#but every aspect that comes with it…… woof

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

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Masterlist

[tokiwarcube]

charles lovers we have found a shepherd.... charles nsfw hcs? 🙏

OMG.... truly, this is the highest honor. I will serve to the best of my ability o7 Below the cut! <3

Charles… oh boy, where do I even start with him?

He’s a very flexible man in most aspects of his life — it comes with the territory, really. As such, he can come off pretty vanilla… at first. But after a discussion of wants and needs, boundaries and limits? He’s actually a bit of a freak, in the best way.

He’s a pretty firm soft Dom — prefers to top, but he can negotiate a bit on both subjects.

He gets a kick out of seeing you down on your knees for him, waiting, wanting, needy. Running his fingers along your jawline, grasping your chin between his middle and index to coax you into looking up at him. The reverence and wanting in your eyes in quite the boost to his ego, as is the needy whine that crawls from your throat as he taps the head of his cock against your tongue. Yeah, keeping you under his desk is one of his biggest fantasies. Whether or not he’ll actually ever do it is a toss-up — you might be okay with it, but as much as he loves the adrenaline rush of potentially getting caught… that risk is significantly higher, with the life that you two lead in Mordhaus.

On that note, he does very much enjoy a bit of exhibitionism. Pinning you against the wall, hand down your pants with his other against your mouth… Woof.

Loves giving head — As much as he loves to tease, there’s nothing he loves more than making you fall apart, and giving head is a front-row ticket to the event. He eats up every twitch and whine, and he can’t help the twitch of his dick when you tug on his hair. And he’ll chastise you for bucking your hips, sure, but that’s only because he likes seeing you struggle to follow the rules — secretly, he loves the feeling. He could stay between your legs for hours, if you’d let him.

This being said, any position where he can see your face is a must — missionary and cowgirl are probably his favorites, although he isn’t opposed to a bit of mirror sex in doggy.

He loves having you in his lap, and you can bet that if he’s pulled you into his lap in his office after hours, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have his hand between your legs. He loves the way you cling to him, hips rocking against his own as he pulls you apart little by little.

Morning sex is a fairly frequent thing with Charles — it’s one of the few times you’re truly alone, which certainly plays a role, but also? He just loves the haziness that comes with that slow, just waking sex. It’s like falling in love all over again, to him. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love that sweet look in his eyes, mussed hair and all.

The closer he gets to orgasm, the more he loses his composure. He prides himself on being put-together, but slowly his words devolve more into pants, then throaty groans, and then straight back to hoarse swears as he gets closer, and closer, and —

Completely looses his composure when he cums — voice pitching higher with a strained “Oh God,” his orgasms completely wipe his brain of any coherent thought. Eyes rolled back and redfaced, its a sight you never get tired of seeing.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Ok so since the door has been opened...any body worship hcs with Gotham Penguin (giving and receiving)? 👀

Body Worship HCS - Gotham Penguin x Reader

eyyyy, kind of mentioned some similar aspects here, let's love on this man!

TW: NSFW, Body worship, restraint

Giving:

If you're in a relationship, it's likely you put up with a ton of shit. He wants, no NEEDS, to make sure you know how much he appreciates you on the whole. While it's not that he wouldn't give body worship without being in a relationship, he's going to feel more comfortable with it like that.

Generally, his worship can get a little rougher. Grabbing, pulling, even nipping or biting. You're just so irresistible to him he can't get you close to him fast enough. He'll tell you just as much, as his teeth mark you, that he could just eat you alive. Your looks, the way you gasp, your smell- How fortunate for you that he has self control.

He could get almost mean if he does go slow. Kissing, running his hands over your skin. Soft, save for a couple calluses from guns and old scars. Teeth and tongue over your chest. He'll memorize every curve and ridge that makes you shiver. While he won't make you beg, he'll get you close to wanting to. He's just showing his love and devotion. He won't make you work for this.

Oh how he loves to have you displayed for him. If you can't manage not to cover yourself up, well, ties are good for that. He'll tell you how much he'd love to come home to this sight some days. It'd be like having a private art collection. Perhaps a fluffy little robe and a 15 minute warning before he gets home will have to do...

I have said it before but it bears repeating: He WILL cum if you let him between your legs and you praise him. Something about the intimacy of oral, servicing you but getting compliments while he does it. You're just so beautiful like this. The sweetness of you on his tongue is blissful. This one is kind of both giving/receiving, let me cheat.

Receiving:

The king of Gotham. Even at his lowest points, when he was scrounging from the very bottom- he knew he'd get here someday. He's always expected a rather... royal treatment to go along with that ego from partners even back then. Now that he's a top dog? Woof woof.

Get on your knees and kiss the ring, love. He'll put his fingers directly in your mouth and tell you to suck. Open wide. Don't you want to give him a proper little preview of what you can do? There's a sort of fascination there, seeing just how far he can push you into that submissive state.

It's a ton of bark, honestly. He's so damn cocky at first because it gives him that sensation of power he loves to display. It's when you kiss his neck and tell him how much you love his face and nose and eyes- that he starts to falter. His hands get shaky over your hips and he audibly gulps. His kisses go from demanding to desperate.

Truthfully, while he knows he's cute, he cannot deny being constantly mocked about certain traits hasn't taken a chunk into his self-esteem. Genuinely complimenting his looks, face or body, will get him hot in a hurry. The only thing he'll ask is that you save it only for private moments because he can't afford to get flustered in front of powerful parties.

The right strokes of your hand or a needy little hole while telling him how good he feels? The look in his eyes is nothing short of love sick. His grip gets a little too tight and he's trying to kiss you with tongue so you can taste every moan he has to give. Please, please let him make you feel good, he wants to make you feel good-

If you start to tease or hold back, he'll flush and get irritated. Excuse you, did you have your focus somewhere else? You were telling him how much you loved his cock inside of you, hm? You should be getting back to that before he has to take over this little scene. Maybe that's your thing. But how could you want to deny him those sweet, vulnerable moments?

[fantasticalleigh]

season 3 part one thoughts:

ok ok i did finish B S3 pt. I and it's GOOD and i was really happy with it but now that my pulse has gone back to normal i'm realizing i have a lot of nitpicks/concerns with the storytelling but ngl the carriage scene was fucking BONKERS and my mind will be in the gutter for the rest of the weekend

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW!!! bc i have a ton of thoughts on season 3 so far and have to get them out:

THOUGHTS:::::

-i could not stop smiling. my face hurts still.

-i don't get people whining about colin and the threesome. when the brothel threesome scene was leaked people were losing their goddamn minds about colin not being a virgin on reddit. y'all. he spent a LONG time traveling solo around europe--did you really expect him not to experiment the entire time? the fixation on this was kinda weird i gotta say. also i really liked that in the second brothel instance it served as growth to show colin was realizing it wasn't those women he wanted to have sex with, but penelope.

it seems every bridgerton lad needs a whoring about subplot in their respective season and colin was obviously going to get one if his elder brothers did, so i wasn't surprised at all. i thought the scenes were hot, personally. overconfident and super flirty col galavanting everywhere suddenly being reduced to a pining, thirsty af insecure boy was so gratifying to watch and those scenes had a hand in showing us that.

-i hate portia's costumes this season. hate. hate. hate. she looks like she was ripped right out of DIsney's Descendants set from the costume rejects pile. woof. she was stunning in s1 but s2 were her best looks and now she looks awful. why???

-i think the mondriches are ok and i like them but their story did not need expanding here. i'm happy for them but that storyline was boring and time taken away from more important characters. i know this sounds harsh but this season was already packed with storylines. across these four episodes there was a severe lack of Lady Danbury. one of my favorite aspects of Romancing Mr. Bridgerton was her friendship/mentorship with Penelope. that instantly made her one of my favorite characters. why not keep that in the show??? i'm so disappointed but with part 2 yet unreleased maybe it will still come?

-speaking of lady danbury, something about the way her brother is presented and how she treats him makes me worry for Violet, that he might disappoint her later. idk it's just a vibe i get.

-Luke's acting is fucking incredible. all the microexpressions and the lingering stares and subtle movements. nicola is a great actor in her own right but fucking hell, every time Luke teared up on screen I was mirroring him.

the carriage scene, when he's on his knees in front of Pen and she cups the side of his head and his eyes do THAT thing and the look he gives her? i rewatched that two second bit on repeat for a minute. amazing. (that's exactly the kind of devotion i picture when I wrote dark Dramione in TEOAL towards the end)

-we get it, benedict is a slut. he fucks. i'm over it. i'm not interested in who he's fucking. i know the consensus is Lady Tilley will somehow tie in to Sophie but i just do not care about Benedict rn. he is pulling focus.

-hyacinth's actress is so stunning! all the actors are obvs but every time i look at her i see Brooke Shields. anyone else?

-i had higher hopes for Lord Debling. genuinely kind of disappointed. he's boring and feels fickle. also the abruptness of him going 'i need a wife to tend to my estate so i can go travel for 3 years so be warned that i can't love you' to 'you have feelings for another man? i'm done-zo.' like what. you just said you can't love her and will never be at home with her but it's a fucking problem that she likes someone else? even though she's is clearly willing to get over it by marrying you??? bro. bro.

-hate what they did with Colin's hair for most of his scenes. why flatten it all out and take out the adorable curls he had in the first episode????????????????? episode one hairstyle was god-tier. everything after that makes him look like he's wearing a bad and stiff wig. still hot tho. also on the hair note: please stop giving eloise bangs. please.

-people on reddit were near to rioting when they learned Kanthony was only in the first ep due to leaks. i was bummed but ultimately don't mind it. did we deserve to see more of them thanks to how badly s2 was handled?? absolutely. but if it's only sex scenes bc they're now trying for babies then i'm good for now. also glad that edwina and mary don't come back bc ngl they pissed me tf off in s2 thanks to how badly they were written. plus like i said, this season has FAR too many subplots to keep them in. the writers really should have trimmed things down. violet meeting Lady D's brother was also not necessary imo.

-i went from loathing cressida to actively sympathizing and rooting for her to snatch up debling in the latter half. well done, writers.

-all the featherington scenes were gold. pru and phillipa are incredible when in scenes together and i'm so glad we got more of that. albion finch is a treasure, too. i really think they should have spent more time on penelope and her mother's relationship bc it's a big part of the book with how portia assigned pen to be her caretaker for when she got old and that being pen's burden/reason to want to bug out and marry rather than stay with her abusive mother, not her sisters' heirs taking charge of the house. they leaned too much into the comedy with the featheringtons and forgot to remind us why penelope is so miserable at home too--the problem stems from her mother, too, not only her sisters. we got two tiny clips of that and that was it. not enough to really establish that. the featheringtons are funny yes but they are not good people (sans Pen). Portia is neglectful and rude and dismissive toward Pen and there is not enough of that so far.

-i haven't read fran's book yet so had no idea what to expect and thought i'd be bored. she is adorable and i'm rooting for her. i like john better than the other guy. but i'm not that invested in her plot. i have no true emotional attachment to her. she needed her own season or to be pushed back to s4.

-still don't like eloise but i'm warming to her. a third season straight of her being condescending to almost everyone outside of her family/friends does nothing to endear her to me. she still blames Whistledown for "ruining" her when she ruined herself by ignoring everyone's warnings and running around town doing socially unacceptable things. she still has a right to be upset with Whistledown/Pen but she needs to take accountability for her own shit. but her understanding and patience with cressida was really surprising and i liked that a lot so far. i can see why people are shipping them now!

-HOW HAVE PENELOPE AND COLIN NOT EVEN DANCED ONCE YET WHAT THE FUCK jk i'm sure we'll obvs get that in part 2 but i'm so accustomed to them having a dance in one of the first few episodes that this truly threw me.

-colin's wet dream. loved it. ngl i was fully expecting a masturbation scene in his bed and not only bc i wrote one into my fic lmao

-i fucking called it from the start that the first kiss would be in the featherington garden based off that screengrab. everything about it screamed romeo+juliet. that was my favorite scene so far it was so beautifully shot and the way he goes for the lightest kiss at first and then hesitates and then GOES BACK FOR MORE???? when he realizes he's super into it???? i collapsed. i fucking squee'd like it was 2003.

-i've been complaining on reddit that the makeup in the promos was fucking awful and way too heavy. it comes across much lighter in the final product/show and i'm so relieved because i was truly worried about that. nicola is a stunning stunning woman and i can't help but admire her every time she is on screen and the awful makeup they put on her for those promos were overtaking her face.

-two major changes i truly appreciate (bc i'm normally very critical about shondaland's writing)

1: the journal scene. i loved that colin had pen hide in his study. i really wanted them to get caught there. i love that the journal fight wasn't as huge as it was in the book because the book made it go on for too long and colin was unreasonably mad about it. i'm so glad it was a minor thing here and that they still showed that colin was really pleased when pen praised his writing and he said he'd consider letting her read more and left it at that.

2: the carriage proposal. my biggest issue with the book bc colin was borderline abusive when he pulled her out of the carriage and made her fall. hated that so i'm glad here he was pleased and still mischievous and held out his hand for her and proposed and wasn't rude and impatient like he was in the book. also the carriage scene was hot as hell and i did not fucking expect colin to fucking finger her right then and there with the goddamned WINDOWS OPEN. tbh i was expecting boob action like in the book but that was a surprising change.

-pacing. too many storylines makes for a too-quickly paced episode. i feel like we were catapulted into everything and my head was spinning. this is a show that, because it insists on such a large fucking cast, would immensely benefit from a 12 or even 20 episode run rather than eight. but we know netflix is a cheap bitch so that will never happen and shows this dense suffer for it.

-music. i do not care about covers. i just don't. it makes no difference to me who is added to the soundtrack or the easter egg hunt of finding which song was used in which scene. the original scores made for the show are beautiful on their own and don't distract like the covers do and that's all i'll say.

-already seeing reviews online from people complaining polin have no chemistry??? idk what show they're watching but it ain't this one. this has been a slow slow buildup and if you can't feel their chemistry then idk what to tell you bc it is there. (and this is gonna be a hot take and unpopular opinion but personally out of all the main couples so far i found daphne and simon's chemistry to feel really forced and kind of cringey so take my opinion as you will but pen and colin have LEAGUES more chemistry as friends to lovers here)

BUT: one could also blame this on the awful pacing of these first four episodes so far. it really would have been nice to have more filler time of col and pen doing the flirting lessons since that was cut too short too soon.

phew--.

i will most definitely have more to say later on but these are my immediate thoughts and i had to get them all down . if you got this far down then bless you and thanks for listening and lmk your thoughts! i'm dying to talk about this.

[nockfellblues]

Alucard with a partner who is a werewolf <3

Hell yeahhh- ugh the way this prompt reached out and grabbed me by the throat?? I love this concept so muchhh

Just headcanons written with as xreader this time around, hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: none!

First meeting and early interactions are probably a lot of calling you “mutt,” “Dog,” “Whelp,” and “Mongrel.”

Absolutely will try to pick physical fights- Alucard lives for a worthy opponent and finds a good fight to be genuinely fun. Probably the best bonding experience you could have, tbh.

Definitely doesn’t accidentally start to track the moon phases for you. Completely coincidental that he is always available on the night of a full moon and the day after.

Loves your teeth! Alucard will straight up tell you they are cute- Maybe a little hot, too. Especially if you’re mad.

Really leans into playfully teasing about petting- but loves to actually pet your hair and head as a form of affectionate touch.

Also really leans into pet-play when it comes to *ahem* private time lmao Biting? He loves it. Draw blood? Even better. Claws out? Hell yeah, sink them into his back, please.

Definitely loves when you sit on the floor besides his chair and lean your head on his knee- He’ll gently run his fingers through your hair as you talk or just exist quietly together.

Always present when the moon is full and your transformation takes over. Helps you exorcise all of that pent-up energy and blood-lust- and whatever else you might need, of course. Tries his best to keep you out of trouble, but will let you run a little rampant if its entertaining.

Provides much-needed care the day after- a long lazy day of rest, good food and drink, and whatever words of comfort or affirmation you need to hear(albeit a lot less sugar-coated than you might want. He’s here for you loving every aspect of yourself including the ‘monsterous’ ones).

Loves being paired with you on assignments for the Hellsing organization- affectionally calls it “Play time,” and is an absolute menace about stealing kills and generally messing with you- Not in a way that jeopardizes the mission, but just enough to give it a playful edge; Alucard knows when to get serious and when there’s enough of a power imbalance to allow for some extra fun.

Affectionate nicknames include: “Love,” “My sweet,” “Moon-child,” “Beloved,” “My Moon.” Will revert to calling you things like “Whelp,” or “pup,” if you’re having words or you’re being a brat.

Definitely don’t let him hear someone else call you anything derogatory though. He’s quietly protective of you. More often than not he will simply loom in that menacing way he’s so good at until whoever opened their big mouth gets the hint and apologizes. Egregious affronts are usually met with threats and whatever small-time violence he can get away with(Integra might let him get away with more if you’re also on her good side. You probably are. She seems like a dog person lmao). If they’re an enemy, he’s more than willing to string them up and let you toy with them if you want, but they’re definitely going to die afterwards.

Woof, Alucard just makes my brain go to jellyyyy 😩🔥 Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for requesting ;u;✨💕

[powderblueblood]

the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile. 

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake. 

With his dick in his hand. 

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there. 

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town. 

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout. 

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe. 

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach. 

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called. 

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls. 

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.” 

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.” 

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap. 

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town. 

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.” 

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t. 

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad. 

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?” 

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?” 

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!” 

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout. 

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side. 

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand. 

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job. 

Brought him back wrong. 

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak. 

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia. 

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle? 

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown. 

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now. 

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate. 

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs. 

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch. 

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen. 

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?” 

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation. 

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world. 

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed. 

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

 “I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home. 

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking. 

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow. 

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift. 

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids. 

“If you survive ‘til then.” 

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck. 

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa. 

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny. 

Something to be proud of. 

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming. 

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring. 

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’ 

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary. 

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things. 

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it. 

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that. 

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses. 

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye. 

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town. 

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth. 

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there. 

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells. 

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles. 

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow. 

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–” 

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper. 

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses. 

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed. 

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life. 

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like. 

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them. 

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this. 

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen. 

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did. 

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already. 

Might as well die someplace tropical. 

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit. 

So, how dare he. 

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al. 

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness. 

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual. 

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking. 

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. 

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand. 

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face. 

“S’goin’ on with you?” 

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas. 

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages. 

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches. 

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky. 

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done. 

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch. 

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her. 

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.” 

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot. 

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer. 

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet. 

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of. 

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?” 

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. 

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike. 

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!” 

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–” 

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat. 

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!” 

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement. 

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up. 

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat. 

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al. 

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound. 

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes. 

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.” 

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.” 

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake. 

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball. 

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation. 

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party. 

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat. 

“Shut up, Al.” 

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.” 

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something. 

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out. 

“Ray.” 

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream. 

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared. 

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper. 

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him. 

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat. 

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.” 

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there. 

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction. 

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off. 

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back. 

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!” 

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.” 

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated. 

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business. 

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt. 

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same. 

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand. 

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs. 

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game. 

[yuenity]

what are your thoughts on tua s4?

Oh boy how long of an answer do you want baha 😭😭

The short answer is I generally enjoyed the season despite its many many flaws. The two major things that I hated with all my soul was Five and Lila’s whole thing (for so many reasons) and Klaus’ arc. Did I love the ending?… no, but I saw it coming. I can’t say I hated it, even if I would’ve liked to see them finally happy.

But if we really want to get into the nitty gritty of it… (Long, half-coherent ramblings below cut)

The show definitely felt… off this entire season. The characters didn’t really feel like their characters and they were always making decisions I didn’t see them making. But the first 4 episodes were generally fine. They still sort of felt like the umbrella academy. It was the last 2 episodes that stuck out as the worst. They felt rushed, and they kept putting in new information last minute (like all that shit with Abigail, woof).

I won’t talk all that much about Five and Lila cause I’ve already reblogged so much about it, and there’s nothing I have to say that others haven’t already expressed. The things that bother me the most about it is how it destroyed Five’s character and how unnecessary it was. Obviously I understand how Five and Lila would fall in love after 7 years of being stranded together. I mean… Five literally fell in love with a mannequin last time he was stranded. But at the end of the day, he would always choose his family. My man was literally stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years and STILL never gave up on finding them. He abandoned Dolores for them. He would not give up after 7 years because of Lila fucking Pitts, especially after all the trouble he’s already been through to save them. But the big thing is, NONE OF THIS HAD TO HAPPEN 😭 it literally didn’t affect the plot whatsoever, it just made Five and Diego hate each other in their last few minutes of existence. ALSO it literally sours every joke about Five and Lila from season 2 and 3. The whole reason they were funny before was because we thought the idea of them was ridiculous. We thought it would never happen. Ugh poor Diego, I felt so damn bad for him this season

Now Klaus… sigh. I spent the whole time thinking “there has to be a reason for this right? There has to be a reason he’s doing his own irrelevant thing on the side right? He probably knows some important information that the group doesn’t and that’s why” but noooo. It was just pointless. I missed him so much, but to just get that was 😭😭 also the fact that nobody fucking went after him?? Every time someone else tried to leave the group, they protested, but then they literally just let Klaus walk away. I. also the germaphobia… I already made a long ass post about that in February, it should be below this post if you wanna read that lols

the possession prostitution was uh… interesting. I can’t say it was out of character, especially when drugs are involved, but it is strange that there were no protests despite his last experience with possession. I haven’t thought a lot about that aspect though tbh

I wish we would’ve had more Ben and Klaus moments :(( I MISSED THEM SO MUCH it’s not even funny. That’s the thing I was looking forward to most, but alas 😔 we get a greeting and that’s it 😔 it feels like the show just forgot how important they were to each other. Obviously sparrow Ben is different from umbrella Ben, but Klaus was the only one to make an effort to connect with him last season. I thought they had gotten somewhere, but now they’re practically strangers. For the second time they didn’t get to say goodbye to each other. Sigh

don’t even get me started about the whole Durango thing. Look… I’ve always found it easy to put aside plot holes when it comes to this show. And I did for a lot of this season. But the fact that this particle is apparently so important to setting things right, and we get no explanation for how Jennifer has it is crazy. That seems like a pretty important thing to explain 😭😭 WHY WAS SHE IN A SQUID??

Also no dance sequence :(( no, Jean and Gene’s didn’t count

…

These are my main grievances, but there was also stuff I liked about the season

Like Jean and Gene!! They’re such classic tua antagonists, I love them.

And finding out Ben’s death!! 6 years of speculation and not ONCE did I think that’s how it was going to happen. I was happy to finally have answers, and holy shit was it shocking. Do I like that it was bc of the Marigold and Durango situation? No, but whatever. Small victories. One thing that I couldn’t help wondering though, was if Klaus knew what happened. Like surely he and Ben had to have spoken about it before? And I remember Klaus making a comment like “I know you didn’t ask to die violently at a young age” back in season 1, which was more than anyone else had ever said about it. Hm just thoughts

Also Luther’s entire character. Seems fitting that he would be my least favorite of the family in season 1 and my most favorite in season 4 lols. He was like the one characterization that didn’t get fucked. The way he kept bringing up Sloane and looking longingly at Diego’s family :(( the return of his stress eating 😭 I love that guy

I also really liked seeing all the characters at the end. The gasp I gusped when I saw the Swedes and the tears I cried when I saw Hazel and Agnes…

Anyway yeah

[vickyvicarious]

I was the attendant or page of Queequeg, while busy at the mat. As I kept passing and repassing the filling or woof of marline between the long yarns of the warp, using my own hand for the shuttle, and as Queequeg, standing sideways, ever and anon slid his heavy oaken sword between the threads, and idly looking off upon the water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn: I say so strange a dreaminess did there then reign all over the ship and all over the sea, only broken by the intermitting dull sound of the sword, that it seemed as if this were the Loom of Time, and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving and weaving away at the Fates. There lay the fixed threads of the warp subject to but one single, ever returning, unchanging vibration, and that vibration merely enough to admit of the crosswise interblending of other threads with its own. This warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I, with my own hand I ply my own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads. Meantime, Queequeg’s impulsive, indifferent sword, sometimes hitting the woof slantingly, or crookedly, or strongly, or weakly, as the case might be; and by this difference in the concluding blow producing a corresponding contrast in the final aspect of the completed fabric; this savage’s sword, thought I, which thus finally shapes and fashions both warp and woof; this easy, indifferent sword must be chance—aye, chance, free will, and necessity—nowise incompatible—all interweavingly working together. The straight warp of necessity, not to be swerved from its ultimate course—its every alternating vibration, indeed, only tending to that; free will still free to ply her shuttle between given threads; and chance, though restrained in its play within the right lines of necessity, and sideways in its motions directed by free will, though thus prescribed to by both, chance by turns rules either, and has the last featuring blow at events. Thus we were weaving and weaving away when I started at a sound so strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the ball of free will dropped from my hand, and I stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing.

So this passage is obviously referencing the Fates. The talk of fate while Ishmael and Queequeg are working on weaving the mat makes that pretty clear to me. I don't actually know enough about the process to definitively assign each of them a role though mostly they seem to be filling the role of Lachesis (measures thread/determines destiny). But of course it's not a direct comparison only, and the text itself is pretty clear about what metaphor is happening. Still, it's interesting to me that Ishmael is pretty firmly paired with unalterable destiny, while Queequeg is chance/free will/necessity, much more mutable stuff.

It just seems to echo and reinforce the sense of inevitability that has been building this whole time. Reminds me again of the script chapters and how that emphasized the status of "tragedy" in which the characters are trapped.

And yet, somewhat significantly perhaps, Queequeg is personified as separate from all of that here. He is free will itself, mere chance... It made me think back to the various ways Queequeg has had more agency so far, or at least less inevitability. He was looking for any new ship, and it was chance that Ishmael got put in his room at the inn, as well as that Ishmael suggested the Pequod to him. Ishmael was somewhat helpful in getting him a place on board, but once there he's more important. As an experienced whaler, he's definitely higher in the pecking order on the ship than Ishmael, and even in this scene Ishmael says he's acting as Queequeg's attendant or page. It's not like you can say Queequeg has been totally removed from all the ominous imagery or suggestions of inevitability, but maybe there's a case to be made that they come along with Ishmael more? I definitely found it interesting, at least.

Certainly here, Ishmael's fate seems to keep getting more and more 'sealed' in this sense of encroaching doom. At the end of the bit I quoted, free will literally drops out of his hand at the first encounter with a sperm whale. It's far too late to change things.

[puppy-darling]

I remade! My old blog got nuked :(

Call me Darling! It's my name!

Vers/side switch! Mommy Dom, puppy sub, rigger, rope bunny, and more! 💕

Currently have one full time submissive, as well as a handler (@frenchbeariccade) + pretty puppyboy (@crumble-buppy) (I'm his guard dog!!! Woof!!!)

Any pronouns except it, born 1998 and too lazy to keep updating the age every year. I have a dick if that's relevant to you but I'm here to be horny not to get into gender politics

Main kinks I have experience with IRL (* for as a dominant, ° for as a submissive)

*°Bondage (shibari (fave!!!) + leather)

°*Group sex

°*Puppy/pet play

°*Impact (*°floggers, °paddles, °whip, *°cane)

*°Feminization (both feminizing and being feminized, ask me about my opinions abt feminization kink w/o sexism/transmisogyny)

*Mommy dommy but without the ageplay aspect? (No shade to ageplay ofc ageplayers are my friends and comrades) Like. Your friend's hot mom

°Hypno

°*Intox

°mummification!!!

Kink wishlist for IRL:

°CNC 💕💕💕

°*Latex (plsssss I wanna try one of those vacuum beds so bad plsssssss)

°*Knives/gunplay

°More impact (I wanna get. Beat up with fists.)

°MORE hypno

°*Hierophilia stuff

Fantasy/Fictional/RP kinks:

Tentacles/monsters

Oviposition

Kidnapping

Snuff/gore

Robots/robot gore

Mindbreak (but in a specific way...like losing hope and giving up more than turning dick-hungry)

Weird freak safe space I mean it 🔫🔫🔫 I love u weird freaks I am kissing you with tongue. If you're wondering if I'm including [insert problematique whatever here] I am.

Send a DM if u wanna see pics of me, if ur niceys and/or trans maybe even for free. I don't post pics on my Tumblr anymore bc I'm afraid of getting nuked.

I also like ERP but I'm a little pretentious about it but also being too pretentious about it is also a turnoff. Ask me abt my OCs I love to send thru the proverbial meat grinder or tell me about your own.

I love DMs and asks, if ur being weird I'll give u a warning before blocking. Don't come into my DMs In Scene or whatever it's a huge turn off esp if ur submissive. U gotta earn calling me mommy/mistress/etc.

Ok that's all byeee

Edit: I'm a lil inconsistent w tagging for kinks but if I remember:

#s'nuff - snuff or heavy gore

#c'est la vie - incest (p rare, and mostly parent/kid stuff, but no age regression and probs no sibcest)

#cnc - CNC (I need a cute creative one TBH)

[rainbowdaisy13]

My feelings about this situation oscillate every hour between utter disgust and empathy for her constant compulsion to pivot. Overall, there was not a good enough reason to include this human slime mold in her plans. If you aren’t ready, then just stop trying to force a square peg in a round hole. Her desire to micromanage every aspect of her coming out journey and her blinding panic whenever things go off course, says the journey has become the point, rather than a pathway to freedom. A plan with 187 moving parts means there’s always going to be an excuse to not have to do the hard part of actually being herself. I realized something today—any possibility of a coming out after MH will be read by some as an attempt to pivot from bad press. Being single after Toe left or ended would’ve been THE best way to show people she’s not lying and that this is the real her—Taylor Swift, Queer Woman Icon.

WOOF. Not sure where this goes from here

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

I know the Shiro as Bruce Wayne's kid fic is probably abandoned (not meant as a slight or anything btw i have So Many fics i've abandoned writing as well) but i just read through it and i gotta say it is So Damn Incredible. The idea of former tech support, happy to be civilian, Shiro ending up the one in the most shit is insanely good. I keep thinking about the bats reaction to the footage of Shiro when he crash landed on Earth before Keith grabbed him, to see the replaced arm and numerous scars and shock of white hair, and the relief of him being alive but At What Cost?

If they ever manage to get their hands on tapings of Shiro's time in the arena you Know they would watch every single one, to the point they know more about Shiro's missing year than he does. Bruce would be so torn because Shiro used the knowledge and quick thinking passed down to him to stay alive but Shiro wasn't ever meant to be in danger like this. Shiro wasn't ever supposed to be in a situation so dangerous. His son only wanted to be an astronaut.

(Is he cursed to forever see the ones he loves suffer?)

Jason with his hackles raised preemptively in defense of Shiro because fuck the no killing rule, Shiro had always been the best of them and this hasn't changed it. Dudes ready to fight Green Lantern if the guy says the Galra aren't 'that bad' one more time - Look What They Did To His Brother, Obviously They Won't Say Shit To You If They're Planning On Invading Earth! You're From Earth!

Sorry for all my blabbering, It's just really good and i'm very thankful you wrote it <3

Anon I hope you see this.

1. Guess what bud that fic is coming out of hibernation bc I’m back into Voltron and I’m still ongoing into Batman and it’s been churning in my mind. Part of my plans for spring break next week include rereading my fic, rereading all my writing notes, working out where to go with it, going back and editing the chapters I already have written, and starting to write the rest of it. I make no promises on the timeline of a new chapter, as I’m in grad school and super busy, but that fic has lived rent free in my mind for half of a decade.

2. Thank you so much for your comments and enthusiasm!!! YEAH like part of the juiciness is that this is supposed to be Bruce’s civilian son who just wanted to be an astronaut!!!!! Flying space ships is so safe on the relative scale of things!!!!!!! But no!! Instead it’s his son who ends up like put through unimaginable torment AND who has to kill so much!!! The complexes that is going to give everyone.

The green lanterns are an aspect I had to and still have to think a lot about to work in to world building but YEAH Jason would be mad as hell. Tbh I think Hal Jordan would be equally ready to fight the galra bc he definitely had a bond with Shiro bc that’s Bruce’s coworker in the piloting/space industry

Ok the batfam seeing the footage of gladiator fights is something that I can’t remember if it was in my notes but like woof anon might have to use that bc that concept is juicy as hell

Anyways thank you so much for this message. I hope you know I’m gonna start working on that fic again very very soon

[ad-hawkeye]

Hello! I'm a pretty new tot player (joined mid-june this year) (also new to tumblr and this blog) and I've been loving artem's characterization in his personal and main stories. But I don't really follow cn leaks (bc spoilers) and pulled for artems 2nd anniversary card without much thought. And hated it. I wish I'd found this blog sooner. Your thoughts on his characterization in the newer cards are very articulate and I think you've done a great job of highlighting the important aspects of his character and his dynamics with mc and how the newer cards are missing it.

On that note, can I ask which of his cards post-2nd anniv feature the old Artem and (especially) the og artemrosa dynamics because my mind tends to stick firmly to canon and I'm having a hard time trying to pretend 2nd anniversary never happened. It's fine if the plot isn't too exciting as long as the artemrosa interactions are good and Artem isn't suddenly a suave sex god (or has a randomized hobby as his selling point).

I don't have many of his old cards since I joined late and wanted to know if I should pull for new cards or just wait for the old card reruns.

That's all!

OMG HI!!! welcome to tot land and also tumblr!!!! i hope the fandom's been welcoming here! : D

ah gosh, i think people like you are why i was so anxious about second anniversary dropping on global. i am genuinely SO sorry. it comes out of no where. like it's a very notable drop in quality and shift in characterization, so anyone just pulling for second anniversary thinking it'd be fine just. woof. it's honestly EXTREMELY bizarre.

i really appreciate your kind words though!!! i started tot back during 2021 with the lost gold event, so all i had was the original artem for well over a year and got used to him, so it STUNG when second anni dropped. i totally and completely understand where you're coming from here, we're in this together!!!!!

oh gosh i haven't read ALL of the new cards yet, but i know enough that should be able to help for now. i do plan on watching them once i gather the Nerves to do so and writing a list of the must pulls and the must misses HAHAHA BUT. FOR NOW!!

MR cards can be missed unless if you really like the card art. the audio has always been pretty pointless and skippable. can't think of any SRs coming up for artem. go figure. his au SSRs (bakerlon, etc) are all good and in the clear. worth pulling for, imo, esp if you like the art.

skip any SSRs where it seems like artem is just doing a random new hobby. this includes his billiards, racing, and surfing cards. skip any top up SSRs. aside from saving you money, all of the new top up SSRs are just pure fanservice.

fluffy fuzzy time is in the clear. in all honesty it's baffling that a card where artem is flustered about mc playing with his hair comes after the sex god daddy dom card but whatfuckingever who needs consistency

his upcoming personal story card isn't like, life changing, but it's in the clear from what i remember of watching it. the art is very cute too.

third birthday card isn't amazing, but plot and character wise, it's also in the clear and has very cute art.

the other SSRs i know nothing about, so i can't speak for them yet. my apologies!!!! i'd personally recommend focusing on artem's older cards (i genuinely love all of them except for like. por una cabeza which is just kinda mid), as they are still stronger character wise than the newer ones, but the ones i listed ARE still fine. the game itself likes to only pretend second anni happened every once in a blue moon so it's very very easy to ignore . THANKFULLY.

thank you again for the ask anon!!!! i hope i could help! keep an eye out for when i get to watching all of them, i DO want to make that list HAHA

[martian-martian-martian]

🍰💖 do both this time /lh

💖What do you like best about your own writing?

This is a bit silly but -- that it makes me laugh.

I usually include jokes and situations in my work because they? genuinely amuse me! And reading back, when I can stomach it, I get a lot of joy out of feeling like a joke landed, or that I got timing right or described something in a really amusing way.

I also really like that I think I care about character a lot. I love to show who a person is in little things; what they like to eat and drink, how they spend their free time, what they choose to wear and how they wear it. I love describing the spaces people inhabit-- bedrooms, offices-- what do they surround themselves with. I believe that soul is encapsulated in a bunch of small aspects.

Lastly I would say I'm proud of the research I do, specifically regarding past eras. Historical accuracy mean a lot to me, but I also cherish nostalgia as a central part of my work. If a character is watching TV or eating cereal, I'm going to make sure that show or brand is true to the world I've put my story in.

🍰What are some comfort fics of yours?

I got a few classics. A lot of what makes a 'comfort' fic of mine comes down to things I actually enjoy reading and often admire, and use as goalposts for my own work. When you can enjoy a fic like literature, and it lets you see characters in a new light, you keep coming back.

This is sort of an honorable mention but I read a lot of NorriBeth fics back in the day on fanfiction.net. It's a favorite ship I always treasured, and I still stand by it, even if learning that Keira Knightly's age was much younger than her character's was a bit of a 'woof' moment (17 vs 19, I know it's not a lot but geez, UK age of consent, cmon now...). So many of my favorite fics are literally lost either to time or to the deteriorating watery grave of the FFN platform, but they forever have my heart.

Of the ones that survived Davy Jones' Locker, I adored Bound in her bones by snowbryneich.

A 27 chapter masterpiece of romantic tension, featuring a realistic take on arranged marriage of convenience to lovers with an empowered and relatable Elizabeth, a Darcyesque Norrington, an perfect historical accuracy to the nines. I was fucking riveted, and the same author did a couple other great ones, such as 'Fresh As A BrideGroom'. Other than that, I would be remiss to answer this without touching on one of my all time favorite fics, In A Strange Land by @mrs-evadne-cake, a phenominal writer who I'm sure is tired of both the Stranger Things fandom at large and also me, this specific fanfic author greenhorn, continually singing her praises. It almost embarasses me to gush MORE about it, especially since the author is an honest to god professional. I've written on it before, it's well paced, well crafted, terrifying, and exceptional use of every character. The kids are well written and adorable, the teens are nuanced and REAL in a way the show never grasped. There's enough Steve to sate my voracious need to watch his character development, and I even got a bit of Murray who is probably my weirdest blorbo of all time. If a fic is a weapon, this fic is a mythic one-of-a-kind sword, OP is a legendary dwarven blacksmith, and i am an awestruck lil hobbit apprentice hastily scribbling notes. If I had to rate my favorite Stranger Things seasons it would go like this: 1. Season 3

2. In A Strange Land

3. Season 2

4. Season 1

5. Season 4

That's all I have to say about that.

Third space I would say is a tie between : Praise You by HeartlessMemo, which is a master class on erotica and plus size bodies, but speaks to me personally as a bulimic and will likely touch anyone with body issues. It's hot, it's passionate, it's kinky as hell. Nandermo from WWDITS at its absolute best.

And the other one is A Bastard's Carol by scumbaganarchy @scumbaganarchy, who I have been honored to get to know as of late! What the hell do you want me to say. It's 'A Christmas Carol' with the entire Rik Mayall cinematic universe. Not only is funny, but it's also touching, genuinely heartwarming, treats all these bizarre characters like real, breathing people. I cozy up to it every holiday when I can with a hot drink, it's a true classic and just goes to show that passion and creative understanding of any fandom no matter how niche can produce something really meaningful. This fic is the pride of the 1980s Bitish Anarchocomedy Fandom of the modern era, and any Young Ones (or Bottom) fan should give it a look.

[seelestia]

oh

oh dear

AYATO WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY WITTLE CHAOTIC SAMOYED PUPPY OF A COUSIN YOU-

ahem.

my, thank you for the warm welcome, dearest cousin. it is good to be back.

yes, i have safely returned to my abode. as tiring as the journey was, it was a very rewarding experience. catching up with old friends is always a lovely occasion to have, is it not? i was honestly overjoyed to see one of my closest friend's union to her beloved; were it not for the copious amount of make-ups and the hours we put into beautifying our faces, i know i and my other friend would have broken down into a pair of bawling bridesmaids. alas i got to keep my wits and dignity after a tremendous effort on my part. ah, how time flies...

indeed, i am very pleased to see that they have taken a faster action compared to before. how joyous, we ought to celebrate this somehow!

his joints might crack and make undignified noises every now and then but the gracefulness of his movements will fool you into thinking that he is a man in his prime. and yes, it seems like we are drawn to that aspect of familiarity indeed! which is a logical conclusion, to be honest.

to this day i still can't believe he's my most compliant characters in terms of coming home. my husband on the other hand... *crosses arms and gives zhongli a disapproving glare*

my my, it seems like i'm seeing a side of you that you've kept hidden this whole time now. i have a feeling your boyfriend has a hand to play in this... what a bad influence, i ought to give him some stern talking.

the forest ranger's sabotage is a welcome one, i say. he is quite a fun character to play, is he not? i can only wish upon the stars and pray for his presence to grace me one of these days.

that.... sounds like a very apt description. i'd say the same for you however - it seems like around our beloveds, we just automatically switch into our more... relaxed and natural selves. ah, young love.

lin shall get all the headpats he wants. and if you are able to get someone who can create a video or gif or image of lin in that setting, i would be more than happy to create a page for his voicelines ;))

"i sound dead inside" LMAO no no you sound very ✨dignified✨ i am sure ayato is proud of you <3

woof woof. (i'm still here, ehe <3) rin jie, why does it feel like we're writing letters to each other in the 80's... oml, did you know i'm actually sending this letter four cells away from you in the simp prison HDJEDKK (/lh)

also !! as a self-proclaimed samoyed puppy, i find it so funny that i only noticed recently that ayato prefers dogs after watching his voicelines in diff versions. apparently, he likes them for their loyalty/obedience which is smth he finds attractive. like uh-huh, okay, sir??? ily either way 🤨 idk if it's fortunate or unfortunate for him, but although i can resemble a puppy with my protectiveness and energy, i'm not very easily influenced so i can bite if i see the need to. but i'm a pacifist at heart tho! my affectionately sassy side just comes out during banters with people i'm comfy with ;( would he like the challenge (/j)

AHEM, IGNORING THAT RAMBLE; aww, that's so sweet but it sucks that you gotta hold in the tears or the mascara will get ruined (/j) !! i'm sure the vacay is much more meaningful knowing that it's for your dearest friend <3 i saw that you said it was chilly there, i hope the breeze didn't bother anyone at the event (venti, have some manners /j) 😭 perhaps, when you were holding back your tears as a bridesmaid, my puppy spirit was hovering somewhere near the food LOLLL (/lh) — but what matters is that you enjoyed yourself, hehe! happy rin equals to happy lia <3

*defeated sigh* alrighttt, i can't deny that zhongli is truly in his prime, if not for his habit of forgetting mora <//3 AND OOO, now that you have guaranteed, who are you prioritizing?? i know you want scara and tartaglia, so who shall be your pick??? 👀 i think i might go for the fatui gingerhead but if ayato rerun comes in v3.3 or smth, yk i'll drop anything for him 🚶 also, i love how hoyo inserted ayato him in the last update's events. could thsi be smth... perhaps, enticing people to fall for his playstyle??? because we surely did LOLLL marketing strategy accomplished ✨

(and noooo, i don't want you and ayato to have a passive aggressive contest at the dinner table. me and zhongli are just 🧍🧍 with our cups of tea /j flashbacks to heizou being here once)

wishing tighnari will come home to you in the future! qiqi, not rn, ok?? his playstyle is vv unique~ but my aiming just turns immensely bad when i'm on mobile, so i definitely prefer playing him on pc! tho, i heard cyno havers got it bad when it comes to raising him with the scarabs and all <//3 like when it was torture for me too when i farmed onikabuto's for heizou and i assume it's the same for you with itto?? HOYO, STOP IT WITH THE BEETLES 😭😟 (/j)

yes, yes, will do~ if i ever get to commission a talented artist who can draw caelin in the game model style, you'll definitely be the first i'd tell 👀

[dogwhispererworld]

Well-Behaved Woofs: Exploring the Excellence of Dog Training in the UK

Introduction

Owning a well-behaved dog is every pet owner's dream. In the United Kingdom, dog training has evolved into a fascinating journey that combines science, compassion, and dedication. This article delves into the excellence of dog training in the UK, exploring its history, methodologies, and the positive impact it has on canine companions.

A Tail-Wagging Journey Through History

From traditional methods to modern positive reinforcement techniques, the history of dog training in the UK is a rich tapestry. Notable figures have played pivotal roles in shaping the way we understand and train our four-legged friends.

The Science Behind Dog Training

Understanding canine behavior is the key to successful training. This section explores the science behind dog training, comparing positive reinforcement methods with traditional approaches to highlight the benefits of the former.

Popular Dog Training Techniques in the UK

Clicker training, positive reinforcement, obedience drills, and agility training are some of the popular techniques employed in the UK. Each method serves a unique purpose in fostering discipline and strengthening the bond between dogs and their owners.

The Role of Professional Dog Trainers

While DIY training has its merits, professional dog trainers bring a wealth of expertise to the table. This section discusses the advantages of hiring a professional and provides guidance on selecting the right trainer.

Dog-Friendly Cities in the UK

The impact of well-behaved dogs extends beyond the household. Dog-friendly cities in the UK exemplify the positive correlation between training and a welcoming environment for our furry companions.

Common Dog Behavior Issues

Addressing common behavioral problems is a crucial aspect of dog training. This section provides valuable tips for dog owners dealing with issues such as excessive barking, aggression, and separation anxiety.

The Impact of Training on Canine Well-being

Beyond obedience, training significantly contributes to the overall well-being of dogs. Both emotionally and physically, well-trained dogs experience a higher quality of life, fostering a stronger connection with their owners.

Success Stories in Dog Training

Inspiring success stories showcase the transformative power of training. From correcting behavioral problems to instilling discipline, these narratives underscore the remarkable achievements possible through dedicated training.

Training for Different Breeds

Different breeds come with unique challenges and rewards. Tailoring training methods to the specific characteristics of each breed ensures a harmonious relationship between owner and dog.

The Future of Dog Training in the UK

As technology advances, so does the landscape of dog training. Emerging trends and innovative approaches are shaping the future of canine education in the UK.

DIY Dog Training Tips

Empowering dog owners with basic commands and effective training routines, this section encourages a proactive approach to training within the comfort of one's home.

Exploring Dog Training Facilities

An overview of popular training centers in the UK, along with facilities catering to specific training needs, offers readers a comprehensive guide to available resources.

Creating a Dog-Friendly Home Environment

Incorporating training principles at home contributes to a well-rounded approach. This section provides insights into designing a dog-friendly living space that complements training efforts.

[meilunye]

soft like summer rain

♡ Original posting date: 05/10/2021 ♡ Ship: Gorou/Kazuha ♡ Word count: 3,8k ♡ AO3: woof

5 times Kazuha pets Gorou, and the 1 time things go differently.

❝ Gorou had learned rather quickly that he and Kazuha shared only a handful of common traits. They both had sensitive ears and noses, and they were honest people, always stating clearly what was on their minds without settling for sugar-coated lies.

And that… was about it. Under every other aspect of their lives and personalities, they were as different as they could possibly be— affectionate and loud the one, reserved and quiet the other. Two faces of the same coin, so as to say.

For that reason, it had taken him a long time to build up the courage to confess his feelings. He couldn't deny the natural attraction he felt between them, the samurai seeking his company as much as he could (albeit silently tending to his own affairs, simply relishing the closeness) and trailing after him whenever he wasn't surrounded by his soldiers and subordinates.

But inside of Kazuha's soul, where was the line between loving Gorou and simply cherishing his company to fill in the void left by Tomo's death? He had no means to tell. So, he swallowed his own emotions for months on end, waiting for a sign that the moment to speak up had come.

It eventually did, in the form of a shared bottle of sake in the dead of night, after the Victory Feast was over and the bonfire had been put off. Contrarily to Kazuha, Gorou had never been an avid drinker, and thus ended up losing grip on his nerves after a pitiful couple of cups. ❞

— • Read on AO3 • —