#because of the aggressive negotiations line

[threebea]

My favourite thing about Obi-Wan is that he's a jock that has us convinced is he's just a nerd.

[thesassypadawan]

Feel The Force (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: It’s May the Fourth and what better way to spend it than with your big dork of a boyfriend, the dark lord himself, Hayden! Even though you two aren’t able to see each other all that much during the day…you still manage to squeeze in some quality time to ‘feel the force’.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Bad puns, public sex, up against the wall, and, as always… Hayden’s big, fat dick.

Notes: May The Fourth Be With You! 🖤❤️

- It was May the Fourth, one of your absolute favorite holidays!

- What better way to celebrate it than at a con. Rocking your FemObi cosplay. Surrounded by fellow nerds, who are just as passionate about the franchise as you are. And, of course, with your big dork of a boyfriend, the original moody teen from Tatooine, Hayden.

- Despite not being able to see each other all that much during the event. You two still manage to squeeze in some quality time here and there. Which typically involves Hay showing how ‘wizard’ he thinks the most recent addition to your costume is. A pair of black booty shorts with ‘I Only Date Sith Lords’ printed perfectly across one of your cheeks.

- As the day goes on though, your ‘negotiation talks’ become more and more ‘aggressive’. And, soon enough, he’s dragging you off to a somewhat deserted hallway in the con center. Begging you to let him show you his ‘lightsaber skills’.

- “Hay, we’re going to get caught,” you giggle. Shrugging off your cloak and handing it to him, just like he asked.

- Quickly he pulls it on, flashing you one of those damn smiles. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to muffle all those cute sounds of yours. Think you manage that?”

- Biting your bottom lip, you nod excitedly. Tugging impatiently at the cloak, wrapping it around you both.

- “That’s, my good little padawan,” he chuckles. Backing you against the wall, shrugging down a bit to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Big hands resting on your hips; squeezing and kneading them gently.

- Moaning softly, your fingers get to work. Frantically unbuttoning and unzipping, pushing his jeans just far enough to free his rock-hard cock. “Someone’s eager for the fun to begin.”

- “Can’t help it,” he groans. Yanking at and helping you slip out of those wonderful shorts. That are hurriedly stuffed into his hoodie pocket, most likely not to be returned until the end of con. “Want more.”

- “Ah uh, you know you shouldn’t,” you tease. Leg hiking up onto his hip, the other balancing precariously on your tiptoes. While your hand fumbles to shift your panties off to the side.

- Still having to crouch a bit, Hayden lines himself up. Fat head prodding at your soaked entrance, he growls low in your ear. “Oh well, I was never the jedi I should be.” Before thrusting forward, burying himself inside your tight pussy.

- You press your face in his neck, trying to cover up your sobs from feeling that familiar burning ache. Teeth nipping at his shoulder as he starts pounding up into you, splitting you open so deliciously.

- For as much of a hot mess as you’re becoming, he’s fairing no better. Panting above you with every pump of his impressive length, hand firmly gripping your thigh. “W-when I’m around you…m-my mind is no longer my own. It’s al-always a muddle…can only t-think of you.”

- Those words, coupled with his long fingers desperately circling your clit; aid in speeding your release along. Making you clench hard around him, head tipping back while you mewl out loudly. “Kriff! Gonna…gonna…”

- Bending, he leans his forehead against yours. His blue eyes blown wide with lust; lips curled in a smirk. “You grow too aggressive. Be mindful.”

- Picking up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You barely manage to gasp out, “I…I lo-love you,” before the pleasure overtakes you. Tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, whole body clamping down on him. While you completely and totally go crashing over the edge.

- “I know,” he grunts. Bucking into you one last time, reaching his peak too. Filling you with rope after rope of hot, sticky cum.

- Mouths melding to stifle the noise coming from both of you. Bodies trembling against one another, riding out your aftershocks together. Utterly oblivious to the slow, steady stream of con attendees filtering out of the nearby panel room.

- It isn’t until you pull your head back that you notice how packed the hallway has become. Letting out a small squeak of surprise, you tense up. Walls giving an involuntary flutter, fists scrambling to pull the cloak around you two tighter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

- Hayden on the other hand… Realizing your predicament, a smug look crosses his face. Cock twitching in interest, hardening again. Hips start to rock as he leans in more, muttering. “Relax. Just feel the force overflowing inside of you…trickling down your leg, onto the floor.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[thatbeeperson]

I had a dream that warframe added a "hostage" gamemode where you essentially keep enemies from moving the hostage to an extraction point while the lotus tries to get a negotiate price for their return, and the longer you hold out the better price the corpus are willing to pay for this asset and it was REALLY FUNNY because people instantly figured out that you could basically bully the hell out of the hostage by rapidly picking them up and putting them down because the animation for dropping them was so fucking aggressive.

And the hostage gamemode instantly became a meme because of the same reason "we fought with honor" is funny.

The tenno are manhandling this fucking hostage while the lotus is saying shit like "Tenno, look what the corpus have offered for the hostage, is this a reasonable offer or would you like to keep going"

Or the absolutely humorous lines from the hostage on par with the capture target lines

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Congratulations on the milestone! You more than deserve it, such a talented writer!

I'd like to request a fic for your event. It's been a song stuck in my head for days, "The Alcott" by The National, and the character being Hunter. It's such a beautiful song and I can't wait to see how you interpret it with his character!

Thank you in advance, keep being awesome!

~🥀

Awwww @royalthunderbird that's so sweet of you!

I really hope you enjoy how I interpreted this song. It almost caught me off guard, but I was quite happy with how it turned out. Love The National and I've never heard this song before, so thank you for introducing it to me.

Love oo.

The Alcott

Warnings: Yo-yo relationship, food, declaration of feelings, angst, fluffish. I think that's it. If I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

You hadn’t planned on meeting Hunter, well… at least not this time. 

Both of you had been on again, off again so many times it was starting to give you whiplash. Yet, you couldn’t help it. He called and despite how many times you tried to argue, tried to justify not going, you still showed up. 

So there you were in the back of Dex’s Diner, waiting for him while you worked on your next article for HNE. You wrote in your golden notebook, writing out relevant dates and information that you’d need to look into later. 

“You want something honey?” 

You looked up to the waitress droid smiling, “Thanks Flo, could I get a Jamba Juice?”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

You watched her roll away as you focused back on the task at hand. 

Hunter stood outside the diner, just out of your line of sight. He leaned against the concrete building beside him, just watching you. The way you fiddled with the pen in your hand, the way it tapped against your lip, even the way you chewed on the end. A habit you’d been trying to break ever since the first time he met you. 

He let out a light sigh, Maker, you were still so beautiful. You had that smile on your lips, the one that you always wore. 

There was a time when you two first started going out, he asked why you always wore a smile on your face, you simply shrugged and said, “Why not? A lot of people are either having bad days or just haven’t had any sort of kindness in their life. If I can give them a little peace with a smile, then why not?”

He didn’t have a response to that; he just knew he fell in love with you at that moment. 

All he wanted to do was walk up to you, kiss you with all the passion his heart contained for you. To make you his once again, yet … he let out a breath shaking his head. He’d done this to you once too often, starting something only for either his job or yours to get in the way. 

The first time you two broke up, it was a misunderstanding between the two of you, both failing to recognize how you each felt about the other. 

The second time you broke up, it was because Crosshair implied you were only using Hunter to get classified information on the GAR.

The third time was because he misunderstood your relationship with an informant when he saw you holding their hand, simply because you were trying to console them.

Hopefully, this time … this time he could just be honest and tell you without regrets what he wanted. What he’s always wanted. 

He took a deep breath and righted himself, wiping off any visible dust, before he headed inside. 

You jotted down a few more names, as you were now on a roll with your research, questions that popped up that didn’t make sense, answers that were needed.

“H-hi cyare.”

You slowly lifted your head with a smile on your face as soon as you heard his voice, “Hey handsome. You’re late.”

He nodded as he sat, taking off his helmet and placing it on the table beside him, “Yeah, we ran into a little bit of trouble.”

“Oh! Anything good?” You teased as you smiled at him. 

“Hmm, yes and no. More of the fact that our aggressive negotiations took longer than expected.”

“Ahh, did they have better weaponry than you?” You wiggled your eyebrows, putting away your notebook and datapad, back into your satchel. 

“Sweetheart, you should know, no one has better weaponry than me.” He smirked as he looked at you.

You giggled as you nodded, “True. So…” you stopped fidgeting and focused solely on him, “how have you been? It’s been a minute since we actually spoke or even really saw each other.”

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry, about that. Things have gotten hectic the last few months.”

“Anything I should be concerned about?”

“Not that I can think of, but you still have your go-bag ready just in case, right?”

“Always.” You smiled as your head propped on your fist, “You look good.”

“So do you,” Hunter leaned forward, smiling. He was about to ask about your life and how you were doing when Flo came over and asked if they were ready to order. 

Once she was gone, Hunter just let out a contented sigh, as he looked at you. “I think I’m falling back in love with you.”

You looked startled for a moment, pulling back to sit up a little, you didn’t know what to say really. You had never stopped loving him, but … if he was falling back in love with you, then did that mean there were still trust issues between the two of you. What if you got back together and broke up for a fourth time? Could you handle that? What if you get back together and you realize this time you’re the one who’s moved on? What if there’s another misunderstanding, or if one of his other brothers says something that causes doubt in your relationship?

Hunter watched as you fidgeted with your finger against the table. 

Flo came back with your food, leaving it on the table. Even she noticed there was something odd with the intense silence that lingered between the two of you. 

He wanted to speak, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to distract you. He sat there silently, allowing you the time you needed to figure out what to do with what he said … maybe he made a mistake saying he was falling back in love, truth was he’d never fallen out of love with you. This would’ve been his fourth attempt to get back together with you, was he stupid for trying this? Maybe you wouldn’t believe him, when he said he was in love with you. Not that he blamed you.

Was he ruining this again before anything even started?

Was it over before he even got a chance to show you he changed?

He just needed you to look up at him, to smile at him. He just needed your smile. Why did he have to open his mouth?

You took a deep breath, and slowly lifted your eyes to look at him, “You’re falling back in love with me? So… you moved on and now … you’re … what, realizing you’re back in love?”

“No. Rather, I’m realizing, I’ve never stopped loving you. I …” he swallowed the nervousness that was bubbling forth from deep within. He clenched his hands. “I was an idiot. Every one of those times we broke up, it was my fault. I … I didn’t understand what it took to actually be in a relationship, and I know I’m asking a lot from you, by telling you all this, but I don’t want to run away, anymore. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to think I’m not good enough… I want to give us a real try.”

You looked at him and Gods, as hard as you tried, you just couldn’t stop that smile from appearing on your lips as you looked into his eyes. What do they say, fourth times a charm?

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites

[caramelcleopatraa]

S&T: DETAILED CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

ROMAN REIGNS  ( a.k.a Tribal Chief ) 

Mafia boss (if you couldn’t tell)

Belongs to the Anoa’i family 

Known for their reign in the east coast

In charge of the biggest mafia to date (popularity and numbers wise)

Cocky, clever, humorous, charismatic, affectionate (around close family and significant other)

A rumored “ladies man”

Known for his ruthless aggression towards enemy groups

Will go great lengths to protect the Anoa’i and Semele’s

Y/N SEMELE  ( a.k.a Ms. Expert )

Belongs to the Semele family

Known for their tight alliance with the Anoa’i family

Sassy…. Saaassy gyal dat

The definition of dress to impress 

Uses her shop as a medium to learn intel on other mafia groups 

Has a passion for fashion design 

Sensual, focused, playful, resourceful, reliable

Always keeping herself busy

JEY USO ( a.k.a Jey Fatu )   

Consigliere 

Belongs to the Anoa’i family 

Twin to Jimmy Uso

Trustworthy, passionate and protective about his family 

A classic hothead

Roman’s advisor, and voice of reason (because he needs it)

Prides himself on maintaining family tradition

Thinks that La Mesa Alta is shady

SOLO SIKOA ( a.k.a The Enforcer ) 

Capo

Belongs to the Anoa’i family 

Fight first, ask questions later

Disciplined, fearless, enduring, tactful, respectful

Only appeals to his superiors, family members, and people he respects

Always on go

Keeps personal matters private

A trusted leader 

TALIA JOHNSON FATU  ( a.k.a Tallie ) 

Belongs to the Johnson & Anoa’i family

Wife of Jey Uso

Influencer

Nicknamed “Tallie” and “pretty girl”

Intuitive, loving, nurturing, honest, communicative

One of the only people who can calm Jey down

Used to stay out of mafia work, but will get her hands dirty if she has to

Has experience in undercover/mole work

JIMMY USO ( a.k.a Jimmy Fatu )

Underboss

Belongs to the Anoa’i family 

Twin to Jey Uso

Second in command

The “Calmer” twin

Energetic, flexible, persistent, sympathetic, trusting

Anything Roman’s too busy to do, Jimmy’s already on it

Another voice of reason

TRINITY FATU ( a.k.a Naomi )

Belongs to the Anoa’i family 

Wife of Jimmy Uso

Trained fighter

Sociable, witty, precise, charismatic, adaptable

Always styled In the latest fashion (with Y/N’s help)

Has experience in undercover/mole work

Didn’t know about anything mafia wise until she met Jimmy

Quickly gained the trust of Jimmy, Jey, and Roman

MADISON CLAIR ( a.k.a Mads )

Belongs to the Clair family

Kind, fair, creative, loyal, open

Invested in art

Trained gunwoman

Practices meditation

Been Y/N’s friend since high school 

Helps Y/N with her company security

Always has a gun on her

DE’ARRA WASHINGTON ( a.k.a Diamond )  

Belongs to the Washington family

Selfish, honest, perceptive, bold, determined 

Her father was a well known thief in the west coast.

Settled down in the east coast and started his own mafia

Known for their extensive wealth

Always taking trips to other countries and blowing money on expensive collectibles

Very much spoiled

Good at persuading people to get in bed with her

AAHKILAH HOKOVIC ( a.k.a Killah )

Belongs to the Hokovic family

Known for international trade

Likes to be the center of attention

A certified spoiled girl

Wants to own her own clothing line and be one of the greatest brands ever

Makes people adjust to her time

Deceptive, glamorous, arrogant, daring, dynamic

Will always speak her mind

GIOVANNA PARISI  ( a.k.a Gio ) 

Belongs to the Parisi family

Good at negotiating deals

Handles important business deals that involve La Mesa Alta

Persuasive, clever, persistent, curious, observant

Was a model for 7 years

Went to the same high school as Y/N

Sells tactical cars and guns (and weed on the side)

Helped Y/N get the location she wanted for her shop

MERCEDES HAYES ( a.k.a Cedes ) 

Belongs to the Hayes family

Known for their wealth, high status, and longevity 

Works wherever money is present

Has been characterized as shady, two-faced, and greedy

Has turned her back on La Mesa Alta several times due to payment issues

Was a stripper, but retired to get a job with more earnings

A pure instigator

Older sister to Carmelo

CARMELO HAYES ( a.k.a Melo ) 

belongs to the Hayes family

A complete 180 from his older sister

Known for their wealth, high status, and longevity 

Hard headed, confident, generous, playful, focused

Popular for his looks and athleticism 

Mercedes’ full time assistant

Tries his best not to get involved with shady business

Carries out dangerous missions and tasks for La Mesa Alta

JATAVIA PETERSON ( a.k.a JT ) 

Belongs to the Peterson family

Her family was removed from La Mesa Alta after committing several heinous incidents to each family

Decietful, humorous, charming, friendly, independent

Used to own her own fashion design shop before Y/N came into the mix (and also blames Y/N for her down fall)

Tried to take down the Semele family many times

Known for her looks and charisma

No stranger to using bribes

Good at pushing her opponent’s mental buttons

ALYSSA EDMOND ( a.k.a Latto )   

Rapper

Belongs to the Edmond family (worth $50 million)

World known gambler (and damn good at it)

Also gets fashion advice from y/n

Relatively new to the mafia business, but not new to rapping and gambling

Always down to fight

Funny, expressive, honest, openminded, flashy

Sometimes a materialistic girl

FAMILIES THAT ARE IN THE HIGH TABLE (LA MESA ALTA) 

ANOA’I

SEMELE

HAYES

WASHINGTON

EDMOND

PARISI

Wanted to give you guys a better introduction to the cast of S&T! Hope you guys enjoy how the story's going so far :) Stay tuned <3

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41

Welcome to your new addiction

[genderkoolaid]

So I came across this quote by Julia Serano, and I wanted to share my take on it:

“When you’re a trans woman you are made to walk this very fine line, where if you act feminine you are accused of being a parody and if you act masculine, it is seen as a sign of your true male identity. And if you act sweet and demure, you’re accused of reinforcing patriarchal ideas of female passivity, but if you stand up for your own rights and make your voice heard, then you are dismissed as wielding male privilege and entitlement. We trans women are made to teeter on this tightrope, not because we are transsexuals, but because we are women. This is the same double bind that forces teenage girls to negotiate their way between virgin and whore, that forces female politicians and business women to be aggressive without being seen as a bitch, and to be feminine enough not to emasculate their alpha male colleagues, without being so girly as to undermine their own authority.”

Now, I absolutely agree that this behavior is based in misogyny. The only thing I really disagree with is the idea that it doesn't have anything to do with being trans.

For one, trans men also are forced to walk this tightrope, if in the opposite direction. If a trans man is feminine, he's actually a girl, but if he's masculine, he's idolizing toxic masculinity. If a trans man is sweet and passive, he'll never be a real man, but if he's outspoken and demands to be heard, he's a raging misogynist wielding male privilege. Nonbinary people, too, have to walk the tightrope, with the added element of "too masc/fem and you aren't really nonbinary, too androgynous and you are suspicious and cringe and probably a pedophile". Reducing this tightrope down to just misogyny, in my opinion, obscures the way that other trans people besides trans women are also forced to walk this tightrope.

Additionally, while I understand why she compares it to things like the madonna/whore complex, I don't feel like it's exactly the same thing. If a cis woman (especially/specifically a white, straight-presenting one*) acts masculine or assertive, she'll certainly be called a bitch, a cunt, evil, unfeminine and ugly, all the misogynistic tricks in the book- but she'll never be called a misogynistic entitled male.

Cis women do not face the combined forces of misandry/misogyny/misandrogyny the way trans people do. Cis women do not have to fear being seen as male and therefore sexually predatory, naturally aggressive, and an oppressor to be taken down in the way that all trans people are. Cis women are seen as women, while trans people are seen as grotesquely occupying the space between genders. Cis women are punished for acting outside of the bounds of the class of woman, while trans people are punished for acting outside the bounds of binary gender. We fail to be proper women or proper men, and so anything we do is punishable because transness is seen as something which taints any gender it touches. Trans people are deviant women who need to be put in their place, and dangerous men who are a threat to patriarchal men, and androgynous freaks who threaten the very foundation of the gender binary and the patriarchy built upon it.

I don't wanna claim to know the true reasons behind why Serano comes to the conclusions she does, so this is just my own reading of this quote:

It feels like she is leaning heavily into the "its all misogyny" to make a point about how trans women face the same struggles cis women do, therefore they should be considered equally female and equally oppressed by misogyny as cis women. Transmisogyny is just another way to oppress women, as women, and therefore cis feminists should accept trans women as women.

And I don't blame her for that, if that was her motive. Especially considering that a lot of her writing was done during a time where radical feminists were intensely scrutinizing trans women's oppression & trans activism was even less well known or supported by mainstream feminism than it is now. But I do think that, in trying to align the experiences of trans women with the experiences of cis women, it has led to the thriving idea that trans men cannot experience equal levels of oppression, because they are men and therefore their experiences must be closer to that of cis men's.

It's not that the thing she's talking about isn't transmisogyny, or that she should've brought up trans men- I have no issues with her specifically talking about how this impacts trans women and how its based in transmisogyny. But I feel very strongly that the three-arm model of transphobia explained by @transunity is a far more accurate way of conceptualizing transphobia & all of its individual forms (transmisogyny, transandrophobia, exorsexism). It accepts that all trans people can be attacked from the position that they are men, or women, or both/neither.

It also makes sense that this model comes from the transunity movement, because it prioritizes shared experience & solidarity between all trans people rather than shared experience & solidarity between trans people and cis people who share their gender. Not that that is intrinsically bad, because it isn't- but I feel that Serano's model of transmisogyny, in rejecting the idea of "trans" as a class of its own, negatively impacts other trans people and especially trans men by forcing them to be seen only in relation to their cis counterparts, and not as trans people first and foremost.

*Edited to specify white/straight womanhood

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Management Styles Pt. 1

I find it deeply fun that both the Queens have very similar management styles albeit for different reason. Both Riddle and Vil operate essentially on "might makes right" and "shame to tame".

Vil will cut you down for not acting in a way that fits his definition of beautiful, especially if you're lazing about. Riddle will cut you down for not acting in accordance with his rules, especially if you're lazing about. Both aspire to this lofty concept - order and beauty, and for the most, strong arm people into agreeing. They're quite aggressive so they will seek out behaviors to correct.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Idia who couldn't give two shits about what anyone in his dorm is doing because he's got the most antisocial dorm ever and they're pretty self governing. When they bitch about each other, its always personal because their otakus who will disagree over the slightest differences in interpretation. But like management? structure? what is that?

(Which is what makes Idia's attempt at asserting leadership in Ch 6 sooooo funny. He doesnt really have a way of getting people to fall in line so naturally the other folks started bitching at him)

Now, Ortho's management is a little more advanced. He operates more on a "distract with the shiny" to get them off his back while he actually gets to work. He never actually works with other people because he is in fact not that great of a team player (super robo boy with five million advanced programs can do it all so why ask for help?) but hes better at tricking people to get off his back so he doesnt have to deal with them anymore than necessary

Incidentally, Jamil is the same way. He also prefers to do everything himself and if people are working with him, you better believe that they are under his Direct Supervision. But, when people dont fall in line with his wishes, he relies on his unique magic/signature spell to make up the difference. He's not like either Riddle or Vil who browbeat into obedience simply because that shit would not work on Kalim. However, Kalim can be distracted with shinies at the risk of making more work later if Kalim gets particularly "inspired" by said shiny. In short, Jamil doesn't manage people more than he magicks them into complacence.

Now, somewhere in the middle between outright authority and fuck it I'm doing this myself, there's Azul and Leona. They mostly take control of people via bribes. They are canny negotiators who know what people want and give it to them for a price. Of course, if directly challenged, Leona will throw down and Azul sends out the twins. But for the most part, they rely on clever tricks to get what they need from people. They will avoid violence - mostly because that's just trying too hard.

(And yeah, Leona absolutely believes that Riddle and Vil are too high strung)

As for Malleus... He mostly gets his Dad to do things for him.

[padawansuggest]

SpaceTok

Bail: Hi, I’m Bail, I’m the one throwing the party, and I think the nice Master Kenobi is gonna be the drunkest.

Padme: I’m Padme, I saw Obi-Wan do two lines of coke halfway to Bail’s apartment, so he’s gonna be the most messed up.

Cody: Hi, I’m Cody, I’m the designated driver because I trust no one in this apartment, and I watched Obi-Wan do a line of coke before we left his apartment, so, my guess is he’ll be the one over my shoulder at the end of the night.

Anakin: Hi, I’m Anakin Skywalker, The Chosen One, crackin open a dark one with the boys, we killed a Sith chancellor and I’m- on the floor. And yet! I think Obes is gonna be the drunkest. He did a bodyshot off Wooley. It was hilarious.

Wooley: *red blushing stuttering for a half a minute, runs out the bathroom again*

Mace: I’ve foregone the alcohol and stolen Obi-Wan’s coke bag. God we need to get him into rehab. He was the cutest lil baby too! He would climb into my lap to tell me his cursed prophecies he dreamt of during naptime! It was always so sweet! And a little bit scary! And really migraine inducing! And now he does coke! At least he’s not partaking in Space Meth… yet… he’s probably gonna have a hangover for a month.

Rex: my name’s Rex, and I saw Kenobi trying to convince Cody and Wooley to have a threesome with him, but they won’t touch him cause he’s fucked up. Also he’s drunk. So. Money’s on him.

Fives: Hi! I’m Fives! Rex doesn’t know I’m here! He said it was past my bedtime and he didn’t want me and Echo trying liquor for the first time, in front of Jedi, so, here goes! *downs a shot of straight vodka, sputters and spits it all out, starts crying* wtf that’s so gross.

Echo: *standing right next to him, grinning* Rex doesn’t know that me and Hardcase regularly out drink each other. I’d like to keep it that way.

Fives: *coughing* Echo, it’s so gross!

Echo: It’s okay, you big baby, let’s go find Rex so you can cry on him about it.

????: The door was open so… I just came in. If I knew this was a party for Jedi and clones I wouldn’t have touched it. I just like crashing rich Senators parties! I didn’t know scary people would be here!!! I’m afraid of how to get out.

Obi-Wan: *gently closes bathroom door, takes a deep breath, centers himself and turns to the camera, in a perfectly even and collected voice-* Gentlebeings of the Republic, I stand before you today as a representative of the Jedi order, to plead with you, with the reputation of handling Aggressive Negotiations, that you /will/ be giving the clones full rights /and/ reparations, or there will be a new Sith in this galaxy and he will not be playing the long game, there will be no long game to play if violence begets violence, and you have caused violence-

[sapphirepastries]

Octopath Dorm Leader + Yuu Battle Voice Lines

as the title says, voice lines when they're in battle xD it won't be for everything of course because theres A LOT of them just for battles. i had to go looking to see if anyone documented every line and luckily someone did! this is just me having a little fun figuring out what our twst cast would say say xD though i must say that this is actually a lot now that i finished it...

Entering Battle

Yuu

"May the Sacred Flame protect us."

"If I must."

"I will be your guiding light!"

Riddle

"I will have your heads!"

"You leave me no choice!"

"For breaking the rules, punishment!"

Leona

"Let's get this over with."

"Out of my way."

"I don't want to, but I have to."

Azul

"Let's make a deal!"

"Time for some aggressive negotiation."

"I'd rather not do this the hard way, but..."

Kalim

"Here I go!"

"I can do this!"

"Shall we dance?"

Vil

"How barbaric."

"Do you want me to poison you?"

"No mercy to those in my way."

Idia

"Hie! Confrontation!"

"Urgh, plebs..."

"Time for a painful lesson. For you."

Malleus

"Oho? You want to fight me?"

"How interesting."

"Will you last, I wonder?"

Divine Skills (i only wrote the ones that go with their respective class)

Yuu

"O, Aelfric, light my path and guide me!"

Riddle

"Huntress Draefendi, grant me strength!"

Leona

"Let's see what Aeber, Prince of Thieves can do!"

Azul

"Bifelgan, bless me with the deal of a lifetime!"

Kalim

"Bless us, Sealticge, with a graceful victory!"

Vil

"Dohter's charity is truly beautiful!"

Idia

"May Alephan, the Scholarking grant you some brains!"

Malleus

"Witness the might of Brand, the Thunderblade!"

Shield Break

Yuu

"You got their heads spinning, Riddle!"

"What a lionheart you are, Leona!"

"What a deal that was, Azul!"

"That was dazzling, Kalim!"

"A beautiful spectacle, Vil!"

"You got them burning, Idia!"

"An excellent happily ever after, Malleus!"

Riddle

"Mm, a masterful attack, Yuu."

"An overdue show of skill, Leona."

"Hmph, an acceptable outcome, Azul."

"That was impressive, Kalim."

"Beautifully done, Vil."

"At long last, Idia."

"Outstanding, Malleus."

Leona

"Heh, the wrath of the Sacred Flame."

"And the Red Young Master strikes again."

"Hmph, could've done better, octopunk."

"Nice footwork, bright eyes."

"A rose has thorns."

"You finally did something, radish sprout."

"Tch. Lizard showoff."

Azul

"A wonderful sermon, my dear Yuu!"

"A fiery display, Riddle."

"Not bad, Leona."

"An excellent dance, Kalim."

"Oho, what beautiful might, Vil."

"Hmhm, a brilliant strategy, Idia."

"A fantastic show of strength, Malleus."

Kalim

"Everyone's eyes are on you, Yuu!"

"You got a fire in you, Riddle!"

"You got some agile steps, Leona!"

"Nice negotiating, Azul!"

"A perfect ten, Vil!"

"Way to go, Idia!"

"That was awesome, Malleus!"

Vil

"You've outdone yourself, Yuu."

"Good hunting, Riddle."

"Finally awake, Leona?"

"How cunning of you, Azul."

"Mm, wonderful movement, Kalim."

"Hah, I see you in a new light, Idia."

"A flawless show, Malleus."

Idia

"You're way too bright, Yuu."

"Yikes, always aggressive, Riddle."

"Wow, that was unexpected, Leona."

"Always a crafty one, huh, Azul?"

"You've got too much energy, Kalim."

"Now that was terrifying, Vil."

"As expected of you, Malleus."

Malleus

"A truly wondrous light you are, Yuu."

"What excellent aim, Riddle."

"Hah, so you do have fangs, Leona?"

"Your silver tongue can cut, Azul."

"You shine bright, Kalim."

"What beautiful destruction, Vil."

"My, what clever thinking, Idia."

[letsgetfuckingrealteam]

Blood and Cheese: Why take revenge on Aegon and not Aemond?

Quick Note: This post is not intended to approve or condemn the events we are talking about. Killing children is wrong, and it goes for both sides, let's make that clear. Here I'm just trying to clarify the logic if you want of the line of events, nothing more. Any debate started in comments or reblogs must be respectful, and any aggression will be deleted or blocked.

With the arrival of the second season of House of the Dragon, and the announcement of the episode names, I have seen a lot of debate about the events of Blood and Cheese. A question that I have seen in BOTH TEAMS, enough to finish you off, is: Why not attack Aemond directly? And I have come to ask myself the same question, and I have reached a conclusion that I am going to share with you.

For this, we must analyze the line of events that led to this setup and murder.

When Aegon is crowned, we see, both in series and in books, that it is not the immediate beginning of the war. In reality, both sides sent their messengers and offered terms of peace.

PROOF A). “As her first act as queen, Rhaenyra declared Ser Otto Hightower and Dowager Queen Alicent traitors and rebels, but allowed for her half-siblings to be spared and forgiven if they would bend the knee, since the kinslayer is accursed.” — Dance of the Dragons Wikipedia (1).

PROOF B). “The king was persuaded by his mother and sister-wife, and Orwyle was dispatched to Dragonstone with a retinue under a peace banner, offering Rhaenyra “generous terms”. The terms stated that if Rhaenyra were to bend the knee to King Aegon II, he would confirm her possession of Dragonstone and allow it to pass to her heir, Jacaerys. Her second son, Lucerys, would be recognized as the heir to Driftmark, and her youngest sons would be made the king's squire and cupbearer. Pardons would also be granted to the other Black lords and knights.” — Dance of the Dragons Wikipedia (2).

And it is considered a “War of the Crows”. That is, a war of messengers. Was there a possibility that everything would escalate to war? Yes, but they were not yet at the point of that, but rather of securing alliances and negotiating a possible surrender of the other side. And I genuinely believe that both sides were looking to end this peacefully and without anyone dying. No one wants to go to war with their family, no matter how far apart they are. Nobody wants to go to war, and that's it, it seems to me, especially if you are a ruler, because that doesn't leave you alone in history.

Therefore, both sides send messengers to the lands of Westeros to seek to secure allies. The more allies you have, the more likely it is that the other side will be intimidated or outnumbered and decide to surrender before a real war begins.

On behalf of Rhaenyra, Daemon goes to Harrenhal, which he gets without any conflict (a bit of a threat if you like, what with the whole landing the dragon in the castle courtyard without asking if he could come in or talking to the castle keeper first, but without battle it was at the end of the day), Jace negotiates with the Arryn, Mardelys, and Starks also peacefully, and Lukerys is sent to the Stormlands.

On behalf of Aegon, many messengers were also sent, the same one who supported their cause, but the one we will focus on today is Aemond, who among his negotiations was also sent to the Stormlands.

Both Lucerys and Aemond are there in THE NAME OF THEIR RULERS. Not like them, for personal reasons. Aemond represents Aegon and his claim, and Lucerys represents Rhaenyra and her claim. And what we know happened, happens. Aemond, whether out of revenge or because he lost control of his dragon, as the series does, he killed Lukerys.

So far, Team Black only knows two things: Aemond was on his brother's behalf in the Stormlands when Lucerys arrived there. And now Lucerys is dead.

The greens shed the first blood of the war, so now the bloodbath is coming.

But at this point, does it make sense for them to attack Aegon as revenge for Lucery’s death? Not really, because Aegon at this point could easily have nothing to do with the whole affair. Aemond has had an issue for YEARS with Lucerys, so the chance that he would have made it ALL of his own will is more than possible. And this is what is written in the ASOIAF history books: that Aemond killed Luke for his own vendetta and not under any order of Aegon.

PROOF C). “Borros prevented Aemond from attacking his cousin in the castle, but did allow for the prince to follow him. Mounted on his dragon, Aemond caught up with Lucerys during a raging storm. The fight between the two dragons did not last long. Vhagar, being five times bigger, had the advantage, and Arrax fell broken. His head and neck washed ashore three days later, along with the corpse of Lucerys.”  — Dance of the Dragons Wikipedia (3).

So far, it's all Aemond's fault, without a doubt.

But, this is also where the issue lies: THE FEAST

PROOF D). “Early in the war, Prince Aemond slew Prince Lucerys Velaryon over Storm's End, while Lucerys was attempting to win Borros Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, over to his mother's side. Upon Aemond's return, having ensured Storm's End's support, Aegon welcomed his brother with a great feast, though Queen Alicent and her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, were concerned about the extent of Aemond's actions. Seeking revenge against Aegon, Prince Daemon took action.” — Aegon II Targaryen Wikipedia.

Now, the blacks know three things: Aemond was on his brother's behalf in the Stormlands when Lucerys arrived there. Now Lucerys is dead. And Aegon held a GREAT FEAST to celebrate that death. 

So let's review what Team Black knows now:

1). Lucerys and Aemond, representing their rulers, cross paths in the Stormlands.

2). Aemond ends up killing Lucerys, outside of Storm's End, but still under the banner of his ruler's messenger.

3). The news reaches Aegon, who receives Aemond with a banquet for his actions, celebrating the matter.

Now, the package could have JUST been to celebrate Baratheon support, possibly, but the timing isn't great. Here it is not so important what the Greens were really thinking when said banquet was held, but rather how it is seen to the public and consequently how it reaches the Blacks. And I think this is something that Alicent and Otto knew, and could potentially be the reason for their disapproval of the banquet if it really wasn't a celebration of Lucerys' death.

Because let's remember that between the death of Lucerys, Aemond's return to King's Landing and the events of Blood and Cheese, there must be a large amount of time. It is not a series of events over a couple of days or weeks. It's the same year, but it's impossible that it happened less than two months apart, at least. So this is not one thing after the other. Putting that in perspective, Aegon timed Aemond's arrival and organized a banquet with all the honors. Regardless of what the intention was, it looks VERY BAD.

So, it doesn't seem crazy to me that Team Black concluded that Aegon had Lucerys killed and celebrated the success of his brother's mission. And for that, from their perspective, he deserves his particular revenge, giving him the same pain that Rhanerya suffered. No one take out the blame of Aemond, because in the end there was a price on his head, but Aegon, for being the one who gave the “order” and celebrated the death, would have deserved something worse.

For this reason, it seems to me that Aegon and his sons were more cruelly targeted than Aemond. Let us not rule out that if Aemond had children, he would also have received the same treatment and lost one of his dependence, fore sure.

Plus, those kids were his nephews, there's no way he didn't feel that blow too. Don't get a reaction from him in the books, I guess we'll see it in the show, but it would be fair to assume that he would be devastated and furious about what happened. 

So, I do not rule out that there has also been, It may also have been a thing of one rock, two birds.

Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll, I hope this has answered something at least. And if you have another opinion or want to add something, tell me in the comments!!!

[licollisa]

i’d love to hear your take on sans’ personality!

i was going through your whole blog (as you do) and saw ur post on how sans tends to be mischaracterized, but fanon takes are also very normal and generally just fine, and i agree - i feel like some amount of personal spin from the author is always expected (and keeps things fresh and fun to a degree), but i also feel as if sans is a somewhat tough character to actually pin down when you’re writing him, so i’ve similarly had to drop some fic when they stray too widely from my non-negotiable sans traits lol. (like Being Calm and unruffled. bc while some of that is depression, a large part of it is Just The Way He’s Built lmao.)

Oh for sure, I also have my own set of Sans mischaracterization pet peeves in fics (though I'd often look the other way if the fic is well-written because beggars can't be choosers, no writer owes anyone a perfect Sans voice, fanfics are for fun, etc etc. Hell one of my favorite fics of all time portrayed Sans as an asshole and I'm not complaining because good god the writing is just THAT delicious and I still can't believe I'm reading it for free).

E.g Sans calling another adult (often times the MC) with 'kid'. Or like I've mentioned on another post, if he's quick to anger or aggressive enough to attack at the slightest provocation. Sometimes it's not a case of mischaracterization at all, just something I personally can't read without feeling like a wet kitten (the next time I read an overused skeleton related pun I will escape my own and DIE).

I often theorize why this is a Thing. I yearned to understand why I'm subjected to read yet another skele-ton, tibia, humerus, funny bone pun. Maybe since Undertale was popular with a big ass fanbase, and Sans is like our mascot, so when you combine this with a majority of the fandom being in the younger side -- youths full of time and creativity and energy though lacked the writing experience -- what's left of our poor skeleton is a pile of flanderized bones. Which is often the case when you're young and you just started writing because damn that blue skeleton is too romance able to deny (want write... But HOW write???).

You thought of some of his traits you often see (ketchup, touch Papyrus and die, blue glowing eye, epic bones & blaster attacks, puns, depression, have I mentioned the touch Papyrus and die? Puns again, threats, the bad time catchphrase, so on so forth) and you use these as a guiding bible to writing Sans the Skeleton. Boom, Sans x Reader 200k enemies to lovers.

,,,Bottom line is, I'm kind of sure the tendency to mischaracter him stems from Undertale's popularity and the younger part of the fandom. That, or after all these years, people had simply grown to love and accept Fanon Sans in all his slightly unlikeable behavior glory (heartwarming). So the inaccurate potrayal is now, like, on purpose -- on top of fanon him being easier to pin down because the canon guy are too tricky to pin down, like you said.

From what I've seen though, the canon Sans starts to get the love he deserves again! All is good. Now I can read a Sans x Reader 200k enemies to lovers, but with the actual dude this time. Awesome.

Ight, that said. I legit also think people should write him in the way that makes them the happiest. Sans is fictional but your happiness isn't. Even if your Sans will finally be the one to prompt me to escape my own skeleton. Or your Sans is RABID and deserves JAILTIME and GROWLS and BARA. Go wild, be free, and more importantly, have fun! <3

[cozzzynook]

Rodimus going into labor and panicking because Soundwave isn't there. Ratchet trying to calm him down and he only relaxes when Soundwave gets there.

Rodimus going into labor is chaotic and angsty.

He’s alone when it happens.

Him and being alone never works well together and it especially didn’t work when his emergence fluid broke while he was home alone in berth waking from recharge.

None of the cassettes were with him and Soundwave was away on the outer rim of the city working a negotiation with neutrals for the trade systems.

Rodimus had to grab his bag alone and waddle painfully to the front door and wait for his amica to answer his calls.

when he did Drift choked on his energon and panicked, so unlike Drift and so completely like Rodimus, who oddly managed to calm Drift down and have him alert Ratchet who immediately rushed with Drift to Rodimus’s home.

When they got there Rodimus was feeling another emergence pulse and ended up cracking Drifts servo with how painful the next one felt.

It took time to load Rodimus into Ratchet’s ambulance space but when they did they both pealed out of there at helm breaking speed.

Ratchet of course was handling Rodimus’s emergence and Drift was there giving his a mice moral support who was too sobbing and whimpering in pain. So Drift called Soundwave who rushed out of the negotiations towards the hospital to his sparkmate.

Rodimus was getting first time creator panic while going through pulses and kept crying, shouting how he couldn’t do this and wanted Soundwave.

When Ratchet was his usual grouchy self Rodimus tore him a new one with the aggression only a pulsing mecha could reach. After that Ratchet tried to be a bit nicer in his calming approach while Drift was silently leaking because Rodimus managed to break one servo and was painfully gripping the next.

Drift absolutely sighed relieved like he was the one in emergence when Soundwave rushed inside the room and maneuvered himself onto the berth with Rodimus.

It was spark turning seeing how quickly Soundwave calmed Rodimus down with such trained and practiced ease where as they could not.

Drift felt a pang in his spark at not being able to help his amice while Ratchet refused to admit he felt out of touch not being able to do more than guiding the sparkling out. Sure that was the most important part but he still wanted to help Rodimus and he felt some anger towards himself for not being better able to comfort him.

“It’s okay sparkbeat, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m so sorry I was late. But I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere,” Soundwave nuzzled Rodimus’s helm and lightly touched his sensitive spoiler before shifting Rodimus to a different position.

With Rodimus on his knees in an upright lean with soundwave in front of him holding his weight completely. The decepticon rubbed his back struts and soothed his tight tank and helped Rodimus focus on venting.

When Rodimus shouted in a painful moan that his valve started to burn Ratchet kicked into gear and Drift went to get the towels Ratchet would need as Soundwave held Rodimus and soothed him as he pushed.

It was early morning sunrise when their sparklings emerged.

One red and black while the other was blue and purple. They were cassettes but looked like they could grow to average or mini bot size.

“Roddy, they’re so cute!”

Drift was going to pretend he didn’t pass out after seeing his friends valve push out a sparkling and that his conjunx wasn’t patching up the dents in his helm from landing on the ground.

“It must’ve been you that kept moving around in there,” Rodimus said tiredly to the blue and purple sparkling and it was Soundwave who chuckled with a static visor looking to the red and black sparkling.

“This one is trying to reach your fuel line already and he’s not even a full klik old. He has to be why you were always so hungry,” Soundwave nuzzled the sparklings and was more than happy when their em field reached out to both of them.

Rodimus laughed and with Soundwave’s help he was fueling both sparklings and tiredly spoke their designations before falling to forced recharge.

“Rumble,” he said to the purple and blue sparkling that kept shaking their fists in a funny motion, “and Frenzy,” he said to the red and black sparkling content with their sparkling fuel.

“We’re never having bitlets,” Drift said with a dreamy smile as he planned all the ways his amica’s sparklings were now his sparklings.

Ratchet only burst out laughing and Soundwave tuned him out completely focused on his family.

—

Tips on my kofi are much appreciated 🥰

[tomorrowusa]

In 2016 we had But Her Emails. In 2024 we have Biden Is Too Old. The sources of these two lines haven't changed: the flailing GOP with an assist by bothsiderist news media.

Yes, it's the same old distraction technique to draw attention away from the leader of the Republican Party who is an adjudicated sex offender who just lost a gigantic lawsuit based on his past use of fraud.

It's time to push back and aggressively. And successful messaging is repetitious messaging – get used to repeating things if you wish to cut through the noise.

But the main thing is not to freak out and to play offense instead of being defensive. For example: Why are so few people on our side bringing up Trump's unhealthy lifestyle? Drinking 12 Diet Cokes® a day and copious chomping of double cheeseburgers wouldn't be recommended for somebody half his age. And what kind of drugs is he being prescribed?

[A]ll of the #BidenTooOld coverage is about as new and revelatory as #ButHerEmails. If nothing else, it proves that a scandal holding that the president forgets things is always going to go down smoother than a scandal in which a special counsel flagrantly violated a long-standing Justice Department practice and protocol not to “criticize uncharged conduct.” As Sullivan was quick to point out, CNN and the New York Times and every U.S. corporate media entity and its cousin jumped onto the bandwagon. [ ... ] Perhaps one way to navigate yourself through this seemingly insoluble morass would be to ask yourself why Biden, who is stipulated #Old, has managed to helm the most successful presidency in modern history. Booming economy, eye-popping jobs reports, first gun violence reduction bill in decades, $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan plus COVID relief, Inflation Reduction Act, infrastructure prioritized, judges seated. Pick your metric—there have been a lot of wins. And the reason this old man who sometimes forgets things like dates has gotten all this done? He has, for the most part, surrounded himself with experts, genuine scientists, respected economists, and effective governmental actors and advisers. Governance is not an action film. There is no minute-to-minute psychodrama involving someone in a tight black T-shirt mincing along the outdoor ledge of a skyscraper, ninja-kicking his lonely way down to the stairwell, where he karate-chops the well-armed baddies and then commando crawls his way into an empty vault with the glass chest where the nuclear reactor sits. No. Despite our fascination with the Great Man theory of American lawmaking, the presidency is an office that largely turns on superb staffing, visionary planning, deft political negotiation, and artful execution. Joe Biden doesn’t actually have to remember every single detail himself—he has to use his judgment to employ and empower a large contingent of skilled experts to execute upon their agreed-upon vision. If you are unconvinced, the best evidence that we keep falling for Great Man fantasy propaganda is the unmitigated failure of the first Donald Trump presidency. Here we had a self-described loner literally trumpeting his I-alone-can-fix-it worldview, all embodied in Great Man megalomania. He managed to accomplish virtually nothing: Almost none of his promises for single-handed economic revitalization, world domination, or intrepid urban crime-solving panned out. His great dreams were either strangled in infancy by staffers or halted by courts. And whether you believe that this happened because Donald Trump surrounded himself with incompetent yes men or steely adults in the room, both versions serve to offer proof of concept: Donald Trump accomplished close to nothing because the people around him were either too inept to put his vision into practice or too skillful at blocking him to allow him to put his vision into practice. Put another way, if you or anyone you know finds themselves reacting to the Biden Is Old revelations with the thought that, sure, Donald Trump is a 91-indictments-richer, adjudicated sexual abuser, defamer, liar, violator of national security, self-enriching, fascist-boosting insurrectionist, but it’s OK because he will surround himself with people who might check those impulses—well, doesn’t it rather intuitively make more sense to instead vote for the highly effective, internationally respected, but yes, sometimes forgetty guy who is surrounded by people with day planners?

A president is a lot closer to being a CEO than a superhero. And when it does come to being businesslike, Trump has declared bankruptcy six times – approximately six more times than Biden. Trump's business "skills" lean heavily towards fraud, deceit, and bullying.

The real reason we all keep falling for Great Man horse race stories is because they are good for fueling fantasies of all-powerful big daddy presidents who control every tiny aspect of governance in their tiny wee hands. If that is your jam, well, it would make sense to vote for the only candidate who believes in the same dream. If it’s not, the question is reducible to rather simple stakes: Do you want the Big Daddy who surrounds himself with sycophants and nutters and people with shared last names, or the one who surrounds himself with competence and expertise? This doesn’t seem, on balance, like a really tricky call. Do we prefer presidents who can backflip and ninja-kick their way to total world dominion? Perhaps. To my knowledge, nobody ever made a Tom Cruise movie about listening and learning and compromising. But if you still believe governance to be a sober and serious enterprise, vote like the alternative is chilling, because it is.

Trump flatters himself as a "stable genius". But it is Biden who brought stable governance back to the US. Being a constantly ranting gasbag is not an indicator of competence.

Very little attention is being paid to psychological age. Trump is just 42 months chronologically younger than Biden, but Trump acts like a toddler who is not yet 42 months old.

Parents with kids who were constantly having temper tantrums and being frequently disruptive would consider taking those kids to a child psychologist. Being a disruptive narcissist in his late 70s does not make Trump seem youthful but instead more like a case study for arrested development as a toddler.

[calciseptinefic]

more than you can chew

SpiderVerse || Miguel O'Hara/Peter B. Parker || EXPLICIT || 5828 notes: I'm sure I'm not the only one who exited the theater with an unhealthy obsession revolving around Miguel's fangs, so. Yeah. Here you go, my kinky brethren. Many thanks to babygato for both the beta and the Spanish translations. ♥ Also available on archive of our own. warnings: SPOILERS FOR ASTV || biting, blood kink, anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, vague kink negotiation, peter b. parker's masochism, inappropriate and unscientific (but sexy!) uses of miguel's venom, and miguel's scarily big dick

.

Peter knows Miguel's straight to the point. He's witnessed it and born the brunt of it a thousand times, but he won't deny that such bluntness is effective—because it is. When Miguel snarls at someone to jump, they don't even ask how high. They just do it. Even Peter, whose entire personality is antithetical to blind obedience, just... does it.

Mostly.

When he feels like it.

So when Miguel throws open the door and stalks up to him, silent despite the irritation in every line of his body, Peter doesn't think. He simply waits for Miguel to snap. To say what he means to say. It won't take long; Miguel is not a patient man, and he usually starts making demands as soon as he enters the room.

Usually being the operative word.

"You're chipper today," Peter remarks as Miguel crosses the threshold, both to help him along and to get the first word in. "Cafeteria out of empanadas?"

As Miguel climbs the short flight of stairs, his thighs flex beneath the shadowy dark of his suit. The dim lighting softens the severe lines of his body, yet the lack of definition does little to diminish the threat of him. Peter can hide himself behind a pair of sweatpants and a few extra pounds around the middle, but Miguel will always look as deadly as he can be, as he is. It probably doesn't help that he has a skull splashed in crimson on his chest.

"You are in my chair," Miguel drawls as he gets closer, voice no louder than a whisper. "Out."

"Ah." Peter leans back further and kicks his feet up on the console. No slippers today, only the thin soles of his boots. "But I just got comfortable."

Miguel stops. He's standing right next to Peter, looming over him. He's very good at that. The looming. He's also very good at keeping his face impassive and not blinking and silently telling Peter that his very existence is an annoyance with the barest twitch of his left eyebrow. It's frankly impressive.

"You are interrupting my work," Miguel hisses.

"And what is that? Standing at parade rest while you glower at your monitors?" Peter snorts. "Relax, man. You have an AI to monitor that business."

Miguel's expression does not change. He does not move. He just stares, unblinkingly, a faint red sheen behind the darkness of his pupils. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would get up and leave—would have left, despite their initial intentions, the moment Miguel opened his mouth and told them to get out.

Which is why Peter is here. It's not that he knows Miguel the best—he doesn't—nor is it that he's known Miguel the longest—he hasn't. It's that he has more wiggle room than the others, for a variety of seemingly unimportant reasons, and he isn't afraid to press the advantage.

Or, you know. Annoy the shit out of their great and fearless leader.

"When's the last time you took a break?" Peter asks, gesturing vaguely away from the plethora of screens around them. Miguel opens his mouth to answer but Peter quickly adds, "Sleeping and showering don't count."

Miguel's mouth closes. Mostly. His top lip doesn't settle back into impassivity; instead, it curls away from his fangs, a small aggression that gives Peter a disproportionate sense of satisfaction.

"Did Jess put you up to this?" Miguel asks.

"I put me up to this," Peter tells him honestly. Jess had murmured, Ben had muttered, and Peter heard them both, but the concern that spurred him to action had already been there. "Your eye bags make mine look like I went on a pleasant trip to somewhere tropical. You know, one of those fancy places where you can get frozen margaritas with those little paper umbrellas served to you on the beach."

"Your point?" Miguel's voice gets softer. Deeper. It would be threatening, if Peter's brain had the correct danger response—but it doesn't, so it isn't. "Assuming you had one, beneath your inane luggage metaphor."

"I was referencing a little thing called 'taking it easy'. Ever heard of it? Not that I'm one to like, judge another man for his unhealthy coping mechanisms—"

"Coping." Miguel sneers at Peter down the length of his nose, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "My vigilance is not coping. It is atonement."

At this, Peter very nearly winces. Honesty has always been Miguel's best and worst trait, and he has always been upfront with why he created the Spider Society: the mistakes he's made, the lives he's destroyed. It's the stark, unflinching delivery of the truth that hits hardest, and Peter's been around long enough to have heard Miguel talk about the death of his child. Seen the rigid way he stands, as though the smallest movement would make him crumble. Peter—who has only recently become a father—cannot imagine the depth of horror and grief he would feel if the same were to happen to him. Even thinking about losing Mayday hurts.

"Can't atone if you're burnt out, big guy," Peter reasons, mentally setting aside the nightmare of Miguel's past. "And you're well past crispy."

Miguel's eyes narrow. "And what exactly are you suggesting? An all inclusive trip to the Maldives?"

"That would be ideal, but I think you would strain yourself trying to relax that long." Peter grins. "I'm thinking of something a little closer to home."

As he says this, Peter drops one leg from the console and spreads his knees. He isn't wearing sweatpants over his suit—or even any underwear—and the curve of his soft cock is visible beneath the layer of spandex. Miguel's eyes instinctively follow the splay of Peter's knees to it and he stops. Stares. Says nothing, does nothing.

Classic Miguel.

It's a gamble, Peter knows. He has never been good about gauging the interest of others, and it's been awhile since he tried. He didn't have a sex drive while he and MJ were separated—too depressed by the turn his life had taken—and since he and MJ got back together, he's been putting his time and energy into repairing and maintaining their marriage. It would be a lie, though, to say that he wasn't interested in Miguel from the onset, that the idea of it hasn't been festering in his brain since he was pulled into Earth-928. It's just that he wasn't planning on ever acting on it.

Then Mayday was born, red-faced and perfect.

Then MJ pinched his butt cheek and firmly reminded him of the parameters of their open relationship.

Then Miguel came back from one of his trans-dimensional missions, bloodied and barely conscious, while Jess screamed for a fucking medic.

Everyone else thought it was one of those things. On occasion, Spiderman got in over his head, got hurt, then got back up. And it was forgotten when Miguel was on his feet after a few days, but Peter knows the truth: Miguel's been slowly deteriorating over the past few months as the number of anomalies has been steadily increasing. He's recruiting more and more Spider-People to help, but he takes the lead on too many missions, bears too much of the responsibility. He's frayed at the edges. The other Spider-People respect him because he brought them together—because he's been through the worst—but his fuse gets shorter and shorter with every passing day. Miguel does not have enough natural charisma to ease the metaphorical sting of his bites, either; if he wants to continue to lead the Spider Society, to continue to protect the multiverse, then he needs to relax.

And—as Peter mentioned—he and Miguel have a relationship different from the others. Miguel sees him as an equal, oddly enough, and is one of the few who can sway him to a decision despite his misgivings. Misgivings like... taking a quick break to fuck Peter silly on the floor of his pretentious floating lab.

"Old-fashioned, but it works," Peter quips. Miguel's eyes are still glued to the apex of his splayed thighs. "Been awhile?"

"That is none of your concern," Miguel tells Peter's cock.

"Awhile. Gotcha." Peter reaches over to the console and hits the button that sends the platform they're on upwards. As it begins its slow rise, Peter leans back and lets his hand skim down his chest, over his abdomen, to rest on the inside of his thigh. His bare fingers dangle in front of his groin. "Wanna fix that?"

Miguel's stare crawls up Peter's body back to his face. There's something untamed behind the mask of his ambivalence; Peter imagines it's the same thing he keeps leashed when he's fighting, that monster they all have that bubbles to the surface when instinct begins to crowd rational thought. It's equal parts terrifying and arousing, and Peter's dick twitches at the potential.

"You don't know what you're asking," Miguel slurs between his fangs.

"I have a hypothesis," Peter says. "And I'm always down for a little experimentation."

Miguel briefly closes his eyes. His jaw tightens. "Parkers," he hisses, mostly to himself, and follows it up with a few deeply unflattering words in Spanish that Peter doesn't know.

"More trouble than we're worth," Peter agrees happily.

"Infinitely," Miguel growls, and—

And—

Miguel's fist is in the wave of Peter's hair, and his mouth is hard against Peter's. For a moment, It's more dominance than pleasure—then Miguel's mouth softens, and Peter's surprise melts into triumph, and they're kissing. Peter's eager hands immediately latch onto Miguel's shoulders—impossible not to, when they're so broad and strong—and he pushes up into it, wanting more.

Kissing Miguel is how Peter imagined it would be. Miguel is a big guy, tall and muscular, and he uses that to his advantage. He bears down on Peter, forcing him to bend without regard to Peter's wants. Peter doesn't mind, though; he's a flexible guy.

"Dime que pare," Miguel says, each syllable chopped up and spit out. He pulls far enough away so Peter can see the damp shine of his mouth, and repeats in English, "Tell me to stop."

"And put a kibosh on this?" Peter snorts. "Hard pass."

"I am not a nice man," Miguel warns.

"Oh, really? I never would have guessed. I mean, apart from the snarling, and the skulking around, and—"

Peter's spidey-sense goes off, a bolt of instinct that warns him a split second before Miguel grabs him around the waist, lifts him off the chair, and throws him to the ground. Peter could stop it at any point—he's Spiderman, okay, being picked up and tossed around is practically in his job description—but he does nothing, going limp and letting it happen. Miguel didn't put any force behind his throw and the only thing that assists Peter's fall is gravity. He barely gasps as his back hits the floor.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Miguel hisses as he stands over Peter. His feet are planted on either side of Peter's hips, shoulders and spine rounded, hands curled into claws.

"Do you ever take anything un-seriously?" Peter counters.

Miguel begins to say, "No puedo creer—" but is cut off as Peter reaches up, grabs the front of his suit, and yanks him down. They fall together this time: Peter once again on his back, Miguel on all fours above him. Peter grins as he wraps his legs around Miguel's hips. Miguel's hair falls forward around his face, an inky black backlit by the warm orange glow of the monitors.

"Better," Peter hums. He lifts one hand to gently touch the angles of Miguel's stern face: his arched brows, his Roman nose, his strong cheekbones. He rests his thumb against the full swell of Miguel's bottom lip, then pulls it down gently to expose the needle sharp points of his fangs. "Nice."

Miguel nips at Peter's fingers with the blunt edge of his incisors. It isn't meant to be cute or playful or sexy; the bite is a warning. A physical reminder that Miguel always means what he says. It sends a quick, hot flash of sensation down Peter's nerves. Painful, sure. Arousing, even more.

"Just saying," Peter groans as his thumb throbs, as his dick throbs. It's all he can do to stop himself from rolling his hips upward into Miguel's pelvis. "It's hot. The fangs, I mean. The potential biting. If you wanna chew on me a bit—"

"More than a bit," Miguel murmurs. His red eyes shine predatorily, gaze fixated on Peter's neck, right above the line of his suit where his carotid artery pulses beneath the skin.

"Right." Peter's voice is thin. "Oh boy."

When Peter met Miguel—less than six weeks after his brief but life-changing stint in a parallel dimension—he had marveled at the differences in their powers. Miguel didn't have a spidey-sense, but all of his other senses were enhanced; he couldn't stick to every surface, but his talons were stronger than steel; he had spinnerets that produced flimsy, organic webbing; and he had non-retractable fangs. The grapevine maintained that half of his DNA was arachnoid, and Peter's spent months wondering if the genetic splicing came with additional behavioral changes. Admittedly, the thoughts revolving around the fangs and claws were more horny than scientific, but Peter would argue that no one could be academically impartial if Miguel 'Shockingly Hot' O'Hara crowded their space on the regular.

"Last chance, menso." Miguel's voice is barely audible despite the fact that his mouth is inches from Peter's ear.

"Christ on a pogo stick, you're still giving those out?" Peter doesn't know if he wants to laugh or knee Miguel in the ribs. "Seriously man, how do you say 'I have a very specific fantasy involving your teeth and my throat' in Spanish? I took two years in high school and only remember how to ask where mis pantalones are. A surprisingly useful phrase, given how often I have to ask it—"

Miguel bites Peter. If it's meant to stop Peter from talking, it's effective, as the pain of Miguel's fangs sinking deep into his neck shocks the ability of speech right out of his brain. Peter sucks in a quick, sharp breath at the overwhelming intensity of it. His muscles lock and his nails dig into the meat of Miguel's shoulders as he lets the hurt sink into him—

But the pain of the bite fades within moments.

"What—?" Peter gasps as a warmth begins to radiate outwards from his neck. It's a gentle, buoyant feeling that is directly at odds with the unrelenting hurt of Miguel's bite. Peter can still feel the dull pressure of Miguel's fangs buried in his throat, but it's almost imperceptible beneath the floaty numbness suffusing his brain like cotton candy.

Oh yeah, Peter remembers in the sluggishly functioning portions of his mind. Some spiders are venomous.

Miguel pulls away, and Peter can feel the slow, careful slide as he removes his fangs. Eyes heavy, Peter struggles to focus his vision on Miguel's face. He's glad of the effort, though; above him, Miguel is only inches away, mouth slack, fangs exposed. Blood the same color as his eyes is slicked on his lips and the enamel of his teeth.

He looks as desperate as Peter feels.

"Feels good," Peter slurs, tongue clumsy. He moves one hand from Miguel's shoulder to his head, and strokes his silky hair. "Neurotoxin?"

Miguel's tongue runs over his bottom lip, the pink of it faint against the vivid red of Peter's blood, before clarifying, "Acetylcholine overstimulation. Non-fatal. And in people with enhanced metabolisms..."

No wonder Peter feels floaty. He's high.

"Wow." Peter giggles, moving his hand away from Miguel's thick hair to his face. The pads of his fingers ghost over the planes and angles of Miguel's dramatic features. "No wonder you didn't want to bite me."

Miguel nips Peter's thumb again. This time, however, instead of letting go, he sucks the finger further into his mouth to ease the sting, his tongue hot and wet against Peter's skin. The sight of Miguel's lashes fluttering against his hollowed out cheeks makes Peter groan and yank his hand away from Miguel's mouth.

"Again," Peter demands.

There is no hesitation this time. Miguel grabs Peter's jaw with one hand and forcefully exposes the other side of his throat. His fangs are agony as they slice into Peter's flesh, dragging Peter's brain away from heady arousal, making Peter sob with the contrast. Then, when the neurotoxin floods in, he sobs again at the relief.

"Fuh-uck," Peter whines, fingers clutching, body trembling. His head is a swimming mess, a jumbled vertigo of sensation, and he can feel the involuntary slip of tears down his cheeks. He's always been a bit of a masochist, but this exceeds every experience he's previously had on a logarithmic scale. "Again, again, again—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Miguel asks, panting. The hand holding Peter's jaw tightens painfully, talons threatening to break skin. Miguel's face is vaguely blurry as he lifts his head from Peter's throat; Peter's blood is shiny and dark against his mouth, and some of it is smeared back against his jaw. His eyes are wild and bright, and his hair has fallen forward, sticking to his forehead. He looks feral. Lost. It's an understandable response. This whole thing has spiraled uncontrollably in under five minutes—but instead of becoming afraid, Peter only feels the rush of anticipation.

"I only shut up when someone makes me shut up," Peter answers happily, the words partially smushed by how Miguel is holding his face. Thankfully, Miguel's vice-like grip does not restrict the movement of Peter's eyebrows, which he wiggles as suggestively as he can. "Wanna make me?"

"Bendito Dios," Miguel curses. "Si quiero."

It feels surreal to be slowly undressed. Miguel could rip Peter's suit from his body like it were paper if he wanted—Peter's seen how precise and powerful his talons can be—but instead, Miguel peels the red and blue spandex away meticulously, hands and eyes greedy for every new inch of exposed skin. He drags his teeth over various odd spots: the curve of Peter's bicep into his inner elbow, the firm roundness of Peter's belly, the tightness of his calves. Miguel's human teeth do little, too blunt-edged to be dangerous, while his fangs leave thin red lines in their wake. The venom can't do much at such a small dosage and, by the time Peter's naked on the floor, his enhanced metabolism and similar genetic make-up have washed away a majority of the effects. In its wake he can feel the beginnings of a headache and the hot trickle of blood pooling in the hollows of his throat.

"Yeah, okay," Peter says as he touches his sore neck. "This is uhh... really doing it for me. Wowza."

Miguel's eyes are riveted as Peter pulls his hand away, the fingertips wet. The fresh smears of blood are desaturated to black in the dim light. Peter brings a tentative finger to his mouth and licks it clean, the sharp taste of iron hitting the back of his throat. Miguel's expression is blank as he watches, but his nostrils are flared and his chest is rising and falling noticeably.

Enhanced senses, Peter thinks as he releases his finger with a pop. Miguel can probably smell it as clearly as Peter tastes it. Aloud, he says, "See something you like, big guy?"

"Unfortunately," Miguel rumbles. But he's reaching behind himself, to the zipper of his own suit at the nape of his neck, and yanking it down, down, down. Peter wants to say that he does more than stare like a slack-jawed idiot as Miguel shoves the suit down to mid-thigh, but…

Miguel is a good-looking individual. A great-looking individual, some might say. He's heavy with muscle, especially in his chest and arms, and his eight-pack looks like it was photoshopped. A thatch of dark hair begins between his pectorals and slips down his belly in a line, then spreads out again. For a moment, his dick is hidden by a sleek black jockstrap—but Miguel rips the offending cloth and cup away, letting his cock escape its confines. The faint sound of relief Miguel makes is one of the hottest noises Peter has ever heard in his entire life.

"Shit," Peter curses as he stares at Miguel's cock. It's proportional to the rest of him, so fat and long that gravity pulls on it even when fully erect. "Holy fucking shit. How did you even get that thing inside the cup?"

"Practice," Miguel answers.

"Was that—was that a joke? Oh my god. You just made a joke. About your dick. I feel like I need to immortalize this moment somehow, but I also just really want you in me? And now I'm wondering if I prepped enough. Like, I knew you'd be big, but there's big and then there's whatever you got going on—"

"Prepped?" Miguel interrupts, eyes slipping down.

"I'm an optimistic guy."

"Show me," Miguel demands.

Shameless—and a little more than turned on—Peter shifts more of his weight to his shoulders, hooks his hands behind his knees, and pulls his thighs back. He might be closer to forty than thirty, but his flexibility will never wane; one of the unexpected perks of being Spiderman, Peter supposes.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who keeps lube in the lab," Peter says conversationally as Miguel reaches out and places his hands on Peter's ass. His palms are hot and a little clammy. "It was a super weird walk through HQ hoping the lube didn't leak out too much, not gonna lie. But there's no way I could have carried any in without ruining the lines of the suit and—ahh—shit—"

Miguel has pressed a thumb all the way into Peter, the slick lube and Peter's arousal making easy work of it. Peter's head thunks back onto the floor.

"Wet," Miguel murmurs.

"Uh huh." Peter can't even make fun of him for stating the obvious. He's overwhelmed by the knowledge that Miguel is actually inside him. Peter's thought about this for months. "That's uh—oh god."

Miguel pulls his thumb out and replaces them with two fingers. Again, it's easy work. Miguel looks up from where he’s pushed into Peter's body and arches one perfect eyebrow.

"Really optimistic," Peter amends.

Three fingers brings a faint burn, but Peter quickly adjusts. It helps that Miguel slides his fingers in and out slowly—firmly—nailing Peter's prostate with a maddeningly perfect amount of pressure every time. Peter's dick begins to drool pre-come as Miguel milks him, little pearls that bead up on his cockhead before rolling down the shaft. It's so good that—if Peter wants this to last long enough to get Miguel's cock in him—it needs to stop soon; so Peter lets go of his legs, ankles falling onto Miguel's shoulders, and Miguel's rhythm falters.

"Come on," Peter says, wriggling further into Miguel's lap. Miguel lifts both hands and holds Peter's legs in place, thumbs pressing into the thin skin behind his knees. "Put your cock in me already."

"You're not ready," Miguel tells him. He turns his head and scrapes his teeth over Peter's bony patella. "You're still tight."

"The fuck I am," Peter retorts even though Miguel is right. Peter knows from experience that his earlier prep and some finger-fucking isn't going to make him loose enough to take Miguel's cock easily, but Peter doesn't want it easy.

"It will hurt," Miguel warns.

"If you think pain is a deterrent for me, you really haven't been paying attention." Peter watches as Miguel's mouth drifts further along his leg, to the soft line of his inner thigh. "In fact, pain's kind of a motivating factor."

"Mmm," Miguel hums. His nose is pressed to Peter's skin and he inhales, so deeply Peter can feel the expansion of his ribcage. "I've noticed."

Miguel sinks his fangs into Peter's thigh. It hurts—fuck, it hurts—and Peter cries out, a wordless noise that echoes throughout the lab. Miguel's venom kicks in as the pain reaches a crescendo. Since the injection site is further away from Peter’s brain, it is less of a head-rush and more of a honeyed warmth spreading through his whole body. Their position means Peter also gets to watch the way his blood wells up against Miguel's mouth; the way Miguel works his jaw as he pulls away; the way Miguel uses the broad of his tongue to lick the puncture marks clean.

"Fuck, that is so hot," Peter murmurs. "Miguel—"

Miguel keeps Peter pinned in place as he reaches between them and guides himself towards Peter's entrance, pushing into him as the neurotoxin lingers. It dulls the worst of the stretch. Under normal circumstances, Peter would protest—he wants to struggle—to be overwhelmed—to have all his focus cut down to the act of being penetrated—but this time, he cannot form a single complaint. Miguel is bullying his cock into Peter's body, inch by painstaking inch, and his face—his eyes—

Peter cannot even blink as Miguel's expression transforms. The deep lines around his mouth soften. His jaw loosens, hanging open as he pants. His eyebrows unfurrow. His red eyes are fixed to the decreasing space between their bodies, glassy and awed.

He looks… devastated.

Earlier, when Peter had joked about how long it's been since Miguel got laid, he hadn't meant it seriously. Hadn't actually thought about it that much. But now, as Miguel makes it all the way inside Peter's body—as Miguel releases a low whine at how good it feels—Peter wonders when Miguel last let himself be vulnerable. Let someone else care for him.

Too long, Peter thinks as he reaches up to stroke the crest of Miguel's cheekbone. Miguel's gaze flickers to Peter's face and the ache in Peter's chest intensifies. He knows all too well what it's like to be lonely.

"Good?" Peter asks gently.

Miguel nods almost imperceptibly.

"Good." Peter shifts. The pressure of Miguel's cock is still distant, just out of reach, but Peter knows he'll feel it soon, when the venom in his body starts to degrade. "I'm good too. So." Peter lets his hand fall from Miguel's cheek and settles more firmly into Miguel's hold: calves hooked over Miguel's shoulders, thighs pressed to Miguel's torso, back against the cold lab floor. "Take what you need."

Miguel's hips rock slightly. For all of his aggressive posturing—for his insistence that he can do nothing but cause hurt and be cruel—he does not immediately begin to use Peter's body the way Peter expects. Instead, his hands settle on Peter's sides where his rib cage narrows, and he grinds his cock in as deep as possible. The pressure is unrelenting. Peter can feel it shift inside him and he groans, his own hands shackling Miguel's wrists.

"Fuck that's good," Peter gasps. Miguel pulls back a few inches, then slides back in. It isn't a fast motion, but it is inexorable; Miguel's cock pushes in until he is once again fully seated, forcing Peter's body to accommodate all of him. "Fuck."

Miguel does it again, and again, and again. Each time, he pulls out a little bit more; pushes in a little bit harder; goes a little bit faster. With each thrust, he puts more of his weight onto Peter's legs, forcing Peter's knees closer and closer to his ears and—by the time they are well and truly fucking—Miguel's face is inches from Peter's own, and Peter's knees are knocking against his ears. Sweat beads on Miguel's forehead and his face is contorted as though in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Come on, big guy," Peter goads. He knows Miguel is close by the violent way his pelvis slams into the backs of Peter's thighs, by the fine tremble in his forearms, and Peter wants Miguel to finish inside him so so so badly. "Come on, come on, come on—"

"Shut. Up. " Miguel snaps as he fucks Peter harder. "Why—do—you—never—shut—up—"

"Is that—ungh—rhetorical?" Peter would laugh if he wasn't getting rawed to within an inch of his life. As it is, the breathy sound that escapes him sounds more like a sob. "Or do you really—want me—to answer?"

Miguel snarls, an intense animal noise, and shoves a hand sloppily over Peter's mouth. At the same time, Peter's neglected dick rubs against Miguel's stomach and Miguel's cock rams into Peter's prostate. The trifecta of sensations should not be enough to send Peter over the edge—but Miguel's glittering, predatory eyes have opened in his irritation, and Peter has always been a sucker for pretty people with prettier eyes. He comes with a gasp against Miguel's palm, the muffled sound inaudible over the electric hum of the lab and the harsh, wet noises of Miguel continuing to fuck him.

"¿Terminado?" Miguel asks. Peter doesn't know if Miguel is referring to the orgasm that short-circuited his nerves or being a smartass, but either way, Peter nods dumbly.

Miguel does not reply. He simply removes his hand from Peter's mouth to fist in Peter's hair, pulling the strands to the point of pain, and uses Peter's body the way Peter thought he would from the beginning. The lax numbness Peter feels is swiftly replaced by a building sense of too much—but before the overstimulation can make Peter genuinely uncomfortable, Miguel comes. The grunt he makes in Peter's ear is masculine and satisfied.

For a moment, quiet. Peter closes his eyes and presses his temple to Miguel's, hands skittering down the muscled plane of Miguel's back. The weight of him and the stretch of his still-hard cock are a comfort to Peter, even if the cold, hard lab floor against Peter's back is not.

Next time, we do it in a bed, Peter thinks. My spine will thank me.

As the intensity fades, Miguel unbends to catch his breath. He rolls his massive shoulders and cracks his neck, pushing his dark hair back from his flushed face. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes him glow faintly in the light. When he looks down at Peter, his long lashes shade his eyes, muting the normally vivid red of his irises.

"That good, huh?" Peter smirks, unable to help himself.

"And we're back to the talking," Miguel mutters.

"Hey, you should be proud of yourself. Ten seconds of silence is a record for me."

Miguel rolls his eyes—then pulls out of Peter without warning, making Peter hiss.

"Rude," Peter groans, his ass clenching around nothing. He can feel the vague slip of wetness against his skin as Miguel's come immediately starts to leak out; normally, Peter wouldn't care about the mess, but normally, Peter doesn't have to put his suit back on and risk squelching all the way back to his dimension in front of hundreds of his coworkers. Half of whom are copy and pasted versions of himself. Each and every one of them will know exactly what happened the moment they spot him, waddling to a designated travel port.

I did not think this through, Peter thinks.

"Lyla," Miguel calls to his AI. Peter scrambles to cover his softening junk, but the AI does not appear. Not that it matters. It isn't like her consciousness is tied to her projected form; she's there as long as the computers are there.

Which has been the whole time.

I really, really did not think this through, Peter mentally bemoans.

"Yes boss?" Lyla replies, sounding equal parts amused and smug.

"Scrub the last twenty minutes from the security feed," Miguel says. His face has settled back into impassivity and his voice is level, if not particularly loud. "And give Peter Parker from 616-B clearance to my personal quarters."

Peter's ears perk up—Miguel has personal quarters?—as Lyla says, "Done. Need anything else?"

"No."

"Alrighty, boss. Peter." Lyla's tiny, holographic form doesn't have to be present for Peter to know that she's winking. "Have a good evening!"

The bubbly sign-off isn't comforting, but Peter's lived through some terribly mortifying experiences; being unintentionally naked only consists of a small portion of those incidents, so he forces the squirming feeling of embarrassment out of the way. He'd much rather focus on the fact that Miguel has personal quarters. Personal quarters that he gave Peter access to. Personal quarters that might have a bed (if the rumors about Miguel sleeping on a web are untrue).

"So." Peter says faux innocently as Miguel gently removes Peter's legs from his shoulders. Peter then carefully props himself up on his elbows. "Is this your way of telling me that you're ready for round two?"

"It's my way of telling you that you need to shower," Miguel corrects, motioning between them with one clawed hand. "As for this—"

"One time deal?" Peter interjects with a grin.

"Yes." Miguel frowns. "This will not happen again."

Peter's grin simply gets bigger. Miguel always says what he means—except, of course, when what he thinks he means and what he actually wants are two different things. So while Miguel says they aren't going to have sex again, Peter knows that the words are flimsy veneer. Peter figures that Miguel won't be too mad when he calls bullshit; Peter's already planning on luring him into the shower for Round Two, then webbing him to the bed and riding him for Round Three. And since the small bite wounds from Miguel's fangs are already beginning to heal over and scab, Peter's going to try instigating more of the same, maybe this time high on the insides of his thighs, where the nerve endings are denser.

"Sure thing, big guy," Peter says, sitting up and placing his hands back on Miguel's body. Miguel leans into the touch subtly. "One thing though. All that frankly fantastic fornication has left me weak-kneed. Like, seriously. Jelly legs. If you want me going anywhere in the next ten minutes, you're gonna have to carry me."

Miguel's scowl deepens. For a moment, Peter thinks he might be pushing it too far— but then Miguel grabs Peter's crumpled suit, shoves it into Peter's face, and gets to his feet. As he stands, he also hooks one arm under Peter's knees and wraps the other around Peter's chest, scooping Peter up bridal-style. Peter laughs, surprised and delighted, and throws his arms around Miguel's strong neck.

"Gonna carry me across the threshold?" Peter teases.

"I will drop you," Miguel warns with a snarl. This close, Peter can see that the tips of his ears are red, and he presses a fond kiss to the shell of it. "Peter—"

But when Miguel doesn't drop him, Peter counts it as a win.

.

[felikatze]

I forgot did I ever ask for chrom facts? I remember asking for Roy and Marth facts. Anyways If I already have then tell me facts for a character of your choosing

This one is surprisingly more difficult as i've made so much unhinged Chrom content that i need to remember what is blatantly my five layers of headcanons and what isnt. uhm.

Chrom's base Falchion (legendary sword passed down for generations) has the same might as an iron sword. It's an unbreakable iron sword.

Despite Robin being the literal self insert, Chrom is the only character force-deployed on every map, and the only character with convoy access

Chrom (and male Robin) is the only dad in awakening to have a child associated with him. All other kids are associated with the mother instead.

Chrom is very clumsy. When he was a kid, he smashed a wall while training, and it never got fixed, so he and Lissa presumably covered the incident up by moving shrubbery over the hole.

This smashed wall is a legitimate plot point as it allows Lucina to inflitrate Ylisstol Castle and stop Chrom from being permanently wounded by an assassin

Speaking of Lucina, he really like. Post timeskip he's like, 25 MAX, and father of an Infant, so when a like, 18yr old girl shows up and says he's her dad. He's just like. Ok. My daughter now. Truly dad of the year. All his shortcomings as a father are External Circumstances he had no influence over ok

Literally all Chrom seasonal units are so mad to be seasonal units. Chrom hates wearing anything besides his stupid onesie. My respect tbh. I get it.

I'm a firm believer he has resting bitch face. The Autism Stare

I fear if i say more I'm going to get into deranged headcanon territory. I've written enough fanfic abt him tbh.

My fav thing abt his characterization is that he sees himself as a tool of violence yet deeply admires pacifism. It's like. He loves peace in theory. When its personified by his sister. But he just. doesn't know how to put it into practice.

This is especially notable in his first meeting with Gangrel, where Gangrel has a hostage and is demanding Emmeryn negotiate. And Chrom just immediately gets aggressive amd escalates the situation into a fight. Yeah sure he was being goaded, but the guy has a surprisingly short temper!

It's a very inch resting dualism and I am a total sucker for everytime fanworks do more with that than the game does. Bcuz most FE protags. Love peace obviously. But they see violence as the means to the end, they still see themselves as holier than thou, whereas Chrom really doesn't. Death is death. Gives him flavor.

It's blatantly obvious in his behavior and skills that he was NOT meant to be the leader. Most FE protags had their parents die to become king, but he had his SISTER die. He would've been behind any of HER heirs (if she had any) in the line of succession and probably only ran a militia because he never expected to be king at all. He can't negotiate for shit on a political level, only convince people on a personal one. He's very blunt and honest (...autism swag...), and not cut out for intrigue, as well as easily manipulated.

For real he would he fucked without Robin.

Can you tell I love him and think about him a normal amount. Chrom my wife

[lyledebeast]

Dogs, Cats, and Colonels

It seems my recent essays have focused disproportionally on dogs. There is some reason for this. Not only do Cornwallis's dogs play an important role in some pivotal scenes, but many dog and master metaphors spring to mind when describing his relationship with Tavington. Cornwallis muzzles him, brings him to heel, keeps him on a short leash. The same is true of the prisoner exchange scene where Martin "makes [Cornwallis] his bitch." Martin seems to see Tavington as another of Cornwallis's dogs. He takes Cornwallis to task for Tavington's actions, which is either ironic given Martin's failure to restrain his men from committing atrocities while he is present or projection. Martin allows his men to kill surrendering British soldiers because he doesn't care--until his son catches him, of course--so Cornwallis must be allowing Tavington to attack civilians because he doesn't care. In this instance, Martin is ignorant of what the audience knows about Cornwallis's warning to Tavington, but his ignorance goes beyond that.

Martin underestimates Tavington because he is bringing dog-knowledge to a cat-fight.

Tavington is about as cat-like as it is possible for a human to be. He is curious about his surroundings like a cat; the deleted scene where he catches a firefly is lacking only in butt-wiggles before he springs. He is agile like a cat, only mildly injured from a violent throw from his horse. He grooms himself fastidiously. He looks at Cornwallis's decanter of claret like he's considering slapping the whole thing off the counter before he pours a glass. The only cat behavior he does not engage in is sleeping for long swaths of the day, but given how energetic he is, I have to assume he spends every moment off screen laying flat out somewhere snoozing. Beyond these fun but superficial considerations, two qualities in particular make Tavington incomprehensible to dog-owners Cornwallis and Martin: his ungovernability and his patience.

General O'Hara sees the first quality in Tavington long before anyone else; here is a man who understands cats. "It appears Colonel Tavington prefers to follow his own commands," he observes to Cornwallis, who is deriding Tavington for charging into battle early. Later, when Tavington attempts to attack Martin unprovoked, O'Hara scruffs him like a mother cat whose kitten has gotten out of line: "Stay that sword, Colonel!" In the first scene, Cornwallis seems to think he can control Tavington through shame, that being embarrassed in front of his fellow officers will produce more compliant behavior. But as we see when Tavington approaches Martin shouting about having killed his "stupid little boy," this is not a man who interested in blending in with his pack. He is seeking the quickest, most energy-conserving solution to this problem for himself.

Tavington even fights like a cat. Unlike canines that work in groups to tire large prey animals out and then pull them down for the kill, most big cats stalk their prey from hidden positions and wait for a careless animal to get too close. When it does, it is dispatched in a sudden burst of violence. Tavington makes use of most of these strategies (with the exception of camouflage because those feathered helmets do pop. Horses also, very eye-catching.). His most effective strategy, though, is waiting for Martin to make a mistake. Negotiating the prisoner exchange himself is the first mistake, the beginning of a series as it turns out. Tavington's aggressive strikes against civilians succeed in disbanding the militia at a crucial moment. Martin gives his men a week's furlough to "protect" their families, and they return days before the battle. Where were the dragoons during all that time? My guess is they were helping the army mobilize, escorting supply wagons that arrived at their destinations because there was no militia to stop them. Considering this outcome, and that many of the prisoners Martin got released die in the attack Gabriel leads against the dragoons, if the prisoner exchange results in anyone's triumph, it is Tavington's. Indeed, it is when Tavington is not patient, when he charges without waiting for his master's order, that he gets himself into trouble.

Something tells me that Benjamin Martin is one of those men who hates cats and misattributes all kinds of malice to them for no reason than they're not as biddable as dogs. He sees himself as minding his own business, with his civilian-run, freedman-staffed bipartisan hospital when these dragoons come along and attack unprovoked. What else could he have done? Considering what he did do, it's hard to fault Tavington's intuition. Generally when a cat bites or scratches a person, it is because they are bored--you did not provide it with your idea of acceptable prey, so it has chosen for itself, and it has chosen you--or you are doing something the cat doesn't like. Given that he has just killed a mountain of bluebirds in the battle, I don't think Tavington is bored. I think he's ready for a nap. Instead, he has to deal with a civilian who has flagrantly enlisted his whole household in helping the enemy. Every British soldier on hand sees them, but Lieutenant Emoji Face is willing to let it slide because Martin is also caring for British soldiers. Nice pupper. Martin decides, like an idiot, that the lieutenant's response is the only possible one, setting up an ongoing assumption that civilians can participate in the war effort however they choose with impunity. When that goes badly for them, they are so Affronted, so Innocent, so Wronged . . . almost on par with dog people who find themselves on the receiving end of a cat's teeth or claws.