#batter is a python

[someoffguy]

+ Adding on to my last post, I have concepts of Batter and Sucre, i need to redesign Sucre a bit im not too happy with her design

Btw im opening asks so ill answer questions about this au

[lokiified]

a world with you

summary: when you get back from a mission, and Ethan isn't there.

pairing: ethan hunt x f!agent!reader

word count: 2.8k

author's notes: descriptions of injury, mention of a python snake, anxiety over major character death, flirty banter and some suggestive stuff, reference to a Jason Mraz song, so angsty for a bit but sweet fluff i promise, established relationship, no use of y/n, taking care of ethan bc he deserves it, i imagined this with mi2 ethan bc that look is just unmatched so this takes place in like 2007

The innocent mumble of traffic below the window was starting to give you a headache. Your ears had been strained, pricked-up to the slightest of noises, for what felt like ages.

Battered and bruised from the mission, you’d stumbled into the safehouse a mere hour ago. You were running on only adrenaline and Ethan’s training playing on loop in your brain as you instinctively started undressing to clean your wounds. The haze in your mind mercifully numbed the burn of rubbing alcohol and the aches in your bones, and when you finally came-to you’d showered and changed into a clean set of clothes. It was then that you realized that you didn’t know where Ethan was.

“If I don’t make it back, please don’t come looking for me,” he’d always said, brushing gentle lines across your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “keep yourself safe first.” He would press a soft kiss to your forehead, as if it would seal his words into your mind.

But now, now that he really wasn’t here, now that it was the fear of a dreaded possibility coming true that was clawing it’s way done your spine, it took more strength than any mission to keep yourself from throwing on your jacket and boots and marching back into the world, exhausted as you were, to find him.

The mission was simple: get in, plant a trace on a necklace in the hotel’s vault, and get out. You’d both been expecting the security in the back hallways of the hotel, but what you hadn’t prepared for was that one of the goons was an ex-agent, defected and gone rogue a few years prior; he recognized the two of you immediately. In the midst of the struggle, you’d been separated from Ethan.

Now, hands trembling as they fidgeted in your lap, you were waiting. The window in the living room was open and the apartment was dark, depriving every other sense to focus all of your attention on listening, waiting for Ethan to come back. Surely he was going to come back?

But the men were big and there were at least a dozen of them, and the memory was pierced with the crack of gunshots beneath the haze of adrenaline as you made a break for it.

You… made a break for it? Why did you run? Why didn’t you stay and fight like Ethan probably did? You were such a coward. How could you leave him there to fend for himself? Of course he’s can take care of himself, but what if he’s dead?

Then it would be your fault.

The guilt suddenly choked your lungs like a python with its prey, stifled sobs wreaking silent havoc on your body as you pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged yourself, burying your face into your knees. He was dead and it was your fault, all your fault. He had always been so selfless, so brave and so willing to do anything for you, even back when he barely knew you. You were a horrible person. You could never face Luther again; not with the knowledge that it was your fault Ethan was dead, that you had killed him—

“Agent?”

Your head snapped up from your knees, eyes locking onto the figure that had appeared in the window’s reflection. The sudden roar of blood pounding in your ears made you dizzy, and you squinted into the inky black night as you stumbled through the fog in your brain: he certainly looked like your Ethan, although the silhouette of his hair falling around his shoulders was the only detail you could make out in the darkness, but it seem impossible. He couldn’t be here. You’d left him behind, he was dead and it was all your fault. But then who was this man that had the key to the safehouse? Should you run? Suddenly the reflection was moving, then there was movement in your peripheral, and a figure that looked a whole lot like the Ethan you loved came and crouched in front of you.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’m right here.”

His hands reached your waist but you jumped back at his touch and scrambled into the cushions, half expecting this to all be a hallucination. His hands recoiled and quickly raised in surrender, his brows twitching together with worry as he watched you, your chest beginning to heave in panic. Your heart longed to believe it was Ethan, wanted nothing more than to melt into his touch, but it didn’t make sense for him to be here.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on yours as he slowly lowered a hand. You eyed the gun on the holster around his shoulders, but he moved past it and found the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one slowly and moving to slide the shirt over his shoulders. He quickly dropped it on the floor and brought his hands up again.

“It’s me, okay? I promise. You can check, I promise it’s me.”

You inspected him from afar, noting the smattering of bruises across his ribs and the graze of a bullet on the underside of his right arm, crusted over with blood. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and grime, but nowhere could you find any seams or signs of deception. You moved closer to him.

“Tell me something only my Ethan would know about me,” you said, your voice wavering in the aftermath of your panic. Ethan smiled, warming your heart with his radiance.

“Our first date was two years ago, in Rome, when our mission got called off after we’d already landed. I took you to dinner at a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city, and we danced to that Jason Mraz song you love so much-“

“A World With You,” you finished with him, slipping off the cushion and into his open arms on the floor. His arms encircled you and squeezed gently, and your tears came spilling out of you at the comfort of his touch. He moved so his back was against the couch and you were cradled in his arms, his head resting atop yours as he stroked your arms to soothe you.

“I thought you were dead, I thought they killed you… I thought you were dead and it was my fault because I left you there, how could I leave you there?” The words tumbled out of you between sobs, your mind and body expelling all of your fears into his warm embrace.

“No, hey, I told you to run, remember?” He said, bringing a hand to lift your face and look at him. “I told you to run as soon as the guard recognized us, remember?” You shook your head, trying to recall his voice but all you could hear was the sound of gunshots and shouting fading behind you as you raced through the halls.

“I promise I told you to run, okay?” He brushed away the trail of tears on your cheeks and moved the hair out of your face as he spoke. “You were just following orders, you did the right thing.” His voice was like a balm to your wounds, soothing the guilt that gripped your chest. The rest of the night was coming back to you; Ethan’s frantic shout when he realized the situation with the guard, his promise to come find you. Your breathing evened out. You became aware of his own heart beating solidly beneath your weight, of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Yeah… yeah okay,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest again. You focused on breathing, on the steady thumping of Ethan’s heart, the proof that he was alive here with you.

“We should really get you cleaned up,” you said after a while, and he sighed.

“I missed you,” he replied as he squeezed you tighter.

“I missed you too, but that doesn’t change the fact that you desperately need a shower.” His head sprung away from resting atop yours and he looked at you in disbelief.

“What are you saying, Agent?”

You pecked a kiss on his nose and grinned, “you stink.”

He broke into a grin and leaned closer to you, placing a hand on the back of your head and capturing your lips in a kiss. You moved in perfect tandem with each other, the anxieties of the day fading into the background as you poured your heart into this moment, this single moment where nothing else exists besides the two of you, kissing in the dark like two teenagers on stolen time.

Your arms draped over his shoulders and your hands moved to tangle in his hair, pressing your body against his as if you could get any closer to him. His hands moved between cupping your face and gripping your waist like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you more. His teeth caught your lower lip and you released a breathy moan, and you felt his lips curl into a smile at the sound. He broke away with heavy breathing, pushing your hair out of your face.

“I thought I smelled bad” he whispered with a smile as you caught your breath.

“Oh you do.” Ethan leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled away and stood to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” His face melted into a pout and you laughed, causing his lips to twitch up into a smile and betray his feigned offence. You reached your hands out to him and he accepted your help, standing up slowly. You noted the way he grimaced as he stood and your eyes flicked across his body in search of the source of his pain.

“Do you need help walking to the bathroom?” you asked, then rolled your eyes when he quickly shook his head. “Let me rephrase that: I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom.” Ethan grinned at you and accepted your aid, slinging an arm around your shoulder and lending you some of his weight. Slowly, the two of you made it to the bathroom where you set him down on the closed toilet seat. His shirt stayed behind on the floor of the living room, and in the dim light and sweet aroma of the candles you found in the cupboard you helped Ethan peel off the rest of his clothes and expose the wounds underneath. Mercifully, there were no major gashes besides the bullet graze on his arm.

“Are you injured at all?”

You gave him a stern look, “you’re not allowed to ask that until I’m done taking care of you.” You finished wrapping his arm and stepped back to inspect the rest of him, then walked over to the tub and started running the hot water.

You noticed the way his eyes followed you wherever you went, his gaze warm and filled with longing, like you were the most important thing in the world.

As the tub filled up you helped Ethan to his feet and into the now ankle-deep water. You pulled two towels and a facecloth from the shelf and put them on the mat in front of the tub. You’d showered earlier, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to pamper Ethan after a hard day. Goodness knows he deserves it.

You shut off the water and slid out of your sweats and t-shirt, the chill of the darkened apartment hitting you suddenly before you dipped your toes in the water. It was the perfect temperature, and warmed you instantly as you submitted yourself further into its embrace. You both sat facing each other, knees to your chests, the steam of the water rising up to color your cheeks and twist Ethan’s hair into curls.

Allowing the silence to linger like the steam in the air, you motioned for Ethan to turn around so his back was to you. You cupped your hands and brought water up to his head, soaking his hair through. You smiled to yourself as you reached for the shampoo, grateful that Ethan had remembered to bring his own products. He was very passionate about his precious hair, and the IMF’s safehouse supplies were never up to his standards.

You massaged the product into his scalp, the tension that remained in his neck melting away with every press of your fingers. His head rolled back and his shoulders dropped, and you caught a glimpse of his small smile, eyes closed in bliss. I should do this more often, you thought to yourself.

When you were done with his hair you pulled the showerhead from its hook on the wall and rinsed his head, combing your fingers through the strands as you went. Once the last of the shampoo was rinsed out you took the facecloth and lathered it up with soap. Gently, you scrubbed away the sweat and grime from the day, kneading the sore muscles beneath Ethan’s battered skin.

���I remember this one,” you whispered, so as not to startle him in the sacred stillness that had settled over the room. Your ministrations had paused at a long white scar, poorly healed and puckered. You dragged your finger down it, from the top of his right shoulder blade to his waist. “You got it in Malasia, back in ’04.” Ethan turned around to face you, a serious look set into his features.

“I remember,” he said, and you could see him flipping through the memories in his head. “You were captured. I disobeyed direct orders and went to rescue you.”

Your lips twitched up into a smile; he had saved your life that day.

“That was the day I realized I loved you.”

The sound of limbs wading through water wafted up your ears in the steam as you watched Ethan’s face, his hand coming up from the water to cup your face and his head leaning forward to rest against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling the heat radiating from his body and the dew that was rising on his skin from the heat of the water.

You’d always found a way back to each other, even before everything.

After a few minutes he pulled away and pressed a kiss to the edge of your hair, inhaling to smell your shampoo and smiling against your skin. You raised yourself out of the water and his eyes grazed over your body, a hint of his playboy smirk surfacing but he seemed to think better of it; it had been a long, tiring day for the both of you. Instead of whatever had crossed his mind, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the front of each of your thighs. When you were both dried off, you pulled on your clothes from earlier.

“Let me go get you something, I’ll be right back.”

You returned with a soft cotton t-shirt, a deep green that complimented his tanned skin and chestnut hair beautifully, and his favorite pair of sweatpants. The sight of him in such comfortable clothes, a cheeky smile on his face, made your heart soar with joy. He deserved every comfort you could ever bring him. His hands were warm when they reached yours, fingers intertwining as you lead him into the darkened bedroom, the moon and city lights casting a gentle blue glow onto the bed.

You fell asleep almost instantly, but Ethan laid awake for hours. Despite the exhaustions of the day, he didn’t feel like he could sleep yet. He had been worried about you too; worried he would come back to the safehouse and find it empty, void of your presence which he so desperately needed. He always needed you, but after days like today he felt like he might die without you. There was no one else he felt safe enough to surrender to; no one else he could give his weakness and pain to and trust them to handle it with care.

The gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his arm was continuously drawing him closer to sleep, but he felt the need to reflect on your time together and make sure he hasn’t taken anything for granted after being half-convinced he had lost you today.

He thought of Rome, of the way your face shone in the glow of the city lights beneath the rooftop where you danced with him. He thought of waking up beside you in countless countries that the average person could never name. He thought of the day he told you he loved you, hiding in a Russian forest while hiding for your lives. He thought of the day you were assigned to his team, your sweet and innocent face immediately lighting up his world despite the darkness that haunts him.

With your hands intertwined, your bodies as close as physically possible, and his mind filled with memories of a world with you, Ethan finally submitted himself to rest.

[mariacallous]

From 2015.

Excerpted from Blueprint for Revolution: How to Use Rice Pudding, Lego Men, and Other Nonviolent Techniques to Galvanize Communities, Overthrow Dictators, or Simply Change the World, by Srdja Popovic. Out now by Spiegel & Grau.

It was early on in our efforts to take down Slobodan Milosevic, and like all novice activists, we had a moment of reckoning. Looking around the room at one of our meetings, we realized that we were a bunch of Serbian kids, and rather than focus on what we had going for us, we began obsessing about everything we didn’t have. We didn’t have an army. We didn’t have a lot of money. We had no access to media, which was virtually all state-run. The dictator, we realized, had both a vision and the means to make it come true; his means involved instilling fear. We had a much better vision, but we thought on that grim evening, no way of turning it into a reality.

It was then that we came up with the smiling barrel.

The idea was really very simple. As we chatted, someone kept talking about how Milosevic only won because he made people afraid, and someone else said that the only thing that could trump fear was laughter. It was one of the wisest things I’ve ever heard. As Monty Python skits have always been up there right with Tolkien for me, I knew very well that humor doesn’t just make you chuckle—it makes you think. We started telling jokes. Within an hour, it seemed to us entirely possible that all we really needed to bring down the regime were a few healthy laughs.  And we were eager to start laughing.

We retrieved an old and battered barrel from a nearby construction site and delivered it to our movement’s “official” designer—my best friend, Duda, a designer—and asked him to draw a realistic portrait of the fearsome leader’s face. Duda was delighted to help. When we came back a day or two later, we had ourselves Milosevic-on-a-barrel, grinning an evil grin, his forehead marked by the barrel’s numerous rust spots. It was a face so comical that even a 2-year-old would have found it amusing. But we weren’t done. We asked Duda to paint a big, pretty sign that read “Smash his face for just a dinar.” That was about two cents at the time, so it was a pretty good deal. Then we took the sign, the barrel, and a baseball bat to Knez Mihailova Street, the main pedestrian boulevard in Belgrade. Right off Republic Square, Knez Mihailova Street is always filled with shoppers and strollers, as this is where everyone comes to check out the latest fashions and meet their friends for drinks in the afternoons. We placed the barrel and the sign smack in the middle of the street—right at the center of all the action—and hastily retreated to, the Russian Emperor, a nearby coffee shop, to watch.

The first few passersby who noticed the barrel and the sign seemed confused, unsure what to make of the brazen display of dissidence right there in the open. The following 10 people who checked it out were more relaxed; some even smiled, and one went as far as picking up the bat and holding it for a few moments before putting it down and quickly walking away. Then, the moment we’d been waiting for: A young man, just a few years younger than us, laughed out loud, searched his pockets, took out a dinar, plopped it into a hole on top of the barrel, picked up the bat, and with a gigantic swing smashed Milosevic in the face. You could hear the solid thud reverberate five blocks in each direction. He must have realized that with the few remaining independent radio and newspapers of Belgrade criticizing the government all the time, one dent in a barrel wasn’t going to land him in prison. To him, the risk of action was acceptably low. And once he took his first crack at Milosevic’s face, others started to realize that they too could get away with it. It was something between peer pressure and a mob mentality. Soon curious bystanders lined up for a turn at bat and took their own swings. People started to stare, then to point, then to laugh. Before long some parents were encouraging their children who were too small for the bat to kick the barrel instead with their tiny legs. Everybody was having fun, and the sound of this barrel being smashed was echoing all the way down to Kalemegdan Park. It didn’t take long for dinars to pour into the barrel and for poor Duda’s artistic masterpiece—the stern and serious mug of Mr. Milosevic—to get beaten into unrecognizability by an enthusiastic and cheerful crowd.

As this was happening, my friends and I were sitting outside at the café, sipping double espressos, smoking Marlboros, and cracking up. It was fun to see all these people blowing off steam with our barrel. But the best part lay ahead.

It came when the police arrived. It took 10 or 15 minutes. A patrol car stopped nearby and two pudgy policemen stepped out and surveyed the scene. This is when I came up with my beloved “Pretend Police” game. I played it for the first time at the café that day. The police’s first instinct, I knew, would be to arrest people. Ordinarily, of course, they’d arrest the demonstration’s organizers, but we were nowhere to be found. That left the officers with only two choices. They could arrest the people lining up to smack the barrel—including waiters from nearby cafés, good-looking girls holding shopping bags, and a bunch of parents with children—or they could confiscate the barrel itself. If they went for the people, they would cause an outrage, as there’s hardly a law on the books prohibiting violence against rusty metal cylinders, and mass arrests of innocent bystanders is the surest way for a regime to radicalize even its previously pacified citizens.

Which left only one viable choice: Arrest the barrel. Within minutes of their arrival, the two rotund officers shooed away the onlookers, positioned themselves on either side of the filthy thing, and hauled it off in their squad car. Another friend of ours, a photographer from a small students’ newspaper, was on hand to shoot this spectacle. The next day, we made sure to disseminate his photographs far and wide. Our stunt ended up on the cover of two opposition newspapers, the type of publicity that you literally couldn’t buy. That picture was truly worth a 1,000 words: It told anyone who so much as glimpsed at it that Milosevic’s feared police really only consisted of a bunch of comically inept dweebs.

Of course, this was just the beginning. Over the next six years, my friends and I built Otpor—Serbian for resistance—a nonviolent social movement that challenged Milosevic’s regime, stripped it of its legitimacy, and led to its downfall. But it began by chipping away at the people’s fear. It began with a joke.

Today my colleagues and I help train nonviolent democratic movements around the world, and the barrel story is one of the first stories we share with aspiring activists. And, without fail, every time people hear about it they say more or less what my Egyptian friends did when we walked them through Republic Square. “It’ll never work back where I’m from.” But I remind my new friends that while humor varies from country to country, the need to laugh is universal. I’ve noticed this as I’ve traveled to meet with activists around the world. People from Western Sahara or Papua New Guinea may not agree with me on what exactly makes something funny—for more on this check out any German “comedy”—but everyone agrees that funny trumps fearsome anytime. Good activists, like good stand-up comedians, just need to practice their craft.   

[if-you-give-a-dilf-a-danish]

Kidnapped P3: Everglades

A/N: Happy (late) Day of the Dilfs hehe also let me know if y'all want tagged for new chaps. i'd love that. Contains: snakes, storms, another helping of angst. changes to the 141's POV halfway through. Still no spoken words (yet) Part 1 Part 2 W/C: ~1230 @rafaelacallinybbay ═════════════════════════ The Everglades are a region of flooded grasslands and swamps in the southern portion of Florida. With a total area of ~20,000 km^2, this blend of pineland, wetlands and coastal prairies as well as sawgrass marshes are home to a massive blend of wildlife including mangroves, manatees, and a plethora of fish, reptiles, and birds. The climate divides its year into a boiling hot, rainy summer season and a milder, drier winter season. Tropical systems including hurricanes alter the ecosystems, causing destruction with their winds, rain and storm surge. But there's benefit to Everglades as well, using the winds to disperse plant seeds and the storm surge to bring rich sediment deposits.

Thunderstorms have been battering the dingy shelter for some time now. Sandy mud clings to your soaked clothes, another sleeve torn off Johnny’s hoodie to keep it out of the wound. The bleeding stopped, but you get anxious at the increasing soreness as the day passes on. You shiver in the downpour, no roof means you are pummeled with fat droplets. The sunburns on your exposed skin both burn and freeze with hypersensitivity. Looking up at the sky, the dark gray scares you with random lightning and thunder, you swore you could've also seen a palm tree sway when the winds get heavier.

Your captors took their sweet time with you. At first, they demanded information about your team; information you didn’t have. Your boyfriends didn’t tell you any details about their jobs, only that they killed people for the military, and that you would always willingly clean the blood off their hands and bodies when they came home. You tried to give what little crumbs they had: Your boyfriends’ names, the base they worked at, their dates of birth and their history. None of it was useful to them. They demanded more, about this specific case or that particular mission, you knew less information than what they already have.

Then, they carried out one of their methods. In the middle of the shelter was a pit, like a small pool but what was once filled with water now had sand and soil at the bottom. You were pushed in without warning, and another masked person kicked in a bucket. What spilled out was a Burmese python, 6 ft. long and already agitated from the handling. You had screamed and begged to be let out, unable to reach the edge to climb back up after you scrambled into the furthest corner of the pit. The python gets angrier as someone throws a rock at it, curling up and releasing a foul odor that the others jeer at.

You struggle to remember what happens after that. The snake struck at you, latching on to a sunburnt arm and coiling itself hard around it. The captors seemed to protect you from it, someone pried it off of you, letting the wound bleed down your arm before another captor half-assedly tied it up with some dirty fabric from wherever. You gathered that they want you alive for some reason, probably to bargain with for more information, someone that has more to give. They feed you something suspicious and grainy once a day, and the water tasted worse than the rain falling out of the sky.

Your mind exits itself when someone tosses in something chunky and plastic near your feet. A thick satellite phone rests in the puddle that splashed more dirt on you, the light of the screen cutting through the foggy water. You scramble towards it, clutching it with shaky hands. It’s clearly a set-up, they want you to cry for help and probably catch whoever comes running. You hope that your loves are smarter than that — that they sense it's a trap and you’re just a piece of cheese on the spring-loaded plate. You hesitate a second, wondering who to call. You don't know the time of day over there, let alone here with the storms. You clutch the phone closely, your once-vacant mind now racing.

═════════════════════════

A few days had passed, and they made a shrine of you. Photos snuck out of the still-prohibited house, placed in Price’s office alongside some of your clothes, your jewelry and your handwriting. It wasn’t meant to be a shrine, just a place on base to have you, to aid in their imagination that you’re really there.

John had set it up, fresh frames for the photos and the jewelry clean and glistening. He avoids looking at it for too long when it starts to look more like a memorial.

Johnny refused to give up the cologne for it, spraying his skin, clothing, and bedding daily that the scent overpowers when he’s near recruits. He only lightens up when the olfactory fatigue sets in and the alcohol irritates his skin.

Simon does the same with your soaps, wasting it in bubble baths that he soaks near-hours in. No one on base other than the other three approached him close enough to smell it. His skin dries and becomes itchy with overwashing.

Kyle wears your clothes, what started as socks and scarves turned into ill-fitting jackets and shirts; burning through each article they slowly gain his scent and lose yours in the process. When laundry duty comes knocking, he hides them in Simon’s room, who trades him your body wash for your favorite scarf.

What starts from there is a system between all four of them; your things bartered and divvied up amongst themselves, split and switched out like the treasure it is to them. 

John gives each of them back their jewelry plus copies of your photos. He also recreates your handwritten recipes for them in their small common room, with Simon scaring off the few recruits that the aroma attracts. In return, John showers with your soaps, loving how it mixes with his personal cologne.

Simon quarters the remaining soaps, the bar sawed in fours with his knife and travel-size bottles given to the rest. He gets your favorite scarf from Kyle and spritzes daily from Johnny. He helps John clean the kitchenette after meals, wearing the scarf in private instead of the balaclava.

Speaking of, the sergeant controlling the scent opts for a stronger parfum, spritzing Simon and Kyle with every kiss he gives. When his sense of smell returns, Johnny enjoys the slight change in the scent their skins do, moreso than the soaps. In return, he eats almost exclusively your cooking done by Price’s hand, and your hoodie is worn by him at all times.

Kyle gives away most of your clothing to them, guilty at first that your smell is gone but comforted by the others when they have their own offerings. He sees Johnny once a day for his spray and wears the stud earrings with your birthstones, caring very little for regulation or the looks received by strangers. His role at meal times is to set the little table with trays and silverware snuck out of the cafeteria.

Marginally healthier than hoarding, it let them realize they still had each other. That cutting pain in their hearts throbs just a bit less when they are around each other, smothered in you. Their duties keep them from decaying further, a distraction from the darker thoughts but the mundanity makes them long to be a part of your rescue; their pleading and bargaining gone nowhere.

The fourth night in, they play a board game that was another favorite of yours, Price having a cigar and Kyle watching Johnny like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t cheat. Simon shuffles the cards for another round when someone’s phone rings on the counter.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 31st

Day 31: Free For All

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Fight Club style sex, anal sex, mlm, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fucking and fighting, face riding, oral sex (female receiving), helmet riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The loud squeal brings your eyes back to the center of the floor, stopping the conversation between you and another armored warrior as you watch Paz Vizsla take his prize. The the ruby red back armor of his opponent bows, the body lurching forward while a cock that you swear is as thick as your wrist sinks into the man to the hilt, the blue heavy- armored warrior pawing at the black flightsuit of the man under him so he can wrap his beefy, leather cladded paw around the smaller man’s cock while he fucks into him ruthlessly. 

The sight is one that is common now, occurring every week after he challenges Dorin Fatuk and wins.“I don’t know why Vizsla just doesn’t enter into a Riduurok with Fatuk.” Magda grumbles underneath her helmet. Scoffing and turning back towards you while dismissing the very public coupling that is occurring as other Mando’s talk and watch. 

You snort indelicately, watching Paz’s frantic thrusts while Dorin moans and writhes under him like he does every week. Giving in and accepting the defeat with a certain frantic relief. You don’t miss the way Dorin starts to rock back against the cock hammering into his ass. It just further proves your theory that maybe the smaller Mandalorian wasn’t fighting as hard as he could when Challenged. “Because then the Armorer wouldn’t let them fight.” You hum knowingly, sending a smirk back to the purple and gold helmet of your friend, watching your reflection in the T of her visor. 

Mandalorians love to fight, you think they goad one another on purpose, to have them pull their blades and clash. It was why the Armorer had decreed that all fighting be done here, in the Pit. 

The Pit was a portion of the covert that is far from the large passageways that house foundlings and younglings. Wanting to keep the noises away from their tender ears and the sights from their young eyes. The Pit’s rules had evolved along the way until it was known as the Fuck Club. 

You had the opportunity to deny a challenge, no one would look down on you if you did. Beyond the usual shit talking that seems to be second nature to Mandalorians when one or more gathers together. You wouldn’t be forced to fight. 

If you did fight, there were two outcomes if defeated. You would have your helmet removed, disgracing you and breaking your Creed, or you would be fucked. Anyway that the winner wants, right in front of the entire crowd that had gathered in the Pits that night. It was public, dirty and often violently satisfying. Nothing was better than fighting and fucking to a Mandalorian. You don’t remember the last time someone actually had their helmet removed. 

“Vizsla’s always been a showoff.” Magda huffs, making you grin at the annoyance in her tone. “Guess we can add exhibitionist to the list of traits.” 

You hum, turning back and watching the scene unfold. Paz pulls Dorin upright, nearly lifting him off his knees as he continues to thrust into him. The other man’s cock dribbling pre-cum and looking like it’s about to explode. You can’t even imagine how it feels to have the fucking hulk of a man batter against a prostate. Although you swear you had seen Paz and Dorin huddled off in a corner of the tunnels before the fights started. Hopefully it was so that Dorin’s poor little hole could be prepped to take that fucking python. 

“Are you going to fight?” You roll your eyes at the question, hearing it every time you decide to come down to the Pits to watch. 

“I wear no armor.” You remind your friend, motioning to your uncovered face and the noticeable lack of beskar that covers your body. You aren’t a Mandalorian, you have not sworn the Creed, although you are allowed to live among them. Their protection and acceptance among their covert in exchange for going out and securing supplies and bartering for necessities so that they can remain relatively hidden. 

“And?” The indelicate snort coming from your friend makes you grin and shake your head. “You could still beat half of them, armor or not.” Just because you did not wear their armor did not mean the Mandalorians had not trained you to fight. You enjoyed the time you spent training. They had wanted you to be able to protect yourself when you went to the surface. 

“Still-” You break off when you hear another cry, watching as Dorin’s cock starts spurting ropes of cum and hearing the roar of the heavy armored warrior behind him as he thrusts deep one last time, obviously cumming himself. The cheering among the covert was loud, raucous as they thump their fists on the plates over their breasts, covering the sounds of the two men as they ride out their pleasure. 

The noise turns into a mixture of conversation, the attention no longer on the men in the center of the ring but on the figure that has moved away from the wall. 

Din Djarin. He rarely comes to the Pit. The shiny, silvery beskar reflects every light in the place. Drawing more than a few visors his way. 

He’s a bounty hunter, often away from the covert. Traveling the galaxy and traveling to places that you can only dream of. The most you see is the rough market in Navarro, going above ground for the covert so they don’t draw more attention to themselves than necessary. Often wishing that he would take you with him, but you know that Din Djarin doesn’t even know you exist. 

His steps are slow, almost a saunter as he walks into the center of the Pit. The almost lazy perusal over the crowd, as if he is searching for his quarry makes a shiver run down your spine. He looks imposing, even among the Mandalorians here. There’s a moment when his helmet stops on you it seems and your heart skips a beat when he lifts his hand and points at you, loudly announcing your name to the spectators. 

You, he challenges you. Your eyes widen and you can feel the hundreds of eyes suddenly on your helmetless face. Making you wish that you had their armor to hide your surprise and embarrassment. To have that shield from the world and make them interpret your silence or the tilt of your head. 

Everyone is waiting for your refusal, you can hear the whispers starting to rise through the crowd. Djarin’s visor is still fixed on your face, body completely still as he silently demands an answer to his challenge. 

Why you? There are others to challenge. Plenty of available women in the covert who would gladly fight or fuck him. Is it some sort of test?

When you stand, the crowd roars, their leather clad hands pounding together in a muted, yet impressive thunder of applause. Making you a little more sure of yourself as you make your way down to the center. 

The rules are simple. No bombs, no blasters, no blood. Anything else is on the table, although you don’t wear hundreds of weapons strapped to your body at all times. Your flight suit is plain. A blaster on your hip, discarded onto a table to be retrieved later, a vibroblade that you have tucked under your sleeve, and a throwing knife in your boot. 

Standing in front of him, you weigh your options. Wondering what kind of strategy to take. There are weapons available. Sticks and practice swords. Something that you imagine the younglings using when they are training, but these weapons never leave this room. 

He’s quick. Moving before you can even blink and making you feel like you are behind the curve as he jumps towards the table to grab one of the weapons. Knocking into his shoulder harshly and groaning at the solid weight of the man. He’s like trying to move a giant wall of beskar. 

The noise of the crows fades as your vision narrows. All you see is Djarin, watching his core, his footwork as you start to pummel each other. You have a longer staff, a spear that you are using to your advantage. Pushing him back and knocking him off balance in a feverish melee attack. 

He’s good, you have to give him that. He’s quick thinking and his skills are impressive. Taking hits equally as well as dodging them and your attack is quick if you do say so yourself. Despite not being a Mandalorian, you helped train the younglings at times. 

‘Crack!’ The sound of your spear snapping over his chest plate makes you hiss, rolling off to the left when he attacks, bringing the sword down where you had once been standing. Giving you time to leap to your feet and sucker punch him right behind the ribs. A weak spot between his chestplate and backplates. He groans and stumbles forward, clutching his side and you use his bend over frame to climb up his back, wrapping your thighs around his helmet and starting to squeeze.

Din is trying to throw you off, but you hang on. Making sure that his helmet was firmly in place but you apply pressure to the cowl wrapped around his neck, effectively using it against him. Making it where he is struggling to draw breath and you both fall down when he collapses. Tapping your thigh and effectively tapping out of the fight and yielding to you. Making you the winner of the skirmish. 

The crowd roars over the victory, and you reach down to grip the edge of his helmet to begin to lift it. He grunts, panting under his helmet and he grabs your hand, squeezing the back of it, although he can’t stop you. If you want to pull his helmet off, it is your right as a victor. 

You don’t. You expose just the lower half of his jaw as your other fingers drag the lower zipper of your flight suit down. Exposing your cunt to his mouth. 

You’re going to ride his mouth. Using him to get you wet enough and then you are going to fuck him. Once again, the roar of the crowd fades as you hold Din Djarin’s helmet and grind your cunt down onto his mouth. 

He licks through your folds, groaning at your taste, or in relief that you did not pull his helmet off. You aren’t quite sure, but all thoughts but pleasure flee your mind when his tongue starts to move. Caressing and flicking over your clit eagerly, and you know that everyone is watching you ride his face, even Magda, from her spot in the stands. 

The edge of his helmet grinds against your clit as your rock your cunt over his face, riding his mouth and his helmet at the same time. Smearing your juices over both.

Quickly working you up with the quick, harsh licks, you reach behind you and squeeze his cock through his own flight suit. He doesn’t wear a codpiece, but he’s as hard as steel when you grip him. Obviously turned on. 

When you pull away, his lower jaw is covered in your juices, the wetness of your arousal glistening through his stubbled hair. He apparently shaves under his helmet, but not everyday. It is sexy to see, because you’ve never really wondered and now all you will think about will be that patchy brown hair. 

The crowd is still cheering, some of them shouting what you should do with Din, others just wanting to see you fuck. Your hands slap his own leather covered ones away to reach down to the zipper yourself. You want to pull his cock out. This is your show, your right as the victor to touch him as you wish. To decide how you are going to fuck him. 

Din groans again when you reach inside and wrap your fingers around him. Like most in the Pit, most Mandalorians in general, he’s not wearing underwear. Letting you pull the thick, uncut cock free and moaning yourself over the sight of it. 

He might not be as big as Paz, but he’s thick. He’s long enough that you know you will feel him in your guts when you sink down on him. Quickly pumping him a few times as you straddle his waist again. 

“I’m going to ride you, Djarin.” You accounce, knowing that the second your mouth opened, every Mando in the place would go dead silent, straining to hear what you are saying. Especially since this is the first time Din’s fought. It’s also the first time you’ve ever accepted. 

“Your victory.” He pants back, yielding to you and it’s strange to see his mouth move since his helmet is still halfway off. It also prevents him from seeing clearly, his head tipping down slightly to get a better look. 

It stretches you, your walls parting at the intrusion of his thick cock when you start to sink down on him. The slow beating of fists on armor starts to echo around the room as you take him. All visors on you as you start to ride Din. 

Your eyes slip closed and you don’t push his hands away when they move up to grip your hips, tossing your head back as you move. Feeling him twitch and pulse inside you. “Mesh’la.” He moans, making you whimper at the term. 

You can’t believe you won, that you are riding him in for all to see. Hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing them as you bounce on his cock and then you gasp when he pulls your zipper down, exposing your tits to grope them. 

The pace turns frantic, harsh. Galloping on your prizes' hard cock as you chase pleasure. Feeling him completely fill you up and press against that spongy spot deep inside you. Every roll of your hips pushes you closer to cumming. 

“Fuck.” You choke out, feeling your pace falter for a moment and you look down at his still exposed lower jaw. Reaching down to stroke a finger down the edge of it. Feeling him pulse and jerk inside you at the contact. 

He squeezes your tits, bucking his hips up hard enough to make you squeal. “More!” You cry, knowing that even if he takes over, it’s still your victory. 

That order is all it takes, Din holds onto your tits as he starts to drive up into you from underneath. Pistoning his hips up at a nearly unhinged pace. Feeling just as desperate as you are as the crowd continues to thunder around you. 

The second you start to cum, your entire world goes white, the wild cries from the crowd nearly unheard as all you can hear is your own blood rushing through your system. Even your own scream sounds muted. 

You don’t even realize Din is cumming as well. That he’s still inside you, lifting you both off the ground as he paints your walls with his cum. All you can feel is the pleasure. The tight squeeze of your cunt around him as your entire body shakes in pleasure. 

Collapsing down onto the hard armor of his chest plate, you pant, trying to catch your breath. Feeling him relax under you as well as you try to come down from the bliss that had blown you into the atmosphere. 

Fuck, you love the Pit.

[sketchfanda]

Commission One Shot:Foxy Fucking

Now never it be said that Hinata Hyuuga wasn’t afraid to stand uo for herself, especially and particularly when it came to men who assumed she was a whore who’d be pretty much ready to bend over and cheat on her man. Really just because she was a kunoichi and happened to luck oint big time on puberty didn’t mean she was an easy lay but some guys just got the wrong idea. Which really put a damper on her good mood coming to this hot springs resort with Naruto and wouldn’t you know it, the Raikage happened to be in attendance along with Samui escorting him as is bodyguard. And the arrogant bastard sent her an invite to a private coed springs to discuss what he called “diplomatic relations”.

Which much to her annoyance and shock as well as the shock and confusion of Samui, consisted of the arrogant bastard flashing his naked body and demanding they service him like the bitches they were born to be. Or to put it bluntly, he liked them and he wanted them and they could do this the easy way or the hard way, the choice was theirs but really who was he kidding? It was going to be the hard way either way but Just so happened date had other ideas for this attempted cuckolding. You see this particular resort’s hot springs, especially this private one had a little secret in its waters, due to only having special properties for healing and relaxation…but a rather unusual affect on the bodies of women as the two kunoichi were about to find out first hand.

Neither of them was sure how or why it happened, was it their chakra mixing with the water or just some kinky, bizarre twist of fate but before the raikage knew it, Somethjng began to happen to the two Kunoichi’s bodies. Their thick curvy frames first beginning to grow in height and their Super model toned proceeding to grow slightly in muscle mass. And by slightly, I mean they began to bulk up and hulk out, going from fitness model athetoid tone into veritable woman mountains of muscle who did a lot more than lift, bruh!! Firm pecs ideal for supporting their juicy milk tank tits, tree trunk thighs capable of popping melons into juicy pulps, arms that needed a vet because they were some sick pythons and a set of washboard abs so cut that you could grate cheese off of them!!

They weren’t sure how or how it happened but they knew for sure just the sensations in their core alone made them orgasm so intensely that their thighs were soaked with sticky nectar. The lewd and cloud kunoichi recovering from their spontaneous sensual muscle growth to find they now towered over the stunned speechless raikage…and remembered just what the arrogant bastard had intended mere moments before. What followed was a sequence of violence so severe that this beatdown can’t be described in detail for the faint of heart but he was alive at the end. Albeit he’d be in traction for a while in the intensive care unit to say the very least, as he laid behind a clutch of rocks looking like a bruised and battered human pretzel.

As Hinata and Samui dusted off their hands, they couldn’t help but finally take notice of one another’s bodies and suddenly found themselves performing a showdown of pose offs. Crunching those six pack abs, flexing those biceps to make them pump and swell and clenching those firm powerful thighs while making those well toned bubbly booties clap. Only to pause when they were interrupted by the door to the private spring opening, revealing none other than Hinata’s husband, the whisker faced orange fox boy Naruto Uzumaki himself, standing in the frame slack jawed and bug eyed at the sight before him. The muscular amazonian beauties feeling no shame or embarrassment being caught in the nude, rather their gazes were drawn more to the raging hard tent being pitched under Naruto’s towel, sensually licking their lips as if some switch in their brain had been flipped.

Before the hyperactive knucklehead could ask what was going on and what had all that commotion had been that drew his attention to here moments ago, he suddenly found Hinata and Samui strutting over his way. For some reason he was hearing some heavy techno beat and the words by “Death! By Snusnu!!” over and over in his head like a mantra, as the amazonian kunoichi’s glorious titanic tires bounce and jiggled. The statuesque stunners making those delicious muscles ripple and flex with their silky movements as they squatted down to kneel before him and grabbed that towel. Pulling it off to expose the prize they sought, shuddering erotically as their pushes quivered with growing wanton need and desire at the length and girth that stood rigid before them and pulsed with a promise to fuck them so hard that no other man would ever suffice.

The next thing the knuckle headed hokage knew, he found himself laying on the cool marble floor as he was experiencing heaven on earth in the form his wife and the busty ice queen kunoichi performing a tandem fellatio on his cock. His length becoming soaked with a heavy coating of drool as they licked and kissed it, taking turns sucking and blowing on it as they deepthroated him with abandon. Their eyes burning with lust as they massaged and squeezed his balls, as if coaxing the baby batter contained within to come forth and give their thirst for his potent protein. Their pussies quivering as sticky juices flowed forth, making their intent to have that dick come fill them snd rut them deep and hard, wondering which of them woild be the first horny bitch to get some first.

Naruto of course made his answer clear as this lewd, slutty tag team blowjob caused the fox within him to take the helm, making his libido kick in as if primal instincts recognised the presence of bitches in heat who desired a virile alpha male to mate and breed with. Finding his arms moving on stint as they made a familiar hand sign, as in a massive burst of smoke, seven shadow clones stood around the muscular ninja girls. Looking around them in awe as they beheld those firm, stiff cocks just ready, waiting and able to grant their desire to destroy them. If Jiraiaya was watching from the afterlife, he’d likely be inspired with so much material for his icha icha books, that is after recovering from drowning in a puddle of his own blood from the nosebleed he’d be having.

Hinata and Samui of course wasted no time in seizing this wonderful opportunity presented to them by the former’s ever obliging husband, each having themselves four Naruto’s to service and pleasure. Starting things off with a little blowbang as as they shifted between stroking off a pair each while moving their heads back and forth to suck and blow them off, their mouths and throats becoming glorified oral pocket pussies for those bitchbreakers. Those lengths and girths pulsing in their silky palms and fingers as they deepthroated so intensely that those heavy balls were smacking their chins. But of course Naruto was never one to leave a lady to do all the work so it was omly right he begs to return the favour and bring a little of his foreplay A game to these muscular female works of art.

So to Hinata’s delight, she found her foursome working over her amazonian frame which had its quite gifted flexibility still available to her being put to its limits. One Naruto having her sit in his face as he ate her out, tongue probing her slit while another stood in front of her to hold her juicy tits between his shaft, pumping and thrusting into her cleavage like a man possessed as her naughty mouth and licked and sucked what came her way. The third knelt beside her as rubbed snd ground his cock along and against her abs, shuddering as those muscles ran along his length with massaging strokes. While the fourth squatted behind her, holding her glorious muscle booty as he thrust between those meaty cheeks to stroke his own cock off with them, pre flying and spraying her sculpted backside and painting her porcelain like skim.

Samui meanwhile was moaning with sensual delight and abandon as a pair of Narutos squeezed her tits as they licked and sucked on them, as if wanting to drain them of rich, delicious milk. The third had her sitting in his lap as his shaft pumped and thrust between her powerful thighs, her slit costing it in her sloppy flow of nectar. While her fourth stood beside her and her her curling and flexing her arm with his cock trapped by her bicep and forearm to stroke him off. To say he was clearly aroused by their newfound musculature was clearly an understatement.

Now if you’re wondering, not that you should really give a fuck but yes the raikage was still a human pretzel, unconscious behind some rocks and right about now eben in his comatose state? Had a feeling he was getting shown up and majorly, rightfully cuckolded because hey that’s karma baby!! But back to the real reason you’re all here right now which was seeing two hot buff ninja girls get the best lays in their entire lives by a one man gangbang. Rutted and fucked to such a degree thst quite frankly it’d be surprising if they didn’t wind up pregnant after this, the duo aroused at the idea of their washboard abs becoming round and full with the growing life of Uzumaki babies. Speaking of which, naturally the 8 deviant knuckleheads’ foreplay soon lesd to them getting some intense, hard and deep dicking as Hinata felt the rush and thrill akin to her first time and her honeymoon while Samui found any and every prior man she’d ever been with out to shame. Starting off with taking it from behind doggy style, their asses clapping every impact as those balls smacked their clits. While a pair of Narutos each knelt down in front of them holding their hair in firm grips as they performed powerful facefucking piston motions, the horny ninja muscle sluts taking it to their oral pussies like champs as those seed loaded balls smacked their chins. That of course was just the opening sequence to what was followed by an intense pornographic montage.

One moment Hinata would be held up in the air, the muscular filling of a Naruto sandwich as one hammered into her tight, naughty ass as the other hammered away into her sloppy, slutty pussy. While Samui rode one cowgirl style as she bounced and rode that Uzumaki dick with nymphomanic desire as another pounded her juicy ass, slapping those twin buns like besting a bongo drum. The next, the hokage wife was riding a Naruto in reverse cowgirl, stroking and sucking of a pair while Samui was on her back, taking it in a missionary position as she was getting fucked hard and fast, another Naruto straddling her shoulders as he pounded into her naughty mouth with vigorous lust. Her big tits bouncing and smacking his backside as the momentum of this particular spitroast was working her over hard.

The muscular Kunoichi Amazon duo relished each and every orgasm of course, especially the raw undiluted thrill of Naruto cumming on and inside of them. The rush of his white seed flowing and pumping into their wombs, intent to ensure there would be sum buns in those ovens. A constant tangle of limbs and bodies as they shifted between taint one on one to two or more, relishing being the centrepiece of their own combined orgy and gangbang. A new clone made whenever one poofed out or they wanted more Naruto cock to satisfy their erotic thirst. The hyperactive, unpredictable knucklehead truly making the most of that boundless stamina of his, was it all due to the newfound physical upgrade the kunoichi duo got or something that really motivated him today?

All he knew was eventually even after a constant round the clock stream of clones, Hinata and Samui were still ready and willing to go eben as the sun was starting to set. Now able to focus solely on the original himself and relishing his attention, coaxing him to keep mounting them like the bitches in heat they were and mark his claim and territory, whatever these springs had done to him also seemed to make their stamina a match for his. Not that he minded of course, his libido was still pretty much at the helm, telling him to keep at it as he had the muscular babes lay atop each other, watching them make out as he thrust his raging cock between their slits before fucking them in turn. Even after all the orgasms he had given them, they still yearned for his seed, intent on being bred.

Stil they showed no signs what so ever of stopping, even long into the night as they took it back to the hotel room the Uzumaki couple were staying in. Now driven to see to it that the bed would be destroyed and to keep at it until sunrise and perhaps even the rest of their stay. Meantime of course one of the staff had finally found the raikage, confused and shocked at the state he was in as he was doing in bandages and casts from head to toe. They’d never know what hit him, not even he could recall the how and why of it all, Hinata and Samui had beat the 7 shades of shit out of him so bad he suffered amnesia in regards to the before and after.

Not long after this vacation, Samui had herself transferred from Cloud to Leaf village as a live in ambassador , but unofficially she was the Hokage’s second wife. Her and Hinata turning heads with their newfound statuesque stunning muscles which they showed off with all manner of new outfits, only the more naughty or revealing stuff for their foxy man behind closed doors of course. As their bellies began to grow with new life, promising sweet little Himawari a few new brother or sister in the months to come. But of course they wouldn’t be the only kunoichi’s to get some from their whiskered baby daddy.

You see, Hinata and Samui maybe might have spread and shared details to certain fellow kunoichi friends of theirs about the private hot spring and it’s secret upgrade trick. Friends who happened to share equal parts admiring lust and love or their Uzumaki alpha male, having had many a sleepless night of intense wet dreams, being his personal bitches and baby factories. And who began to waste little to no time booking themselves some sessions in that spring as hey made p,and to give their favourite fox boy, or man rather, a little Amazonian surprise. When bitches wanted their Uzumaki, ooh you bet your ass they’d get their Uzumaki….

[yonderghostshistories]

I’m gonna do my own lil tag game, this time…..it’s-

……MONTY PYTHON RELATED!

SPECIFICALLY,

How did you (yes, you, the mutual and/or other Tumblr user reading this) get into Monty Python?

To elaborate, what is your Monty Python Fan Origin Story? To further elaborate, how did you become aware of and become a fan of Monty Python? Tag 6 or more (or less, it’s absolutely fine either way!) of your mutuals!

I’ll start first. I first became (properly) aware of Monty Python when I was (and still am) in the Six Idiots/ThemThere Fandom (if you don’t know who the Six Idiots/ThemThere are, they’re a British Comedy Troupe consisting of the following 6 members; Mathew Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond. They were first originally together in the children’s historical comedy sketch show “Horrible Histories” which ran from 2009 to 2014, and since then have went on to create, write and star in the following projects, such as the fantasy comedy “Yonderland”, the Shakespeare comedy film “Bill” (2015) and the supernatural family BBC sitcom “Ghosts”) and I saw a video compilation on YouTube comparing clips/scenes from various Six Idiots/ThemThere projects and their inspirations from clips/scenes from various Monty Python projects, which really cemented in my head (especially after becoming a Python fan) that the Six Idiots truly are the “Monty Python” of this generation, or at least the Six Idiots are like Gen Z Monty Python (imo that is).

Anyway, starting in 2023, when I was on holiday with my family to see my grandparents in India, I started watching the MP films (specifically Holy Grail (1975) and Life of Brian (1979)) for the first time on my (barely working) laptop when both movies were freely available to watch in their entirety on YouTube (shocking, I know right?). And tbh, they were absolutely HILARIOUS! (Plus it was at this time that I had realised my first actual proper bisexual awakening when especially watching LoB, specifically the scenes where both Brian and Judith were naked, and thankfully my parents weren’t there to witness this absolute monstrosity (to them at least) and I have to say, thanks LoB :))👍🩷💜💙)

Then when I came back home to England, I watched The Meaning of Life (1983) (because pirating it on my nearly battered old laptop was really hard cuz it kept annoyingly pausing at random points in the movie) and so I asked either my mum or brother (I can’t remember exactly lol) to rent the movie MoL on Amazon Prime, and after watching it, I have to say, it was also pretty amazing! I think MoL is my personal favourite movie of the bunch tbh, cuz in a weird, surreally Pythonesque avante garde way, it was very emotional and cathartic (to me at least) and it felt fitting as a finale to Python as a whole (at least at the time).

After that, I became REALLY, like, REALLY into Python, I watched some of the sketches, some clips of the films, I bought some of the merchandise, I watched and bought DVDs of some of the Pythons’ other projects, etc.

My first Python crush was Terry Jones, but now my 2 absolute crushes are now firmly Graham Chapman AND Terry Jones, BUT….my 3-way Python crushes are; Graham Chapman, Terry Jones AND Michael Palin (tho I do love them all tbh as (as my mum says) im a diplomat lmao, so I do love Eric Idle, John Cleese, and Terry Gilliam equally too, but for the latter 3 I’m not as attracted to them as the former 3, if that makes sense?). Also, I absolutely STAN Carol Cleveland, Connie Booth and Neil Innes, THEYRE THE BEST FR AHHHH

Plus being in the MP fandom has genuinely made my life better, as I met some of my most WONDERFUL and LOVELY and KIND mutuals of all time, especially my bestest of ALL online bestie friends, @commonguttersnipe !! (Love you Commie darling <33, and she also makes pretty great MP fanfics imo too :))🫶❤️)

Ok, so uhh…..that’s my Monty Python Fan Origin Story.

I now tag: @commonguttersnipe @thehistoryone @michael-palin-is-the-loml

@knoxoverstreet16 @chapmanzz @vilhjalmr

[howlingday]

Rick: *a rustic old man wearing a battered and beaten sheriff hat* hey kid, you in the market for a sidearm?, listen I been hunting Apathies so others wouldn't have to, lost my entire crew to them, but they did it for the better of the future, and since I'm lookin to retire, my son is dead and I need to raise my Daughter, let me introduce you to my trusty companion.

Rick: she is a .357 colt python, it may just look like a standard issued revolver this one is special, sadly it don't mechashift like are the other fancy do-das but she served well in my hunt against those abominations, this baby will blow a hole in anything, just a fair warning, she has bit of a kick.

Jaune: Apathies?

Ruby: (Shivers) Yeah, they're the worst. They look like people, but they're actually Grimm that drain you of your energy.

Jaune: Yikes! How to you beat them?

Ruby: Well, I got lucky and while was cornered by them, I used my silver eyes to destroy all of them.

Jaune: That's... That's crazy... When did this happen?

Ruby: After we got separated on the train. It was probably the worst part about the whole thing.

Jaune: Well, it's probably not hard for something to be worse than being swarmed by a horde of Grimm.

[dionysia-does-stories]

The Tale of The Rabbit of Caerbannog

Cringetober 2023, Day 17: "It was a dark and stormy night. . ."

On AO3

Rating T - 592 words - Monty Python and The Holy Grail

Summary: The rabbits of the forest of Caerbannog tell the tale of the night when one of their own became the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.

Story:

“It was a dark and stormy night.” they whispered, many voices becoming one voice. Their breath was a wind that battered its way through the trunks of the old Caerbannog forest. 

“The dark was complete black. There were no stars. There was no light. Nothing existed in the woods. We ourselves stopped existing in that dark. 

“The storm was unexpected. A shattering of meteorological forces that was everywhere and nowhere. We dragged ourselves through thick air. The atmosphere was laden with water and electricity. Our fur clung to our trembling bodies. Our long sensitive ears were deafened by the greatness of the thunder.

“We were rabbits before that dark and stormy night. Now we are something else. A rabbit can fight, but doesn’t. A rabbit runs. A rabbit hides in the burrow. We were born with sharp teeth and sharp claws. But they weren’t meant to taste blood. They were to dig and chew and build the burrow. We were architects of safety before we were remade as machines of war.

“We have tasted blood.

“It was a dark and stormy knight who stumbled through the forest then. He was huge (as all humans are huge). Slow (as all humans are slow). His clanking metal skin would be warning enough any other night. But the thunder had been so loud and the storm so sudden.

“Many of us were out on the forest floor foraging for food. Among them was a new mother from our burrow, a lovely lady fair of feature. The storm frightened her (as it did all of us). She tried to calm her heart and find her way home. She was blinded by the darkness (we all were). She was deafened by the thunder (we all were). She was unable to smell anything but the drowning rain as it poured into her. 

“The knight came upon us. He was a lumbering useless fool. But he was hungry. He grabbed at any of us within his reach. His meaty arms flailed. His grotesquely bent fingers grabbed.

“We ran. We’re rabbits. We ran. We are the fastest creatures on the forest floor. Faster than wolves. Faster than human witches. Faster than human gods. But the storm. The knight kept pace with us in the storm.

“He followed us through the shrubbery. He followed us to the burrow. The lady fair was the last of us to make the dive. He saw her bright white fur, even in the darkness. We thought we escaped him into the safety of the burrow. Until, the knight began to dig.

“He dug up the burrow. He dug up the children. He laughed. His laughter was like the thunder. He grabbed the lady fair’s kit, crushing it in his terrible human hands.

“As her kit drew its final breath, something changed within the lady fair. She raised her nose to the heavens. Her ears alert and haunches raised to fight. She called to any god listening to give her the power to kill any knight who crossed her path.

“Her call was answered.

“A violent new strength took up residence in her body. The lady fair’s teeth and claws had a new purpose. She devoured the knight. Blood mixing with the downpour of the storm.

“She made a new burrow, a giant burrow. Where we are all eternally safe. A burrow big enough that knights could walk right in. And her God would lead the knights to her. Wolves to the slaughter. Entertainment to satiate her bloodlust.

“But there is never enough knight’s blood spilled to appease the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.”

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3824

today joel and i spent the day over at our friends' house. joel and a couple for them were streaming, and i had homework to do. it was highly productive.

next week i'll be bringing yarn and stuffing. i have to get paint markers or i need to paint some of the safety eyes i have. i may want to just custom order some. either way, i got my python homework done and i took the notes i needed to. i realized i need a notebook for my data analytics class because just taking notes on the upside down back of my python book won't cut it.

we left once early on to go pick something up that joel needed to set up all of the recording equipment we brought over, and after dropping joel back off, i got lunch at the ice cream place basically next door. i got a tuna sub and some chips and then some ice cream, but that wasn't the notable part.

the notable part was the lady i saw who looked just like sir ian mckellen. it was uncanny. and hilarious.

i returned to finish my work after that.

and then, after several hours of recording and then breaking it all down, we came back. lisa was bringing home dinner, so when she arrived we munched down on it. it was chinese food from a different place than usual. it wasn't great. the beef sticks were about average. the chicken fingers were gross. the chicken was greasy and overcooked and the batter was thin and dense.

but i had a caramel apple to counteract the hungry. it didn't work great, but it worked for a little while.

at this point, i'm hungry again. i'm tired and my back hurts and i have a dentist appointment tomorrow, for which i am grateful.

then it's to work on more homework.

[rei-the-head-shaker]

" The fighting strength of a python is in the driving blow of his head backed by all the strength and weight of his body. If you can imagine a lance, or a battering ram, or a hammer weighing nearly half a ton driven by a cool, quiet mind living in the handle of it, you can roughly imagine what Kaa was like when he fought. A python four or five feet long can knock a man down if he hits him fairly in the chest, and Kaa was thirty feet long, as you know. His first stroke was delivered into the heart of the crowd round Baloo. It was sent home with shut mouth in silence, and there was no need of a second. The monkeys scattered with cries of—“Kaa! It is Kaa! Run! Run!” "

_"The Jungle Book" by Rudyard Kipling

[growling]

*battered, bloody, covered in mud and gasoline, shaking, hollow eyes, bones broken, limbs bent at odd angles, panting, sporadically whimpering, about to pass out* I. I have. finally. figured out how to add permanent conditions to cats in clangen i i got the files. it works.. all the guides sucked this is a testament on how. cool i am for figuring this out myself as always fuck you thonny for ffffucking saving as a python file no matter what resulting in me having to copy a whole ass another actual thonny file and changing the contents stupid fuckibg program. i have achieved my epic goal i was after all these torturous minutes: making cat huesca deaf

[beebo-seems-off]

Python..... On spotify.... Thank you for such a good batter playlist...

WHYD YOU PUT VMPIRES IN LOVE ON THERE, IM LITERALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IM A VAMPIRE. You targeted me... Thats one of my favorite lovey dovey songs... Thank you for understanding me and also tTHANK YOU for showing me "a human's touch" by TWRP

(i know this was not actually directed at me, its just so cool when its so coincidental)

[selkiette]

07.10.24

semi-productive after recovering from several relapses lol

1hr30m tutorial + 4 pomos = total of 3hrs10m of study, KINDA BAD but i hope to do roughly 5h total tomorrow @ work (less smoke breaks)

in my defence i am emotionally battered but i push through

yesterday i submitted my test early (due oct 24th so i have some buffer)

i do need to get back on my python tho, i hope i get paid soon so i can resub to mimo haha

[burnishedrebel]

Sudden, submissive gagging noises started slipping from Domenico within moments of Kevin shoving his cock into his mouth and down his throat. He’d never had any doubt as to his dominant’s size, the sheer girth of his cock being one of the many reasons why Domenico was so weak for him. As his mouth was invaded by such a python, the mob heir continued relaxing his throat, breathing steadily through his nose and keeping his eyes focused on Kevin’s. Eventually, he had every inch pushed into him, with the tickling feeling of Kevin’s pubes brushing underneath his nose. With regard to his own arousal, Domenico’s cock pressed prominently against the restricting fabric of his briefs. 

He couldn’t respond with words to Kevin’s taunting statement for obvious reasons, and yet Domenico did manage a muffled moan of agreement. Kevin continued taunting him as he slowly pulled his cock back, and again Domenico managed a moan of agreement. As more of the shaft became visible again, it glistened under the lights, coated by Domenico’s saliva. For a brief second when he had just Kevin’s tip on his tongue, Domenico wondered if he should try and answer with words. He didn’t get the chance, for Kevin pushed right back inside again. 

Rather than bury himself and still, Kevin thrusted backwards and forwards, fucking his throat without relenting. As his vocal chords were battered over and over, Domenico moaned, gagged and whimpered. Kevin’s firm grip on his hair kept him in place, and even as tears began to prick his eyes from the exertion, Domenico didn’t break his gaze from looking up at Kevin for a moment. 

@modcrnspirits

Always in a desperate fight with his own nature, Kevin found in Domenico the perfect release. It was not just the sex, because others could do almost as well as the slut and not offer Kevin a problem with the mafia. But it was that danger that added the spice Kevin needed to his life. Someone like Domenico accepting him like this was just perfect. The sex was hotter because of the power they exchanged. Thinking of how dirty he would do to the son of a mafia boss, Kevin shoved his cock into that open mouth and watched his inches go in and down the throat until only his pubes were visible under Domenico's nose.

"You cannot deny your nature, can you, slut?" He asked as he kept the cock in, holding a few seconds more than he would to another person. It was just the power of it making him drunk and lustful. He started to pull the cock back, fearing the lack of air might end their fun too soon. "You take my cock like a bitch and even though I tell you all these nasty stuff you still come to me. Again and again. You should have let me alone, cocksucker."

He had left only the tip against the tongue, but before he could hear any answer, he shoved the cock back in. This time, he didn't stop. He continued to move, back and forth, his hips doing most of the work as his hand kept a tight grip on Domenico's hair. He was not going easy and he could feel the chin pressing against his sac each time he was deep in the boy.

[scrumpygoat]

Can you explain some niche and fermented deviantart kinks

screenshots of every single character in the Redwall animated series with a hankerchief gag drawn over the mouth (no other changes) Kaa the python from the 1967 Jungle Book constricting and hypnotising every character under the sun (but NOT humans 🙅) a variety of unrelated cartoon women, all playing out the scene where Luke Skywalker has lost his hand and is clinging, battered and partially nude, to a weathervane

and i'm not saying these are offensive or unusually perverted i'm just saying they've become so concentrated by the artists posting hundreds and hundreds of almost identical pics, unprompted and unrewarded, truly soldiers on their own lonely path 🫡