's presence that says "trust me", it'd be her words that hold actual power (something of which she'd be keenly aware), and it does seem fun to have the boys rely on the one tiny woman among them to do all the party's talking.

And Petyr is a hell of a marksman. He's, at his core, a survivalist- he may be a bit questionable as far as allegiances are concerned (i'm thinking true- to chaotic neutral), but he's fast, stealthy, lethal, and the most mobile of all of them, zipping around the battlefield and picking people off one after the other. Not super talented with the lockpicking portions, but honestly that's beside the point. They just need Iona to drop a haste spell on him, and all the others really have to do is keep him from getting swarmed.

It's a really fun combo. kinda wanna draw them, kinda wanna play them, kinda wanna watch a whimsical animated series starring them.

#squirrel plays bg3 #like i'm getting a little bit of a Homeward Bound vibe which amuses me #Ray is the old golden retriver who is greying around the muzzle and he's just trying his best to keep everyone alive #Arvid would be a blue heeler. because. he's um. well a blue healer for one #but also he's tiny and got that “well-trained working dog” kind of discipline and need to feel useful #and Iona and Petyr are just. cats.#she's a v pretty and stubborn long-haired ginger cat. the kind whose aloof affection makes you feel Privileged #like you have been granted the Ultimate Honor which is to Pet Her #he's a garden-variety brown tabby. emblematic streetcat. half-feral.#like you might as well get a rabies shot if he bites you; just to be sure #he goes for the jugular too so. careful.#oc: raymond trevelyan #oc: arvid trygg #oc: iona raedir #oc: petyr wildbrook

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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By: Adam B. Coleman

Published: Sep 18, 2023

The real measure of an individual’s character isn’t what he portrays to the public but how he treats people in private.

Truly righteous people treat others with respect and dignity when there is no one else around and no social credit to be earned for doing the right thing.

This distinction matters — especially for people who’ve made a career lecturing others on the appropriate way to treat people, especially those perceived as having less power in society.

But when no one was looking and nothing was to be gained, it seems Ibram X. Kendi used his power and privilege as the director of a think tank to exploit and mistreat the people who worked under him as if they were people who are beneath him.

Amid confirmation of layoffs being made at Boston University’s Center for Antiracist Research, former and current faculty have spoken out about Kendi’s mismanagement, “exploitation” and enrichment.

“There are a number of ways it got to this point, it started very early on when the university decided to create a center that rested in the hands of one human being, an individual given millions of dollars and so much authority,” stated Spencer Piston, a BU political science professor.

A Former assistant director of narrative at the center and a BU associate professor of sociology and African American and black diaspora studies, Saida Grundy, also described a lack of structure, leading to her working additional hours that were unreasonable, especially for the pay she was receiving.

“It became very clear after I started that this was exploitative and other faculty experienced the same and worse,” Grundy lamented.

With tens of millions of dollars flowing in from major donors shortly after the center’s founding in 2020 from Twitter founder Jack Dorsey, the Rockefeller Foundation and biotech company Vertex, Grundy also saw the missed opportunity to directly help black students at Boston University.

“Those donations could have been going to benefit black students.”

Grundy is correct that much of the donation money could have been utilized in objectively more helpful ways to serve the people Kendi claimed to be advocating for. But the line between rhetoric and action was a line that Kendi never had any intentions of crossing.

Kendi used the dogma of antiracism to project a new moral standard at a time when many Americans momentarily questioned their behavior and culpability.

As he demanded that everyone should check their privilege and feel socially accountable for the exploitation of people, he was simultaneously exploiting the emotions of a nation to solidify his nobility status among the upper class in academia.

Kendi’s boutique moral philosophy on historical events and human interaction has only made him notable among the upper class.

Those elites declare racial enlightenment over the naïve majority who prefer to treat people like they’d want to be treated.

The antiracism think tank operated more like an antiracism piggybank with only one man listed as its financial beneficiary.

Kendi’s interests have become clearer as time has gone on: His “research center” was for the benefit of one black person, not black people.

Remember the $90 million windfall Patrisse Cullors and the Black Lives Matter organization scored and their frivolous spending habits with donation money, buying mansions and funneling cash to board and family members?

Activist Shaun King has also repeatedly been accused of raising money for recipients and causes that never saw it.

This is a similarly disappointing realization after tens of millions of dollars have been placed in the hands of an advocate who has shown little regard to produce a return for his bold aspirations.

Kendi had systemic control over his own research center yet used his position to take advantage of the people whom he was leading and continued to reap the academic clout that legitimizes his profiting in over $32,000 a speech.

Kendi suggests that people should become more race-conscious to be better anti-racists, but I believe it’s more important to be elitist-conscious.

We need to be aware of the behavioral patterns and condescending rhetoric of the people who think they know better than us about everything.

If we were all good anti-elitists, we’d ignore the utopian rhetoric of social progressives and anti-racists and focus on their behavior.

This readjustment would help us quickly realize that race is a tool to distract us from noticing they are getting rich from dividing us into categories of human characteristics.

The only remedy to moral elitism is moral anti-elitism: This is how we have an anti-elitist society.

Adam B. Coleman is the author of “Black Victim to Black Victor” and founder of Wrong Speak Publishing. Follow him on Substack: adambcoleman.substack.com.

It was never about doing anything useful. It was always akin to buying indulgences from the Catholic Church.

#Adam B. Coleman #Ibram X. Kendi #fraud #academic fraud #financial fraud #antiracism as religion #antiracism #Boston University #intellectual fraud #acadmic corruption #Center for Antiracist Research #religion #race grifters #woke #wokeness #cult of woke #wokeism #wokeness as religion #religion is a mental illness

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belacqui-pro-quo · 6 months

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If you have watched the series and not encountered such readings of it, you may assume that these interpretations are ridiculous. In that case, you should spend four minutes with “The Sad Story of Henry,” a segment from “Thomas & Friends” that aired on the second episode of the first season at PBS. (In the U.S., it was retitled “Come Out, Henry!”) It begins on a drizzly day in Sodor, the fictional island in the Irish Sea that serves as the show’s setting. Henry, the curmudgeonly train, is afraid to come out of his tunnel, because “the rain will ruin my lovely green paint and red stripes.” Then Sir Topham Hatt, the railway director, who is also known as the Fat Controller, arrives on the scene. (He looks like Monopoly’s Rich Uncle Pennybags but with eyes that have almost surely witnessed murder.) The Fat Controller orders the passengers to pull Henry out with a rope, but Henry won’t budge. They push him from the other direction, to no avail. (The Fat Controller declines to physically participate in this effort, citing “doctor’s orders.”) The passengers then tell Henry that it’s not raining; Henry, perhaps noticing that everyone still has their umbrellas out, refuses to move. Realizing that the day’s workflow is irrevocably disrupted, Fat Controller decides that Henry must be punished—for life. “We shall take away your rails, and leave you here for always and always,” he tells Henry. As Henry’s face contorts into anguish and the background music toots a series of Oompa Loompa faux-glum flourishes, railway employees build a brick prison around Henry, leaving only half of his face visible. His train friends pass by: one snubs him, and another whistles hello. Henry has no steam left to whistle back. He spends his days alone, soot-streaked, wondering if he’ll ever be allowed to go back to work. The last line of the segment is the narrator saying, “I think he deserved his punishment, don’t you?” In the U.S. version, this voice-over is tweaked so that Henry’s fate seems temporary. But the original version is still on YouTube, and it’s comically bleak. As one commenter writes, “What moral lesson are kids supposed to learn from this? Do as you’re told or you will be entombed forever in the darkness to die?”

#Link #Culture

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ottobooty · 8 months

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7, 13, 20, 23 for the Tav ask meme? B)

typical party lineup?

Otto's Lineup is Karlach - Shadowheart - and a combination of everyone else. This is because I like to have a good tank and Shadowheart is a healer who, if you build right, turns into a nuke.

Actual Laughter's lineup is never the same whenever they're going out. Karlach and Lae'zel are often the ones that travel with her the most, but everyone else comes and goes. Karlach is, however, the one that travels with her the most, actually, as neither is far away from each other.

I have answered #13 alas

does your tav have a best friend in the party? what's their dynamic like?

It's absolutely Karlach. Karlach and Laughter get along like peanut butter and jelly. Two peas in a pod. Like a house on fire. Part of it is because their morals almost align to a T, and their humor is nearly the same. Lah is also in a unique position as she knows, at least via being told stories, what it is like to be on the front lines of the Blood Wars, so she can easily empathize with Karlach in a way the other party members can't. Also they do bond over being the only tieflings in the party.

did your tav's dream visitor manifest as anyone in particular, or someone random that they've never seen before?

Her mother. She actually called him out on it for how weird it was, only to get a response of "You'd know you'd listen to your mother", to which they could only respond with "Yeah, that's fair."

#OC: Lah #Baldur's Gate 3 #Otto does a meme #TYYY

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ikemenlibrary · 2 years

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Revenge Best Served Wet (Ikémen Revolution)

Pairing: Fenrir Godspeed x Alice (MC) x Ray Blackwell Word count: 5.2k Warnings: NSFW content (threesome, dirty talk, unprotected sex) - you must be 18+ to follow my blog but if you somehow managed to slip by, please do not interact with this post.

Author’s note: @xxsycamore Mo! I was so happy to receive the assignment to write this for you for the Ikémen Revolution gift exchange that @sunnyikemen and I were hosting together! This was such a fun piece to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Your ideas you sent it really inspired me and this helped reinvigorate my love for Fenray x Alice uwu ~ I wanted to combine your love of summer with the prompts you gave me and came up with this. Thank you for always being so lovely; I always enjoy our conversations and I love hearing from you!

Autumn was quickly approaching Cradle and although the trees were beginning to droop and the flowers were retreating into the ground for the cold winter season, it was still exceptionally hot going into October. Warm enough that most of the army members still wore shorts and tees when off the clock and Alice wore a slightly hemmed skirt - with Seth’s help, of course - and a less constricting top to the dress.

While everyone was relishing the last few long lasting days of summer, they were still expecting the Black Army to complete their daily training and that meant no slacking off until the boss said so.

Sirius Oswald, Queen of the Black Army, well-known hardass with a golden heart was not one to go easy on his troops. He was always one step ahead of the game, always knew what to do to keep the troops morale boosted high. On this last warm day of the season, there was no difference, he knew exactly how to have them train whilst also relishing in lovely weather mother nature had left them with.

He was walking up and down the troops' orderly lines, handing each member a water gun with the most serious face one could muster when reaching into a cold bucket of water to hand the next person a brightly colored plastic gun. Sirius hadn’t said anything to any of the members, only the King had any clue what he had planned.

When handing off a gun to the last army member and all of the leaders, a soft smile fell on his lips as his eyes met with Alice and he held out one of the last two guns as an offering. “What do you say, little lady? Wanna join in training today?”

Alice laughed as she heard Fenrir whoop behind her, only to be cut off by Ray’s elbow connecting with his stomach. She nodded, accepting the water gun and Sirius ruffled her hair, not succeeding because of the pony tail she was sporting, and then he grabbed the last gun.

“Alright everyone,” he started, his commanding voice capturing the attention of everyone, their curious gazes following the Queen as he paced the courtyard. “For today’s training, we’ll be using these instead of sparring with our real weapons. I know a lot of you don’t use guns in combat but the reality is that they’re becoming more and more popular. So you have to learn to dodge the bullets, as well as use them.” A murmur rumbled through a few army members. “If your sword breaks in combat, or you get unarmed by an enemy and all there is left is a pistol, I want every one of you to know how to take aim and shoot.”

Ray cut in next. “In today’s exercise, everyone will be splitting into two teams. If you get shot by someone on the other team more than three times, you’re out. And we will know you’re out. You’re not in your dark uniforms, your clothes will show where you’re shot.”

Fenrir sidled up to Alice, his strong arm brushing against her shoulder and her nose was immediately filled with the scent of sunscreen. “Hey, wanna be on a team with me? I’ll protect ya.”

She smiled at him gratefully, the sweaty water gun caused her hand to be freezing cold as she reached up to place her wet hand on his bare shoulder, his freckles peeking out underneath the tank top he was wearing. “Sure thing! Thanks, Fen.”

Fenrir shied away from her chilled hand, his face twisting as he tried to stay quiet as Ray and Sirius continued to speak to the army. “You wound me,” Fenrir staggered back dramatically, his hand laid on his heart. “Here I am trying to be nice and you do this to me.” With a chuckle to show he was joking, he came back over to Alice, his hand purposefully brushing against her own fingertips as he leaned down, his breath stirring some baby hairs around her ear as he spoke. “I missed ya in my bed last night. How was Ray?”

Alice was grateful for the blaring sun, that way anyone seeing her embarrassed flush would assume it was from the heat. “I missed you too, Fen. It was really nice, but it felt weird without you.”

Fenrir wasn’t sure when it started, but once Alice decided to stay with Ray and the Black Army, Fenrir’s feelings for the woman deepened. He saw how well she treated Ray and at first it was admiration he felt, and then one day it was like a switch flipped when she smiled at him brightly from across the room.

Fenrir had always loved Ray; they were friends first, and on occasional nights when one was feeling lonely, he’d end up in the other’s bed. It was never spoken about, nor was it something that made either of them feel awkward. If anything, it made them closer than before. When Alice came along, he didn’t resent her. He was glad she made his best buddy as happy as she did, and that’s all he could ask for.

One night, the three of them were up late, it was unusual for Ray to stay up past 10pm but they were all in the garden and passing around a fancy bottle of champagne that Fenrir had snatched from a party his parents were hosting. The rest of the army was still there; they’d probably spend the night at the Godspeed residence and that was okay with Fenrir: he was able to spend time with the two people he was in love with without the interruption of anything or anyone else.

And then all of a sudden, he drunkenly blurted out that he loved them both. It was a word vomit, a cacophony of feelings and thoughts and desires, and once he started he couldn’t stop. Fenrir was messily confessing his feelings to both of them, his best friend and his best friend’s girl right there when all three were drunk. He was confessing and talking and not shutting up, not until Ray leaned over and kissed him to quiet him.

From there, the three of them spent time exploring their relationship together. Sometimes they all slept in Ray’s bed, other times, Fenrir slept alone, but most of the time, Alice found herself in Fenrir’s bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like sleeping with Ray, she honestly missed him when she hadn’t spent a night with him in a while, but he fell asleep so early normally and when she and Fenrir were still trying to find their groove together, she’d find herself in his bed, sometimes chatting, sometimes more, until one of them fell asleep.

The rest of the Black Army had no clue on the extent of the throuple’s relationship. They knew Alice and Ray were together, and they knew that Fenrir was very close to the both of them. But the three decided to keep how close they all were to themselves. Sure, the army leaders wouldn’t judge them, but being a throuple in a relationship eyes of the public they just didn’t want anything getting out that could tarnish the reputation that the army has worked so hard to build up. They were the opposite of embarrassed, they just didn’t want to draw unwanted attention.

So now here they were standing, Alice’s arm brushing against Fenrir’s with every breath she took and Ray’s eyes watching the pair as he was splitting up the teams for the water gun fight. Sirius was one team captain, and Ray the other; Alice noticed Sirius made note not to look in her direction while picking members for his team. Whether it’s because he knew she’d be a hindrance to his team, or because she was Ray’s partner, she wasn’t sure, but either way, she was grateful when Ray called Fenrir and herself over to his side of the courtyard.

Alice happily took her spot next to Ray and she smiled as he took hold of her hand, his eyes lingering on Fenrir for a moment before his emerald ones fell onto Alice once more. “You ready?”

“Yep! Fen said he’d protect me.” She held up her water gun and playfully pointed it at Ray. “Better watch your back!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, his own water gun pointed at her chest. “You better watch your front,” he countered, before whipping around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he saw Fenrir standing there, one hand on his hip, the other one spinning his bright purple gun on his finger.

“Our princess said to watch ya back, your highness,” The smirk on Fenrir’s face was charming and she could tell Ray was struggling to form a rebuttal.

Ray turned to look at Alice, but she just shrugged. “I told you he said he’d protect me.” He shook his head, going over to ruffle Fenrir’s hair affectionately as he leaned in to whisper something in his ear that Alice couldn’t quite make out.

On the other side of the courtyard, Sirius was yelling for both sides to prepare, and as he did so, both Ray and Fenrir protectively stood in front of Alice before the battle began. It started off slowly, a few sprays and shrieks from the members up front as cold water came in contact with their skin, but everyone was learning to jump away in time with the sporadic shooting.

Alice watched as Fenrir took a deep breath, and then before she could react, he yelled. “CHARGE!”

All of a sudden, water was flying everywhere. Both sides were making their way towards the middle and Sirius’ team was slowly making their way through everyone up front. Alice made sure to stay behind her boyfriends, occasionally peeking out behind them to spray someone who was getting a little too close to comfort on either side of them.

“Hey Alice~” Seth sidled up to the woman, sporting a ponytail very similar to her own. “Lucky you, having your boyfriend and his bestie protecting you!”

Alice ducked just in time, dodging one of the army soldiers 'bullets’, and Fenrir shot the man, not even looking in her direction as the soldier walked away. “Yeah I’d say so,” she remarked, letting her guard down for a moment as she shared a laugh with Seth. Fenrir and Ray were so in their element, dodging sprays of water and precisely shooting the enemies, it was thrilling to watch. It almost made Alice jealous how in sync they were. “Hey, Seth-”

Alice turned to her best friend, going to comment on how the movements between the two men in front of her almost seemed rehearsed, but she gasped as Seth shot her straight in the chest. “Sorry, Alice, but you have to remember who your enemy is~!”

Her finger on her own trigger pulled, yet nothing came out and she realized with a startled gasp that she was out of water and an enemy was standing right in front of her. Neither Fenrir nor Ray seemed to realize what was going on and no matter how many times she discreetly tugged on the back of Ray’s shirt, he didn’t seem to understand what she was doing.

Sirius popped up right next to Seth and Alice realized that the men coming at Fenrir and Ray from the front was a tactic planned by the two militants. Alice’s grasp on the sweaty weapon in her hand caused it to slip from her hands and right as she yelled, Sirius and Seth both shot her again.

“Fenrir, Ray! Behind you!” Ray turned around just in time to see Seth slip away, Sirius already long gone. And then his emerald gaze dropped to his girlfriend’s chest, noticing the way her colored bra shone through the three wet spots.

“Leave the battlefield and cover up!” Ray shot at two more people, grimacing at the weakened stream. It was clear to Alice that both sides would need a break and to reconvene after filling up with more water so while she was out, she was still able to be helpful by dragging Sirius’s big bucket over to the hose so she could fill it up and help the army members reload when they took a break. Sure enough, before too long, both sides called a retreat for twenty minutes so everyone could fill up their guns and hydrate themselves.

During that time, Ray called a strategy team with the other 7 army members who were still ‘uninjured’ on his side.

“Alright men,” Ray started. “We’ve figured out that they're using the other soldiers led by Luka to distract from Sirius and Seth sneaking up on us from behind. I think we need to-”

“Screw whatever you’re gonna say.” Fenrir interjected, looking over at Alice who was sitting on the sidelines, kicking her feet on the grass. “They got Alice, I want revenge.”

Ray rolled his eyes, pushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “As I was saying,” he continued on, forming a plan with his army members and making sure everyone else knew their plan of attack.

As both armies started to line up once again, Fenrir leaned over to the King standing next to him. “I wasn’t kidding. I want revenge.”

“We will avenge her death when we win fair and square.” Ray responded, not spurred on by Fenrir’s excitement for once. “Besides, I’m too good to get revenge.”

Fenrir huffed, sliding his finger up and down the inner side of Ray’s arm, marveling at the goosebumps that showed up on his skin despite the heat. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not. Give me your gun.” His hand that was tracing on Ray’s skin reached down to snatch his partner’s gun, leaving Ray weaponless as Fenrir tactfully dodged everyone's oncoming attacks and made his way through the troop to find the two leaders who eliminated his girlfriend.

His eyes caught sight of the familiar silvery gray blue hue of Seth’s hair and he raised both guns at the other man, freezing in shock as he felt a pelt of cold water on his back, another on his shoulder, and then as he turned around to face the offending officer, Luka looked at him with determination blooming in his eyes. The last spray of water hit Fenrir’s face, and the man dropped his guns as Luka smiled softly. “Nice try,”

Fenrir muttered under his breath as he brushed his shoulder against Luka’s on his way off the makeshift battlefield, smiling as Alice held out a waiting towel for him when he went to sit down next to her. “You know, your dedication to getting revenge for me was kind of sexy,” she remarked softly and Fenrir felt warm at her words.

“Aw shucks, that was nothin’. But if you’re grateful, you can give me a reward for it.” He playfully leaned against her shoulder, not wanting to do anything to tip off the other people near them.

“I was already planning on sucking your dick later,” she said lowly. “But I suppose you can get something more than that,”

“I want time with both of ya,” Fenrir said, and both of them watched Ray, watching his muscles ripple as he lifted his shirt off, laughing at something one of the men next to him said. He had sweat dripping down his body and Alice could almost taste it on her tongue as she imagined running a tongue over his abs, slowly making her way down his body.

“I’m sure we can make that happen,” she promised, biting her lip and looking over her shoulder. “You know… it’s probably pretty empty inside. We could sneak in and take some time to ourselves, knowing Ray, he’ll come looking for us afterwards.”

“He wouldn’t even have to search for us if we were waiting for him in his room, princess.”

She blinked, a slow smile forming on her face. “I like the way you think,”

Fenrir stood up, extending a hand to Alice as he winked. “We should go get some extra towels for everyone while we’re waiting.”

She quickly caught on, her hand falling into his so naturally that he almost let out a sigh of bliss just from that. “Oh, good idea! Let’s head inside and go check out the linen closet, I’m sure we can find something there.”

Alice and Fenrir quickly made it into the headquarters and once he was sure no one was around, he twined their fingers together in a more intimate way than what they had done outside. Before, that was friendly - but if anyone saw them touching like this, they would know their feelings ran way deeper than friendship.

Taking one look around, Fenrir pushed open Ray’s bedroom door and the familiar scent that wrapped around him was so comforting in that moment that it took all he had in him not to melt into Ray’s bed and wrap the sheets around him, less than decent thoughts littering his brain as he rid himself of clothing. But Alice’s warm hands on the hem of his shirt brought him back to reality and with a wink and a smile, Fenrir’s hands joined her own.

“Couldn’t even wait ‘til we closed the door, huh?” He asked, one arm reaching out to slam the door as his other hand helped her push his shirt up over his head.

“Shut up,” Alice mumbled, her hand falling to his neck and pulling Fenrir in for a kiss. “Not my fault you were being dumb and sexy out there.”

Fenrir bit back his retort, instead his tongue traced her lips, the taste of her intoxicating. One of his hands rested on the small of her back, pulling her closer, while the other one was nimbly working the buttons of her shirt. She sighed out as he peeled the wet shirt away, laughing as Fenrir huffed as he tried to one handedly unhook her bra.

The pair both jumped as the door opened, Fenrir protectively took a step in front of Alice as she scrambled to cover her exposed skin. As Ray poked his head in, Fenrir let out a sigh of relief and Alice dropped her shirt back to the floor.

“Oh good, I didn’t miss out on much,” Ray said, quickly ridding himself of his shirt and leaning in to press a kiss to each of their lips. “I saw you both sneak off and figured I needed to see what my two troublemakers were up to.”

“We’re just here, getting up to no good.” Alice replied, her hand reaching out to trace the sweaty planes of Ray’s abs.

“I can see that, princess.” Ray responded, his usually bright eyes darkened with lust. “Wanna show me what you two were up to?”

His hands casually fell to the small of each of their backs, gently and quietly urging them to continue where they left off. Fenrir smiled, his hands falling to Alice’s hips as he pulled her in to press another kiss to her lips.

Alice’s skirt was hanging loosely on her hips and while the pair got back into their groove, Ray unzipped the flowy material, watching as it fell off her body in a pool of fabric by her feet, only left in her undergarments and white knee high socks.

A moan left her lips as Fenrir nibbled on her lower lip and Ray stepped behind her, his hands reaching up to cup her covered breasts as he leaned in to suckle on her neck, the taste of sweat and sunshine dancing on his tongue as she involuntarily pressed back into him.

One of Fenrir’s hands snaked up, messing with the clasp on her bra once more and before he could lose his patience, Ray’s hand joined him, holding one side as Fenrir finagled the other, sighing in relief as the elastic gave way and peeled away from her body. Fenrir traced his way down her body, his lips and tongue tracing the other side of her neck that Ray wasn’t nibbling on and making his way down to her pert breast.

As Fenrir’s mouth enclosed over her left nipple, Ray stopped his attack on her neck for a moment as he watched his boyfriend pleasure his girlfriend. Alice’s breath came out in soft gasps, and Ray’s mouth brushed the shell of her ear as he leaned down to whisper, “feel good?”

“Yes,” she moaned out and Ray watched as Fenrir’s teeth bit down gently on her other nipple. “So good.”

Ray’s hand snaked down into the front of her underwear, and he moaned out as he felt the wetness that had pooled in between her legs. Alice, who had been doing a good job at holding herself up despite the ministrations on her body, felt her knees buckle and Fenrir’s arms wrapped around her hips, detaching his lips from her body as he picked her up and unceremoniously threw her on the bed before Ray could protest.

“Ouch!” She cried out, pulling a book out from the sheets and throwing it to the floor. “Hey, be careful with my babies.” Ray protested, walking over to Fenrir and unbuttoning the other man’s pants, trying not to laugh as underwear as pink as his boyfriends hair came into view.

“I know you’re talking about your books and not me,” Alice said, pushing herself up with her arms and resting on her forearms, her slightly spread legs adorned with knee high socks taunting Ray to fall into her warmth.

As he peeled off his own shorts, Ray watched as Fenrir made his way up the bed, crawling over Alice and attaching his lips on her neck once more. Ray took place at the foot of the bed, gently peeling off her wet panties and kissing her socked calf as his hands ran up her bare skin of her upper thighs, lifting her legs over his shoulders as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, relishing in the way that she wriggled in his grip. Glancing up at Fenrir and Alice, he watched as Fenrir’s fingers pinched at her nipples while their tongues melded together.

Ray leaned in, licking a stripe up her sex, the taste of her wetness falling onto his tongue and making him press his hardon into the side of the bed for some sort of pressure. She moaned as she felt his tongue flick through her folds once, twice, and three times before his fingers joined in, two of them pushing into her gummy walls, his tongue flicking at her clit as her hips moved in time with his fingers.

He looked up, catching a gaze of Fenrir laying on his side, her head turned towards him as she sucked his hardened length into her mouth. One of Fenrir’s hands was in her hair as the other one rubbed her bare skin anywhere he could reach comfortably. As Ray continued his pace, his other hand reached out to hold her moving hips down, able to make harder, faster, more precise movements. From above, he could hear her muffled moans and Fenrir’s praise.

“You’re so pretty, princess.” Fenrir cooed, his hand pushing her bangs back from her eyes. “You’re doin’ so well takin’ the both of us.” Alice made a sound that was almost like a coo and as Fenrir was talking, Ray felt her pussy clench around his two fingers, signifying to him an impending orgasm. Instead of lightly flicking at her clit with his tongue, Ray leaned in even further to suck it into his mouth, his lips tightening on the hardened bud as his fingers continued their faster pace.

“Gonna cum for us, sweetheart?” Fenrir asked, his hips pushing into Alice’s mouth as his own pleasure started taking over, his hands once again groping at her chest. Ray stayed quiet; he didn’t want to let go of the pressure he was putting on her clit until she had cum on his fingers, hard. And it didn’t take much more. One final pinch to her nipple from Fenrir sent her over the edge, Alice’s legs shaking and her body writhing against the two army members.

As she was coming down, Ray’s fingers were still moving in and out of her gushing pussy, his lips releasing from her clit as he kissed up her stomach, stopping to playfully lick at her breasts, before leaning in and kissing her forehead. “So perfect,” he whispered, her half lidded smile making the butterflies in Ray’s stomach stir.

Alice was stroking lazily at Fenrir’s cock, catching her breath as Ray leaned in to kiss the other male, Fenrir’s tongue eagerly licking into his mouth to taste the remnants of Alice’s orgasm. Ray was all too willing to accept his tongue and he gasped out as he felt Alice’s other hand dip into his underwear and pull his cock out, her hands working on both of the men in tandem as they shared a sweet kiss.

Without saying anything, Alice raised herself to her knees and bent down to suck Fenrir’s dick into her mouth once again, this time with reignited vigor - using her hands to work the portion she couldn’t fit in her mouth as her head bobbed up and down. Ray pulled away from the kiss, watching as her butt moved in time with her head and he stroked his cock lightly as he positioned himself behind her,

His fingers rubbed a stripe up and down her folds, testing to make sure she wasn’t too sensitive from her first orgasm to take her, but her hips wiggled, inviting Ray in and one of his hands held her hip as the other positioned his cock at her entrance, before pushing in gently, the both of them moaning out in tandem as he bottomed out. As Alice adjusted to his length, she continued working on Fenrir’s dick, and when she was ready for Ray to move, she pushed back against him.

All three of them knew how this worked; they all wanted to be connected as one so as they were figuring out how things worked in the bedroom, a lot of silent communication started happening. Fenrir wanted something, he lightly gripped their hair in his fist. Ray, he asked with his eyes. Alice, she pressed herself against whoever. They worked, and all three loved it.

Ray’s hips snapped against Alice's, starting to pick up the pace as he heard Fenrir’s orgasm. No matter how many times he was told to be quiet, or even had something in his mouth (whether it be a garment of clothing, Alice’s pussy, or Ray’s dick), he was always a tad too loud. This time was no different, as he came in their girlfriend’s mouth, a loud moan broke free from his lips, red from clamping down on them with his teeth to try and quiet himself. His hips thrusted up into Alice’s mouth and his hands held her head down to him, his length hitting the back of her throat as she choked on the seed spilling down her throat.

Alice came up, gasping for air and once she caught her breath, Ray pulled out of her, flipping her onto her back and throwing her legs over his shoulders as he pressed himself into her, leaning down to kiss her once before speaking lowly. “You looked so pretty choking on Fen’s cock. You liked that, didn’t you?”

She moaned out, nodding her head yes as Ray swallowed her moan with another kiss. Fenrir was lying to the side, catching his breath as he moved his hand down Alice’s body, rubbing at her clit in time with Ray’s deep thrusts. “You both look gorgeous,” Fenrir whispered.

“So you can be quiet now, Fenrir?” She asked through broken moans. Fenrir pressed down on her clit in retaliation and Ray felt his release building as her walls tightened around him.

“Quiet, princess. Else I’m sure I can find somethin’ to quiet you with.” Spotting her discarded panties on the bed, Fenrir’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe your soaking wet panties? Were they wet from the squirt gun or from your insatiable need to be fucke-”

Fenrir didn’t even finish his sentence, cutting off as her hand gripped his thigh tightly, her fingers digging in as her second orgasm hit her like a truck. As she creamed on his cock, Ray picked up his pace, thrusting roughly into her to chase after his own orgasm. Fenrir sat up, his carmine pink eyes focussed on Ray as he silently urged the King to come. As he reached the peak, Ray fell into Alice’s waiting arms, twitching inside of her as he let himself fall apart in the comfort of softly spoken words and forehead kisses.

“You did so good,” Alice whispered, pushing his sweaty hair away from his eyes and Fenrir nodded along with her statement.

“I love watchin’ ya both. You look so good together.”

Ray shook his head in protest, pulling Fenrir into the sweaty pile. “No, we look good together.”

“That was really cheesy,” Alice pointed out, poking Ray’s nose.

“Deal with it, princess.” He responded, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her mouth.

All three of them laid silently for a moment before they started to hear the rest of the army members filtering in, all of the muddled conversations they could hear were the men talking about wanting a shower.

“I could go for a shower,” Fenrir noted, moving to get up from the bed. “And we probably need to clean the sheets.”

“Now you’re thinking sensibly,” Alice teased. “Where was this rationality when you went marching into the enemy lines by yourself?”

“If I recall correctly, you said I looked sexy.”

Alice rolled her eyes, looking to Ray. “I also said he looked dumb, but he isn’t mentioning that part.”

“Are you surprised?” Ray disentangled himself from Alice, standing up and picking her up bridal style, his heart swelling in his chest as she let out a scream-giggle.

“Stop talkin’ about me like I’m not here!” Fenrir whined, following behind the other two to the bathroom fit for a King and turning on the water. Ray set down Alice and she went over to press a tender kiss to Fenrir’s muscled back.

“In all seriousness, you both were ridiculously sexy out there.” She stuck her hand in the tub, the cool shower water cascading down her arm. “It looked rehearsed.”

Ray and Fenrir shared a glance and they both laughed awkwardly. “That’s because it was rehearsed. We’ve been doing stuff like this since we were in school.” Ray explained and Alice laughed at both of them.

“Alright you two, in we go. We’ve been missing long enough that someone is probably looking for one of you.”

“But I’d much rather stay with you both,” Ray said, pressing his forehead to Alice’s as the water fell down over each of their heads, Fenrir working the soap into his tired muscles.

“Don’t worry my loves, we have all night tonight to be together.” Alice said, both of them sending soft smiles. “As long as Ray doesn’t fall asleep early, that is.”

“If he does, it’s because we tired him out.” Fenrir teased, pinching Ray’s butt.

The three of them kept up all of their playful banter as they quickly washed themselves off and got presentable once more. Alice and Ray left the bedroom first, Fenrir slipping out later when the hallway was clear.

The rest of the night was spent sending sweet glances across the dinner table, small lingering touches, and a whole lot of words silently said.

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