#cause it basically looks ridiculous on paper

[pretzel-box]

Chapter 2: The W in WcWonalds stands for Winning

Tags: Pure comedy

Words: 2,9k

“Allo, Allo. Allo! Pspspsps, Allo!” Casimir beamed brightly at the other man, holding up a small box labeled Paper Cups as if he’d just discovered the secret to life.

Allo, without lifting his head entirely from the ridiculously long newspaper that stretched halfway down the table, side-eyed Casimir and then glanced at the box. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and sighed. “If you’re trying to sell me paper cups again, please know that I will dispose of them just like the last 23 you’ve tried to push on me.”

Casimir’s grin didn’t falter for even a second. In fact, it widened. He shook the box a little for emphasis. “Ah, but no, no, my friend. This is no ordinary box of paper cups. This is a box full of—”

“COKE!” Nick's voice suddenly boomed through the air, cutting Casimir off entirely. Nick barreled through a nearby patch of open water, waving frantically. “I WANT TO ORDER A COKE!”

In front of him, Cheshire was swimming as fast as possible, trying to escape whatever chaos Nick was trying to rope them into this time.

Casimir, still holding up the box, blinked and watched the scene unfold. He glanced at Allo, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paper.

“...Coke?” Casimir finally muttered, confused, before shaking it off and continuing his pitch. “Anyway, as I was saying, this box is full of—”

“I SAID, COKE!” Nick shouted again, now completely ignoring everyone else as he chased Cheshire around the water, determined to complete his non-existent order.

Casimir sighed dramatically, muttering under his breath. “Forget the paper cups. I should’ve invested in better staff members.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Allo raised an eyebrow, still clutching the ridiculously long newspaper but not actually reading it anymore. His tone was more of a dare than a question.

The inquiry alone set off a mischievous glint in Casimir’s eyes. Without hesitation, he shoved Allo off his seat and plopped down himself, ready to deliver a grand tale. “Ah, my friend, let me take you on a journey.”

And with that, a flashback started—whether anyone wanted it or not, everyone around them was suddenly pulled into it.

It was probably a Tuesday afternoon. Inside the community room, Sasha stood in the middle, notebook in hand, while Painter sat idly on top of a catering cart. Painter’s mobile body wasn’t quite ready yet, so Sasha, ever the problem-solver, had resorted to using the catering cart as his temporary mode of transportation.

“So, we should improve our quality of life by adding more human-like stuff,” Sasha declared, placing her notebook down on Painter, who quietly blinked.

Painter, who was basically a high-tech computer with personality, hummed thoughtfully. “The system suggests that a quality improvement for life would involve... good food. Good food is essential for a good atmosphere.”

Casimir’s voice echoed through the flashback, narrating as if this were an epic saga. “Ah, but of course, this suggestion was the catalyst for everything. The search for 'good food' began, and soon, chaos would follow.”

Back in the present, Allo had stopped pretending to care about the newspaper. He stared blankly at Casimir. "This is all about food?"

Casimir nodded solemnly, but before he could continue the saga, another loud “COKE!” came from Nick, still sprinting through the water, causing Cheshire to swim faster to escape.

"Of course, it always starts with food," Casimir said dramatically, pointing at Nick as if this proved his point entirely. "And ends with—"

Before Casimir could finish, Angela stormed into the scene, hands on her hips, glaring at everyone. "WHAT is going on here?! Do you think this is a playground?! Nick! Stop shouting about Coke! Cheshire, stop encouraging him! And you—" She pointed at Casimir, who tried his best to look innocent. "Stop throwing people off chairs and starting flashbacks without warning!"

Casimir blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh... mother mode, activated."

“Ah, Allo, I’m sorry for startling you,” Angela’s tone switched in an instant, going from stern to soft and motherly. Amilia paddled up behind her, making her way onto land before plopping down next to Casimir.

Casimir pouted dramatically, folding his arms. “I wasn’t done—”

But Angela, ever so gently, took over, and like some sort of magical spell, we were all once again pulled into another flashback.

“I know the perfect source for good food,” Cordelia’s voice rang out confidently as she entered, a spotlight somehow illuminating her entrance. She strutted down a random set of stairs, stepping into the room with the energy of a magical girl lead. Without hesitation, she squished herself between Sasha and Painter, striking a pose. “McDonald's!”

“McDonald’s? We can’t do that. It has a copyright,” Painter deadpanned, his digital voice full of skepticism.

“WcWonalds...?” Sasha offered, her voice uncertain but filled with hope. The suggestion hit Cordelia like a revelation, her eyes lighting up in awe.

“WcWonalds!” Cordelia repeated, as if it were the most groundbreaking idea in existence.

Angela of the past, shook her head at the absurdity, watching the scene play out with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You all really are impossible." She sighed, but it was the kind of sigh a mother gives after realizing her kids are too far gone in their antics.

The flashback ended, and the moment Angela wanted to continue, another person came crashing into the room.

“Lord Commander, oh mighty WcWonalds leader, Casimir. René started a fire in the kitchen, innocent fries are burning.” Cyrus called out, his neat little WcWonalds uniform was now covered in soot.

Casimir blinked, before sighing. “What about the Walkie Talkie I gave you?”

“It fell victim to the fryer, it is now among the burning pommes.”

Casimir took the paper cup box, opened it and revealed a set of Walkie Talkies, sponsored by Sebastian. He threw a new one to Cyrus, not noticing that Angela snatched one for herself too out of the box.

Amelia wanted to grab one too, trying to fish one out with her mouth but Angela kept her in place, shaking silently her head.

The WcWonalds—formerly an abandoned cafeteria near the community room—had become a gathering spot for anyone seeking mischief or simply trying to avoid responsibilities. Dusty tables were half-cleaned, the counters lined with mismatched kitchen gadgets that looked like they'd been scavenged from a dump. The old sign out front, haphazardly covered with duct tape, now proudly read “WcWonalds,” a creation of Cordelia’s, still beaming over her brilliant copyright dodge.

Inside, chaos reigned as usual. Painter rolled around on his squeaky, upgraded cart, stationed behind the cash register, which refused to stay closed no matter how hard he tried. Cordelia, wearing a lampshade turned into a hat, was overseeing the operation with the air of someone who believed they were running a legitimate establishment. Meanwhile, Cheshire, who escaped Nick, sat at the counter, arms crossed and half-amused as he watched the antics unfold.

The whole group could stay at the restaurant without drying out thanks to the fact that most of the area is damaged, flooded or just naturally having water leaks.

"So, today’s special is...” Painter’s robotic voice paused dramatically as he calculated, “...whatever isn’t expired in the back fridge."

Cheshire leaned back, smirking. “Ah, the usual, then. Can’t wait to see what’s alive back there.”

René, wearing a firefighter’s helmet after their most recent mishap in the kitchen, walked in with a slightly dazed look on their face. They wails, afraid of setting anything else on fire.

Meanwhile Cordelia shouted: “Has anyone seen the toaster oven? I’m pretty sure it disappeared after I used it to heat up some fries.”

Security, leaning against the counter with her tail in a small bucket of water, waved her off. “It’s probably with the deep fryer. I saw it lurking under the sink last time I checked.”

“Right, the deep fryer incident,” Painter muttered, his mechanical voice tinged with guilt. “It... uh... exploded during ‘Experiment 12.’”

Sasha, sitting at a booth with her notebook, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what was ‘Experiment 12’ again? I don’t have that one listed.”

“Oh, you missed that,” Cheshire replied dryly. “They wanted to see if you could fry fries twice and make them better. Spoiler alert: no.”

As the conversation carried on, René started rummaging through the kitchen, pulling out random items and tossing them aside in search of the toaster. A large jar of pickles rolled across the floor, narrowly missing Security's bucket.

Cordelia, taking her managerial role way too seriously, slapped her hands together. “Alright, people! Time to focus. What’s the WcWonalds slogan again?”

Painter beeped softly before saying, “We can’t get sued if we don’t sell anything.”

Cheshire chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

A group of new "customers" wandered into WcWonalds, looking both curious and mildly confused. Asterion, with his usual stoic expression, led the way, followed by Tapu, who was already trying to hold back laughter at the sight of the makeshift restaurant. Hanako peered in shyly from the doorway with Yuri, still unsure about the whole situation, and Osiris trailed behind, looking far too regal for the mess she was about to step into.

Cordelia, now fully embracing her self-proclaimed manager status, puffed out her chest and called for order. She turned dramatically toward Security, who was leaning against the wall, half-asleep, with her arms crossed still in the same bucket.

“You! Nr. 7! Bring the customers to a table!” Cordelia ordered, finger pointing like an overly enthusiastic drill sergeant.

Security, who hadn’t moved a muscle in response, slowly raised an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Cordelia. “Nr. 7? Did you just call me by a number?”

Without missing a beat, Cordelia nodded, clearly proud of herself. “Of course. It’s the official WcWonalds ranking system. You’re number seven.”

Security blinked, her expression unchanging. “And who decided I’m number seven?”

“I did. Obviously,” Cordelia said matter-of-factly. “Now, do your job, or you’ll be demoted to number... uh... 13. Which is bad.”

Security exhaled slowly, clearly unimpressed but too tired to argue. “And why, exactly, is being number 13 bad?”

Cordelia hesitated for a second. “Because... because... that’s the person who has to clean the fridge. And trust me, no one wants that job.”

Painter, from behind the register, beeped in agreement. “The probability of someone finding a sentient yogurt in there is approximately 73%. Proceed with caution.”

Tapu burst out laughing, slapping Asterion on the back. “Did you hear that? Sentient yogurt! I knew this place was special!”

Asterion, as stoic as ever, just grunted and found a seat, looking like a king who had been forced to dine in a peasant’s tavern. Osiris, meanwhile, eyed the tables with disdain before gingerly sitting down, making sure to inspect the chair first as if it might crumble beneath her.

Hanako, still lingering by the door, quietly murmured, “Is it safe in here?” While Yuri tried to spot an open seat that didn't scream danger.

Cheshire, who had been watching the whole interaction from the counter, leaned over and grinned. “Safe? Sure. But I wouldn’t drink anything from the soda machine. Last time we used it, it started spewing foam... and that was three weeks ago.”

Hanako blinked, now even more hesitant to step inside. “I... I’ll just sit by the window,” she mumbled, sliding into a booth far away from the chaos. Yuri followed her with a nod, feeling rather comfortable in the flooded part of the facility.

Cordelia, completely oblivious to the growing unease of her guests, clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone! We’re a well-oiled machine here! Number 7—uh, Security—get them some menus!”

Security just sighed and grabbed a pile of random, crumpled papers from behind the counter, tossing them on the nearest table. “Here. The ‘menu.’ Good luck.”

Tapu unfolded one of the papers and raised an eyebrow. “This is... a takeout flyer from a Chinese place. And it’s from last year.”

Cordelia beamed. “Exactly! Our food transcends time and space. We don't need real menus! Just... feel the vibe of what you want to eat like royalty. Customer is King.”

Painter whirred. “Vibes detected: 99% likelihood of disappointment.”

Osiris, completely unamused, stared down at the so-called "menu" before deadpanning, “I’m royalty. I do not 'feel the vibe' of my food. I expect a menu, and I expect service.”

Cordelia shot her with finger guns. “And that’s exactly what you’re gonna get! Just... not today.”

At that, Tapu couldn’t hold it in anymore. She slapped her hand on the table, cackling. “This is the worst place I’ve ever been, and I love it.”

Asterion leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his usual grim demeanor cracking slightly. “This is what passes for ‘good food’ around here? No wonder half of them look malnourished.”

Cordelia, not one to be defeated, marched up to Painter. “Alright, get the food ready! What’s the special of the day?”

Painter beeped a few times before announcing, “Special of the day: leftover fries and... one singular chicken nugget.”

Tapu snorted. “One nugget? How generous.”

Cordelia, determined not to lose her managerial swagger, nodded confidently. “It’s a gourmet experience. We serve... minimalist portions.”

Osiris groaned, rubbing her temples. “I demand real food.”

From somewhere in the back, René’s voice wailed which kinda meant, “I FOUND THE TOASTER!”

A loud crash followed, and smoke started wafting out from the kitchen, followed by René stumbling out, their firefighter’s helmet askew. Sasha called out after seeing the smoke. “Uh, minor issue. The toaster may have... uh... caught fire. Again.”

Tapu slapped the table again, this time harder. “Best. Restaurant. Ever.”

Asterion simply sighed as Hanako slid further down into her booth, now reconsidering every decision that had led her to this point.

The whole room felt like it was about to collapse in chaos until, suddenly, Allo ascended from a random hole in the kitchen floor like some culinary deity. He stood there, glowing (probably from the fryer grease) and with an aura of absurd authority.

"Did someone say my name?"

Everyone shook their heads so fast, you’d think they were auditioning for a shampoo commercial. The denials came quickly from all corners.

"Nope."

"Definitely not."

"Not even a whisper."

Allo, completely unbothered, smirked. “Too bad, because now I am here!” His arms shot up dramatically, as if commanding the forces of fast food. “Tag Team, assembly!”

From behind some very suspiciously placed lockers came a loud bang, as they burst open to reveal his “elite squad”:

First up was Nautilea. She marched out, looking sharp in her pressed WcWonalds uniform and glasses. "Looks smart, is smart. Can handle the cash register with her eyes closed and your order with care. But only if you have insurance!"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Insurance? For what exactly?"

"Existential dread," Painter beeped quietly from the register.

Next was Roxy, who strutted out balancing six plates in one hand, all perfectly stacked. "Our talented waitress! Can carry your entire order on one arm and balance a stack of pancakes on her head! But," Cordelia added dramatically, "if you complain... she’ll give you extra service by spitting on the food you didn’t order."

Roxy cracked her knuckles, eyeing Osiris. “Try me.”

She immediately looked away.

Finally, Violet stumbled out, looking more confused than anyone else. “Violet, our in-house therapist,” Cordelia introduced, clapping her hands. “She didn’t apply for the job—she got kidnapped! But now, she leads the therapy sessions required after your visit to WcWonalds. Free and anonymous... except for the fact that they’re televised. So, not anonymous anymore!”

Violet waved weakly. “I’m still not sure how I got here... but I’m rolling with it.”

Suddenly, a blaring red light filled the room, accompanied by the wail of a siren. Everyone jumped to attention.

“The WcWonalds emergency alarm!” Allo shouted over the noise. “A starving customer in need!” His voice was dripping with the intensity of a chef who had just been challenged to a cooking duel.

Without missing a beat, Allo swooped over to the one remaining chicken nugget, lying lonely and pathetic on the counter. With the precision of a master, he sliced it into thin strips. Then, with a sprinkle of some mysterious dust (was it seasoning? Magic? No one knew), he popped the strips into the microwave for precisely 10 seconds.

When the microwave dinged, he pulled out the tray, revealing what could only be described as the world’s finest chicken chili wraps. The wrap glistened, like it had been blessed by the gods of fast food themselves.

The crowd erupted into applause. Asterion even managed to clap once, though begrudgingly.

Allo handed the plate to Roxy, who balanced it with ease. “Delivery time!” she called out before kicking it toward Violet.

Violet, with surprising grace, caught the plate mid-air, throwing it again to Nautilea who catched it. “Wrap, incoming!” she yelled, throwing it toward the door just as Sebastian stepped inside.

SMACK.

The wrap hit him square in the face, various ingredients slopping down his clothes in slow motion. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring in bewilderment as shredded lettuce and chili sauce dripped off his nose and splattered on the floor.

The room went silent for a beat.

Sebastian blinked. "What... in the name of Urbanshade...?"

Tapu, unable to hold it in any longer, burst into laughter, slapping the table. "Best... restaurant... EVER!"

Painter's voice chimed in softly from the register, “Current vibe level: chaotic excellence.”

Then Angela came in, carrying Amilia on her arms and giving Sebastian a glance. Amilia sniffed on Sebastian before giving him a soft kick.

“YOU ALL ARE SO GROUNDED.”

WcWonalds got force closed after this day. And this was the end of Allos wonderful job as a chef. Now he was just Allo, the man that never got to fulfill his dreams.

[confusedkittensposts]

@juliet-hellhound-week

Day 2 Claws and fangs

[ajarofpickledtears]

really glad we have such a fancy high-tech wifi printer that makes things so much faster and more convenient

like, you know those old things? where you had to go to a document, click on "print" get your quick settings window, and then it would print? a loud af chonker that potentially shook whatever surface it was on? and you'd sit at your pc waiting for it to get done, only really having to worry that it'd run out of paper or ink was too low? yeah, sounds like hell, right?

surely you'd much prefer a printer that you have to walk to and manually turn on, then go back to your pc to click print etc, then go back to the printer (that, at this point, hopefully actually jas started and isn't still powering up or doing maintenance checks) in case it has some issue with the paper and asks you to confirm to print, and then have to decide whether you want to go back to wait at your pc or stick around in case there's a problem. also, better hope you don't have too many pages to print because even just one (1) might take over a minute.

[inbabylontheywept]

So I found one of your (nonfiction) stories and read the one about the refrigerators, and it made the librarian part of me very curious (and a bit horrified) and I have so many questions!! (Feel free to entirely ignore this, and I really don’t intend to ask anything classified) Are there still refrigerators being used for document storage? Did the refrigerators keep reasonably consistent temperature/humidity? (Because those are both things you want in anything resembling archival storage) How long were documents stored in refrigerators? Do you have any actual document storage/retention guidelines?!

Thank you so much for sharing all your stories, they are hilarious!!!

Naw, it's surprisingly difficult to even ask questions about classified material. We're encouraged but not technically required to be vague about the tests and their purposes, but the fridges are fair game.

Anyway, from the top:

Are there fridges still being used for document storage? At the time that I wrote the fridge piece, we were down to four (4) file storage fridges. At present, we are down to a single (1) file storage fridge, and parts to repair it are on backlog. Then we're going to have to build another filing cabinet. Not looking forward to that.

Did the refigerators keep things reasonant consistent for temperature/humidity? Yes. The temperature in the building does not fluctuate very much (they have relic computer systems that are absolutely, terrifyingly irreplacable) and keeping them happy is a major concern. The fact that it preserves paper is just a convenient side benefit. Humidity is likewise kept low in the basement (like, single digit percent low), for the benefit of some machines that dislike it strongly. We do occasionally raise the humidity in certain location while handling ESD sensitive materials, but those tend to be far from the fridges.

How long were the documents stored in refigerators? We have some facility documents that date back to 1972. We do occasionally have to reference those documents to answer such thrilling questions as "Why does overloading the machine hydraulics downstairs sometimes cause the microwave clock to reset upstairs?" (The answer is that, for reasons no one can explain, they ran 125 feet of wire off the test cell's breaker specifically upstairs, to the one outlet that powers the microwave.) (Seriously.) (And then they recorded this, as if their confession could expunge this kind of sin.) (Engineering does not follow Catholic God's rules- we do not have to forgive someone just because they fessed up.)

Do we have any actual document storage/retention guidelines? Sorta. The guidelines for disposal of documents refers to both positions and specific people that have been gone for years. In theory, someone could take it upon themselves to champion a new disposal process, but that would be boring bureaucratic work whose reward would be doing more boring bureaucratic work, and the machines that we work on here are the coolest shit in the world. Everybody loves working on the machines. Nobody likes sorting through papers. So we just kind of keep punting that one down the road. We'll probably do that until we get someone in who actually prefers doing paperwork to badass science (basically impossible), we get someone from outside the group who arrives to assure document compliance (theoretically possible, ridiculously arare) or until we run out of space (actually impossible, we add space more quickly than we can fill it with papers). We do have guidelines on storage safety. I do not know a lot about what they are. I'd be surprised if the fridges weren't kosher though. The official cabinets have some parts flimsy enough to put through with a can opener. Those fridges could be dropped from an airplane and not get a dent. They're beautiful devices.

[sissa-arrows]

A British Algerian man (teacher), Farid Hamrat, came in France to help one of his friends.

He called a taxi and waited for it but instead of a taxi he got the police pointing guns at him and roughly handling him before arresting him without telling him why. He asked why and at first they tell him “For god’s sake you were looking at a synagogue!” (apparently if you’re Arab you can’t look at synagogue it’s a terror threat?!). They took him to a detention center for illegal immigrants where he eventually learned that the street where he was waiting for his taxi had a Jewish school (not a synagogue) so two French Jewish saw him thought he was wearing a keffiyeh (it looked like one but wasn’t one but honestly it doesn’t matter even if it was one straight from Palestine that’s ridiculous) and immediately called the police saying “A suspicious man dressed and behaving like a terrorists” was near the school.

So like I said they arrested him on his very first day in France. He was stripped completely naked to search him and they took pictures of him naked specifically his genitalia. They kept him in police custody illegally, letting him go after 4 days but telling him he had to stay in France for his trial (he still didn’t know what exactly he was accused of… being an Arab who wears a black and white scarf in winter near a Jewish school is not illegal). The judge eventually cancels everything saying it’s stupid and that Farid didn’t do anything wrong so the arrest isn’t justified. Farid goes back to the detention center to take back his stuff.

They refused to give him back his passport. If he wants his passport he has to sign a paper saying he entered France illegally (he didn’t he has a British passport he can come for 90 days without problems but I guess it applies only to white people not to brown Arabs) and that he is a threat to public security. Basically he has to sign a paper saying he is a potential terrorist to get his passport back.

The instrumentalisation of antisemitism isn’t helping anyone. It’s actually a threat for Jewish people as it means people are less likely to take real antisemitism into account or even to recognize it. One day we will have to address the instrumentalisation of antisemitism to be anti-Arab cause it’s honestly starting to get on my nerves.

Source

[judasofsuburbia]

So you’re looking to write some smut but feeling stuck, uninspired, or unsure where to start. Smut writing comes easily to some and not others, and that’s okay! Here are some tips I’ve gathered over my few years of writing smut to take with a grain of salt! It's my opinion; you can always do what you want!! <333

It’s fiction writing at the end of the day. So, it’s okay if you haven’t experienced what you’re writing about or maybe you have experienced it but you find it difficult to put it into words. I’ve never fought a creature from the Upside Down but I’ve written about it because that’s what fiction writing IS!! You’re creating a story from your own experiences/thoughts/emotions and applying it to a made-up scenario. So don’t feel discouraged by your own personal journey, anyone can write smut!!

When in doubt, plan it out. When I’m really stuck, just simply grabbing a piece of notebook paper and writing out each event in a sequence, even in the most basic terms, can make things so much easier. For example: making out, blow job, hand job, prep, fuck. Write down positions (sometimes limbs can get lost in the sauce and it is so hard to figure out how they’re actually doing it lmao). Write down settings. Write down if one person is leading it more than the other or if they switch off. Write down desperation levels (personally, I think it’s more fun when desperation is very high but casual fluffy smut is fun too!!) This will help the writing process feel a lot less daunting. 

More specifically, remember that prep is important. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been taken out of a smutty fic because they get to the main act (penetration, typically) way before someone should be ready to. Fingers, mouths, and lube (actual lube or something that can be safely used as lube. Blood is not lube. Blood is not lube as it is a liquid that dries quickly and offers no moisture so it will not help you penetrate anything, as hot as it would be.) Foreplay and prep can be a really good tool to establish a sexy dynamic between your characters and get the reader ramped up to read through to the end! 

If you feel like the action part is getting too technical, this is where you can add in thoughts and emotions that will give your smut some personality. It can feel very silly to write, for instance, your character A thinking “Wow character B is so hot” but it’s a thought that would probably cross their mind!! Write out any nerves the characters are feeling or maybe even the confidence they’re feeling. Write out what sensations they pay attention to. Write out what they like and dislike. Write out what actions cause an immediate response from them (moaning, bucking their hips, groaning, eyes rolling, etc.) Write out how your character would verbally respond (Are they dirty talking? Are they praising? Are they degrading? Are they stuttering through their words? Are they incoherent because the sex is so good?) It’s important that your characters still feel natural and not like sex robots. Unless your story is about sex robots, then go off!!!

The thesaurus is your fucking FRIEND!! Smut can feel ridiculously repetitive, especially if you’ve written it before. I say every time I write a blow job scene that “god blow job scene is blow job scene is blow job scene” because that’s how it FEELS! Use your resources like the thesaurus or there are a million posts with other ways to say “said”, ways to describe a kiss, etc. Just be careful that you don’t fall into using words that seem unnatural to the flow of the story (for example, a lot of synonyms for cock are simply…unsettling and can take your reader out of the story). Find ways to creatively tell the same action again and again which leads to tip #5…

Go read some smut. The tag “porn what plot” is so unbelievably helpful. Even if the writing isn’t exactly your style or your preference, sometimes reading someone else’s descriptions of sexual acts can be helpful if you’re lost! I have a few faves that I go back to read to get inspiration and I have notes about what it is specifically I enjoyed about their work. While you’re at it, if a fic inspires you and you feel comfortable doing so, leave a comment! It’ll make the author’s day, I promise. 

TAKE THIS TIP WITH AN ABSOLUTE GRAIN OF SALT but…go watch it. Or my personal preference, go listen to it. If I’m really lost, I’ll seek out audio porn that follows the same ~vibe~ of whatever I’m writing. There are many websites for this but Soundgasm is my go-to (it’s a free upload site so there are THOUSANDS of sounds and varying quality levels so it might take a second to find what you’re looking for)! Even a sexy playlist on Spotify can put you into a good headspace for writing. Just make sure you’re being safe and looking out for your own comfort levels. Never put yourself in a situation to experience something triggering for the sake of writing a good story. 

All of this to say, it is so different to write smut than it is to write a regular plot. It can feel incredibly daunting to go about it and find the perfect balance between technical actions and thoughts/feelings/dialogue and then make it all cohesive in the end. It’s hard to do but it’s not impossible! 

[dehemetera]

Omg I can’t believe I am actually posting her. Pls enjoy my precious oc and her wardrobe

Below you can find all the head canons I wrote so far about her, the relationship she has with her squad and with the other significant captains/lieutenants of the Gotei 13

Mira Komamura

General head canons

‌originally from the 4th squad ( vet section) on her own request as she doesn't really like to throw hands.

was assigned to captain Komamura strict medical crew when almost no one knew about his real appearance; specifically, she was tasked with providing emotional support for Sajin's social anxiety.

‌”Captain!? How did you dare to hide that lovely snoot for such a long time?! "

yes, she was basically his emotional support puppy.

as it happens very often, Sajin grew fond for his emotional support puppy and decided to adopt her ( literally) as his brand new sister, then insisted to move her to the 7th.

western origins ( abuses this 🤌🏼 while talking ).

fav animal: humpback whale.

fav food: eats almost everything, watch your hands. Really, this girl is a few snacks away from being your best friend. But if she had to pick one, it'll probably be french fries, no dressing, just salt.

‌fav colour : cold hues in general, blue/green/ purple.

likes stars. Like a whole lot. You give her something with stars on, she's gonna love it. She hoards things with stars on it. She doodles them on everything at hand. When friends are sad, she scribbles a star on the palm of their hand.

‌" you're now under the sign of the good vibes star. You can now enjoy the rest of your day. You're welcome."

now imagine her doing this on Captain Zaraki's hand and Iba's cold sweats thinking how to tell the poor Sajin about his adopted sister's premature departure.

the good vibes star must work thou, cause Kenpachi just patted her head like she was a puppy and walked away. Iba thanked whatever god was listening at that moment.

sassy AF

sarcasm native speaker.

cracks 2.000.000 dirty jokes in between three regular words.

must focus not to drop inconvenient comments during each Captains/ lieutenant meetings.

looks like a black cat personality at the beginning.

turns into a weird dancing parrot when comfortable around someone.

has a ridiculous attention span.

world of the living connoisseur ( western side). Spent several decades studying it by living among living people.

terrible traditional swordsmanship skills.

got Jedi Lightsaber classes on Earth and actually developed a pretty efficient fighting style; ‌Iba is genuinely confused and slightly concerned about that but as long as it works...

likes to sing, not very good at that but still on the average ( usually makes silly dances while singing to underline the lyrics).

pretty skilled belly dancer ( which at some extent she uses in controlling her shikai) but definitely won't dance in public cause she's too shy for that .

very body positive about other people, excessively critic about her own body.

very good painter. She mostly paint with her hands (" advanced kindergarten art skills") but could also use sponges, pieces or paper or rags, leaves, basically everything but a brush;‌most of the times she just likes to make little silly doodles.

then she turns those doodles into stickers and spread them across the seireitei.

Byakuya Kuchiki knows the Shinigami women's association held a secret meeting in his mansion when he finds small stickers with sassy quotes around the house.

take her to the water park; She just loves it.

beach girl

just loves to hang out in the water

‌of course this is the perfect excuse for captain Hirako to make jokes about her liking to be wet

she never denied the statement. 👍🏼

excellent resistence to alcohol. Hard to get drunk.

when that does happen though, she just unleashes all the power or her sass/ sarcasm/ unhinged comments

this usually leads to pretty amusing express stand up comedy shows where she eventually ends up oversharing something she would've preferred to keep for herself

pretends not to remember anything if the topic is pointed out the day after

About the 7th squad

she was gladly welcomed as lieutenant by almost all the soldiers due to her sincere support towards former Captain Komamura

Those affectionate soldiers appreciate her chill attitude prone to jokes and fun as a good balance to Iba’s serious demeanour

She introduced music during workouts and trainings. Music from the west, of course

Now witness the fierce 7th brigade soldiers casually humming Bad Romance while doing their daily chores.

Since Mira’s office is the coziest and most decorated once, Iba started throwing Shinigami Men’s Association meetings inthere

For Iba’s birthday, Mira decided to gift him a new HQ for his meetings by renovating an old, unused warehouse in the barracks, asking Ikkaku some help to edible and renovate the old furniture

Connections

Sajin Komamura : regardless of his full on canine appearance he is still officially her brother by previous adoption. Mira still takes good care of him, she has the most luxurious dog bed in her office for him to stop by. She also got him one of those speaking buttons board humans give their dogs to communicate.

Tetsuzaemon Iba : is definitely like a dad. All of their interactions have the warm yet bickering feeling of a father/daughter dynamic, including: communication issues, dad being jealous and over protective of his precious daughter when men buzz around, not understanding slangs. Mira signed up for Iba’s fan club to show support to her dad.

Shunsui Kyoraku : calls her Mira-chan and likes to invite her to drink together. He pays great attention to her drunken monologues as they’re usually pretty straightforward and accurate analysis of the current state of the Seireitei. He definitely trusts her guts and intuition in picking up the overall morale of the squads. Mira also signed up for his fan club ‘cause he’s the big boss and deserves support. Nanao Ise firmly oppose this.

Rose Otoribashi: is the only one whom has ever seen Mira dance. They sometime shares music afternoons with Rose playing music and her using it to practice her dance. They have a very respectful and delicate bond revolving on mutual arts appreciation.

Izuru Kira: it took them some time to get along due to Kira being really private person. Now they’re kinda cool about each other and Mira often tries to cheer him up telling him the whole hole in the chest thing is metal AF.

Shinji Hirako: this man bribed Mira in joining his fan club by offering her a bag of weed infused gummy bears. It worked. They operate at the highest level of shenanigans and communicate almost exclusively by flirting. Bombastic side eyes darting across the captain’s council room during meetings when they know the other one would be just about dropping the sassiest sh*t that would cost them the career. Regularly hangs out together both in the Soul Society and on Earth. Part of their flirt jokes revolves around the fact they would gladly date each other (but never actually did that).

Momo Hinamori: was the first to show Mira support when she was promoted to lieutenant. Therefore, Mira loves this girl and brings her gifts, treats and loves spending time together for a tea time. They share a heavy betrayal trauma and do their best to support each other in their healing journey.

Renji & Rukia: if Iba is her dad, Renji is her bro and Rukia is the sister in law you actually like more than your own brother. The three of them have a weekly “world of the living pop culture” themed night to binge watch series and movie marathons. Burping competitions between Mira and Renji are mandatory and Rukia is the judge.

Matsumoto Ranjiku: these two can love and hate each other depending on the mood and the topic. Sometimes they look like besties laughing together and mutually complimenting , ten minutes later they’re fighting over something, usually Matsumoto habit of exploiting men using her beauty.

Kenpachi Zaraki: these two really get along for reasons. Mira actually feels safe around him cause who would ever dare to fuck around close to him? She also thinks he’s illegally hot but never dared to voice that, not she would ever try to approach him with intentions. She just likes to fantasize about that amazing mass of wonder. On Kenpachi’s side, he likes to have a new brat messing around him without being scared, it feels heartwarming and nostalgic, sometimes feeds her the same candies he used to buy for Yachiru. Since Mira’s birthday is right after Kenpachi’s, she usually shows up at the 11th barracks with a cake to share to celebrate both their birthdays.

Ikkaku Madarame: for the better time they’ve been knowing each other, he just passively tolerated her, enjoying her little shows from time to time but never payed too much attention to the new lieutenant of the 7th squad. Then Mira came to ask his help in renovating the warehouse for Iba’s birthday gift and since the process took quite some time, they had the chance to spend time together, getting to know each other during those long crafty nights of recycling furniture. He is now heavily crushing on her and gets a little shaky and mildly flustered when she’s around, with Yumichika largest amusement. Mira has always appreciated her fellow colleague and was glad to have the chance to build up some kind of relationship with him but she’s genuinely confused by his friendly yet shifty and sometimes awkward behaviour towards her (she’s not good in getting the hint).

Yumichika Ayasegawa: oh the tea they spill. They don’t meet very often but when they do the amount of information they share can compete with the finest Seieitei’s intelligence. Sometimes they go shopping together. Yumichika tries his best to create opportunities for Ikkaku to be there when Mira comes over.

If you managed to read this far, thank you 💕

Some captains/ lieutenants are missing to the list but I already have them written, maybe I will add them in some future post.

Definitely expect more drawings about Mira’s adventures. I have more on the making (like about her zampakuto and other stuff.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of my imagination,

✨comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated ✨

[ofsappho]

Heartless, Chapter 2

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

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Your wedding night. Tags under read more.

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Tags: degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, consent negotiation, they egg each other on, gaslight gatekeep girlboss reader, pet names (whore, love, doll, good girl, pretty girl, bitch (yes this is used as a pet name I promise))

You watch the military chaplain sort through the prepared marriage license while the world’s largest butterflies do artistic gymnastics in your stomach.

Soap is the religious one out of the two of you, the Catholic one. You would’ve preferred a judge and a courthouse wedding more than this. But there was no time, and the headache of getting an American recognized by the multi-national special forces whatever-the-fuck just wasn’t worth it.

So a chaplain it is.

Soap has told you little about the soldier you’re set to marry. In his defense, he argued that there was very little to tell. Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley’s personnel file is too classified for a mere civilian, and there are only two single-sided sheets of paper’s worth of information in there anyways.

The bare bones - he’s British. (Of course, he is.) He wears a mask that he never takes off. He’s served many tours, in many places. And while Johnny was remarkably diplomatic about the wording, he did caution you that Ghost’s reputation precedes him and terrifies almost everyone who hears it. With good, justified cause.

Lovely.

But the cold, crawling fingers of desperation and the memory of the times when you couldn’t afford to go to the doctor reminded you of your priorities. And so you have agreed to bind yourself to some dude with a ridiculous, overwrought moniker.

After more than a few years of dealing with medical bureaucracy, military bureaucracy is hardly a match for you. You’ve come prepared with the family accommodations application filled out. You have copies of your identifying documents, birth certificates. The basic background check completed.

Once this is done and solemnized, Soap has volunteered to run it personally to his commanding officer like a good little messenger boy. An early wedding gift, he called it.

You’ve asked him for a Keurig just to be an asshole. And whether or not he got one, for real, Soap won’t say.

All that’s left is to… well. Say the vows and hope no one looks close enough to demand ‘proof.’ Like you’re in some awful fucking medieval romance novel. It’s 2023. You refuse to relinquish any bedsheets. Gross. And they’re expensive.

Lt. Riley still has fifteen minutes before the ceremony is supposed to start.

You’re only early out of an abundance of caution and anxiety. There was only so much sitting around in your old apartment and waiting for the clock hands to move you could take, not after you spent all night packing your life into your car and then climbed out onto your roof to watch the sunrise.

The next one you see, you will be a wife.

Even though Soap refused to show you a picture of Lt. Riley, you did your best to look somewhat presentable. For the pictures. And maybe a little bit for him.

The nicest dress you own, the jewelry you always wear.

Shit. Jewelry. Ring.

“Soap. Soap. I don’t have a ring.” Oh, that’s just your fucking luck, isn’t it? You have remembered literally everything. Your potato masher, your books, and the last of your immunosuppressants are packed into a cooler filled with ice.

Other than the one thing you absolutely need.

Your friend stares at you from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, you don’t got a ring?”

The chaplain’s going to turn and ask what’s wrong any second.

Before he notices, you grab Soap’s bicep and drag him into a corner as the last of your forced calm flees. “I don’t have a ring,” You hiss as your polished nails dig into his dress uniform.

That’s something you should thank him for after this calamity passes. At least your maid of honor is appropriately attired as if this were a real wedding. Or maybe Johnny is a matron of honor because he hasn’t been a virgin in years? Whatever.

His exasperation is less than reassuring. “Alright. Calm down. Calm down, lass. We’ll sort that out later-“ The chapel doors open, cutting him off.

Wow. You thought that Soap was kidding about the mask. That’s a mask.

A balaclava. With a skull on it. Edgy.

Oh, but he’s tall. Taller than you, taller by a couple of inches than Soap. That must really piss your friend off. He is… very tall. And heftily built.

No dress uniform. Just a black sweatshirt showing ripples of defined, bulky muscles underneath and dark wash jeans. And eye black obscures the skin around his eyes, everything his mask doesn’t cover.

It seems impractical, though you can’t deny the shiver of awe that flicks through your nerves when Lt. Ghost meets your inquisitive gaze. His irises are so dark that you can’t distinguish his pupils, leaving you with the impression of looking into twin black holes.

Do you shake his hand? Do you…

You wait for him to make the first move, and he makes no move at all.

“Hi, Lt. Riley,” You say softly, almost timidly. First impressions tend to go better when you make yourself smaller.

For a moment there, you almost think he didn’t hear you. You watch him narrow his eyes as if you’re more than what he was expecting. “License?” He asks after a painfully long awkward silence.

You shove the other papers at Soap, so you have a spare hand to find it. And if you conveniently remain deaf to his protests at being used as a shelf? That’s what maids of honor are for - whatever the bride need.

“License? Oh- uh, yeah, here.” The half-completed form crumples slightly in his hand. It’s from those bulky gloves, and you die a little inside at the sight.

When he hands it back to you with a messy, scrawled signature at all the highlighted blanks, you turn your body away to ensure he overlooks your vain efforts to smooth it out. “Just call me Ghost.”

Damn, this one wrinkle won’t come out. The chaplain will think you’re unprofessional. “Okay, Ghost,” You respond absentmindedly. He hovers in the corner of your eye like his namesake, which is annoying. It’s not as if you’re hiding a fucking bomb over here-

And you stop thinking that immediately. You know, in case they can read minds in this heavily guarded, highly secret special forces base or utilize some tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist's secret weapon. That’s mostly an inside joke you have with yourself. You leave a little room for healthy paranoia to offset the healthy humor.

The chaplain and his small glasses interrupt now that the groom has arrived, and you hand him the still-messed-up license with an embarrassed flush on your cheeks. Thankfully, he takes it without complaint. Maybe a little judgment - and then you remember you have that issue with the rings. There will be more judgment to come.

“Are you ready to begin?” The middle-aged man asks.

Ghost nods almost at the same time you do.

“We are gathered here in the presence of this witness for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Lt. Simon Riley and…”

You tune out the entirety of the cookie-cutter wedding ceremony. The chaplain goes on and on, all sorts of shit about love and forever that you know he has to say but is remarkably humorous in light of your circumstances.

Lt. Riley’s eyelashes are blonde. You couldn’t see it before, but now that you’re inches from him, you can’t look away. They’re a pale platinum blonde that stands out against his dark eyes like threads of ice, and you count each one. Fascinating.

The chaplain clears his throat, then gestures for Ghost to take your hand.

The glove stays on. But he is gentle about it, gentler than what seems natural for his movements. “Do you take Lt. Riley to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?” That’s laying it on a bit thick, you think.”

“I do,” You say, voice low and confident.

“Do you, Lt. Riley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?”

Something shifts in his gaze. He tilts his head to the side and tracks the features of your face, your full mouth, and your cheekbones. “I do.” You wouldn’t even know where he was looking, had it not been for the stark whites of his eyes darting back and forth.

“The rings?” Your officiant asks.

You hear Johnny stifle a chuckle. Damn him for standing so far away; if he were closer, you’d step on his foot with your heel. “We- the rings are in the mail. They haven’t gotten here yet.” You smile winningly as you hold the chaplain’s bemused stare, practically daring him to call out your poorly-concealed lie.

Ghost hasn’t let go of your hand this whole time. Even he lets out a small huff after seeing your perfect poker face.

“I see. Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

You won't kiss him in front of everyone if he doesn’t lower his mask. As he obviously won’t, you stand on your very tippy-toes and kiss his cheek like you’re at a middle school dance.

Then it’s done, and you’re married.

Ghost pulls his hand back as if you’ve burned him, then steps away before you can ask him any questions.

Just as you try to chase him- “Congratulations, lass,” Soap exclaims, sweeping you into a hug that lifts you off the ground.

It’s got a hell of a lot more than excitement in it; you can feel his relief, and he goes as far as to kiss your forehead like a brother before letting you down.

There’s nothing on earth you can do to repay him. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.” For a moment, you’re children again—two kids against the world.

Johnny takes the license and the rest of your paperwork. “Gotta run this to Chief Laswell. But- you’ll be fine. Don’t be too scared.” You can tell he’s fucking around, but there’s an edge to his voice that you don’t love.

No person can be scarier than a hospital bill. “Worry about yourself, Johnny,” You tell him.

It takes a second for the steel in your eyes to reassure him. Eventually, he nods. “Good luck.” Then he makes his way to Ghost.

They speak in murmurs too quiet for you to hear, and you can see Soap grip his forearm tight enough to bruise. Then they come to some sort of silent consensus. Ghost’s mask gives away absolutely nothing, but your friend seems satisfied enough.

“Uh- pardon me, I’m sure Lt. Riley and yourself are eager to…  celebrate the evening.” The chaplain’s acting like you and Ghost are about to start going at each other right here, right now.

That is a known stereotype for hastily-married couples, and he’s probably seen some traumatizing things in this very chapel. Either way, you coordinate a retreat into the hallway to give the poor man a break. 

Ghost holds the door open for you, and you wonder what torture Soap promised to get him to do that. He doesn’t seem pleased. You’d tell him that he doesn’t need to bother, but you’re not so invested in Ghost’s immediate happiness, and that’s a lot of work.

Someone’s waiting for you in the corridor. A poor uniformed soldier has been conscripted into acting as envoy on behalf of the Special Forces, and he asks you both to follow him to your temporary quarters.

Right. Yes.

Ghost doesn’t say a word. He matches your steps with uncanny accuracy, and you’re beginning to understand why people sincerely call him by his preferred moniker. It’s fucking freaky, how quickly and efficiently he moves without any sound at all. You might even forget he was there if not for the heavy, uncomfortable weight on your back that reminds you he’s still watching.

Then the soldier rounds a corner and presents you with an open door. The lights are on, and a bouquet of fresh flowers is on the table inside with a little white card.

Your guide hightails it out as soon as you’re through the doorway.

And then Ghost closes the door behind him.

You and him. Alone. There’s no one in the other room or close enough to hear if something goes wrong.

You watch him keep himself busy, circling perimeters and learning exits and entrances, and you think… you wouldn’t mind it if something went wrong.

Reading people is something that can’t be taught, not really. You’re lucky to have come out of the womb with that ephemeral quality clutched tightly in one hand. While the mask makes it difficult, you are… learning. You are noting shifts in posture, inflections of voice, where those dark eyes linger.

You need to collect more data.

“Do I have to call you Ghost? I can’t just call you Simon?” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and the tension in the air tastes electric on your teeth. It will be a coin toss to see which way that tension goes, you think.

“Don’t say that name. ‘M not gonna repeat myself.”

You’ll do as he says because now he’s staring into your eyes without flinching. “Hm. Fine.” Which is what you wanted.

Ghost removes his gloves for a moment to fiddle with his phone, and you can’t help but stare.

He has beautiful hands. Long, thick fingers, knuckles marked with a lifetime’s worth of scar tissue, more scars wrapping themselves like cords across the backs of his hands. Beautiful.

There are tattoos blanketing his left forearm. You can’t see them from here, and you doubt you’ll get to examine them in detail sometime this century. Tattoos are so personal, and it would take words a lot tougher than a question to get through his shark skin persona.

Gloves go back on. And he’s caught you staring. You don’t give a fuck.

You relish the challenge.

Like a feral raccoon or a bored weasel, you’ll push and push and push until you’ve found something entertaining.

Does Ghost think that if he menaces you in silence long enough, you’ll scream when he says ‘boo’? How cute.

Out of nowhere, he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re lookin’ at me.” You could make a snide comment about noticing the obvious, but that’s not the fight you want to pick. Yet.

You’re far more intrigued by the issue of his ghastly, ghoulish, fearsome camouflage. “Do you really, like, wear the mask all the time? Even to sleep? What about eating? You don’t care about getting crumbs all over it?”  Your voice would sound genuine if you put a little more effort into it.

Silence. He knows you’re trying to pry him out into the open, and he thinks he can ignore you until you give up.

Your eyes narrow. “Oh, come on. I’m your wife now. I’m allowed to ask questions.” Those fucking icy eyelashes. Your feet move before you realize it, bringing you closer to him so you can repeatedly run the contrast in your mind.

Ghost crosses his burly arms over his chest. “Not if they’re fuckin’ annoying ones,” He snaps back.

That’s one hell of a British accent. Not a posh one; working class, probably not from London.

Like his eyes, hands, and stature, his low, raspy voice is beautiful, too. “Isn’t that what wives are for?” You bait.

You catch his eye roll and match it with a dirty glare. “Do you ever shut up?” Ghost asks, advancing so quickly that you find yourself trapped against the wall, some primal flight instinct activated by his sinuous, menacing stride.

And you’ve been asked that very same question many, many times in your life. “Um… not really,” You toss out. Smugly, like you’re winning whatever fucked-up game is brewing between you. You totally are.

Like this, you must tilt your head to meet his furious eyes. “Fuck. That’s tedious.” Obviously, this is not nearly as tedious as he complains. He’s still here.

Your eyes flick between the door and Ghost’s mask, indicating he’s free to walk away. “Oh, I’m being tedious? Look at me. Look at me. Say that again.” Under your dress, your skin feels warm. As if he’s already touching you.

Ghost takes another step forward. “You… are… being… tedious.” Close enough that his combat boots touch your fancy low heels.

Kissing someone through a mask is very stupid, both in theory and practice. Just as you thought earlier.

Somehow, some way, Ghost makes it work.

Gentleness seems to be a foreign language to him; he wraps one large hand around your jaw, pushing you against the wall, so roughly that pain radiates across your scalp, and digs his index finger and thumb in until he’s holding your mouth open.

And that’s how he kisses you. Forcing you to be exactly as still as he wants and pressing his mask over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut as if this were a real kiss. If this were a real kiss, you’d have your teeth halfway through his bottom lip by now.

Great idea. Just as Ghost moves back, you nip his mask with your teeth. Nothing serious, no real damage. Enough to teach him something about you, more important than words can say.

For only a moment, it lifts from his face. Not in any type of direction where you can see more, but the fabric stretches, and it reminds him that that’s all his mask is. Fabric. Not metal or bone.

“Nah, don’t do that,” Ghost warns before leaning in again.

Fine. This time, you dig your nails into the tiniest revealed sliver of his pale neck as you kiss him until he’s forced to pin your wrist above your head with one gloved hand.

He seeks to chastise you again, but you put a stop to that by arching into his chest instead of away.

This sets the beautiful, pristine line of your neck on display as you tilt your head just the right way. You know your angles, and you bet he probably enjoys holding fragile things in his palms before crushing them the next second.

The unmarked skin above your pulsing carotid artery sure looks fragile.

And, of course, it invites Ghost to dip his burning gaze lower.

You look good. You know you do; you know that your cleavage pops in this dress, you layer perfume to be the most memorable woman in the room, and this confidence has been insulating you all day.

He’s not immune to it. His other hand runs along your exposed collarbones before dipping between your breasts. He takes the fabric of your dress between his fingers, testing the strength of the cloth and construction.

Wait, hold on, this shit was expensive. And unless he’s going to replace it-

Ghost has been too busy staring at your boobs to notice that he’s let go of your wrist, and you pounce on the opening. You’re out of his grasp immediately before peeling the dress off. Shame is for the weak.

His appreciative groan goes straight to your nerves, to your nipples hardening under your sheer bralette and your panties beginning to stick to your skin.

All that newly exposed skin and soft curves turn the desire in his dark eyes into a ruthless hunger.

You watch him walk towards you, circle you. He checks your ass out in the most blatant way possible, so you feel the compliment more than you hear it.

You turn to look at him through lashes all dolled up with mascara and make your eyes round, doe-like - as saccharine as artificially-flavored taffy.

Even through the balaclava, Ghost grins.

“Can I help you with that?” He asks, gesturing to the flimsy metal clasp in the center of your back that holds the bra in place.

His gloved fingers trail down your spine when you sweep your hair from your shoulders. “What a gentleman.” There are dozens of other more productive things he could be doing right now to get you naked.

He coaxes a slight, involuntary shiver from your spine when he digs his fingertips into the curve of your breast, and you dread what will happen when Ghost finds all the other weak spots.

Just as you’re about to end his fun and get this bra off yourself, he undoes the clasp. “Don’t want to ruin your pretty clothes.” A harsh, jagged leather glove edge clips your skin as he does so. While it won’t make you bleed, not even close, you feel he wouldn’t care if something did.

Fuck.

Instead of dropping both arms out obediently so he can slip you out of it all at once, you have the genius idea of sticking out one arm after another.

This forces Ghost to face you as you let the bralette drop.

A flush crawls up your chest, blooming pink and flustered between your breasts. “You think I look pretty?” You ask, barely suppressing the whine from your tone. It’s a real whine, one that speaks to how badly you want this to escalate.

Someone wolf-whistling at your tits usually makes you angry enough to hit them, but Ghost’s whistle makes the blush in your skin burn brighter. “Christ,” He mutters. The bone-white teeth on his mask distort, then stretch, like he’s licking his lips.

You spent a little extra time this morning hunting down a nice pair of lace-trimmed underwear, and now you’re thrilled you bothered. “Gonna make me wait forever?”

The answer is no. He’s on you in the next second, palm flat between your collarbones as he practically shoves you towards the bare regulation mattress, the kind of thing you’d see in a college dorm.

When you land, the slight impact takes your breath away.

But then he sees your thighs pressing together, your hips shifting, and your eyelids flutter. You’re fucking melting from that force alone. “You like it mean?” He wonders, half-mocking, half-genuine.

You push yourself up on your elbows, making your tits bounce more than necessary. Just to watch him lose his train of thought again.

You’re dripping through your panties, you can feel slick arousal on your skin, and he’ll know as soon as you spread your legs. “I like it mean.” Your smile is wide and beckoning. And filled with your own intentionally-grating menace.

After all, he’s asking the wrong question.

The right question is whether he can be mean enough, whether he can touch you with enough cruelty to make you come. Already, your pussy twitches at the thought.

Something glints in his sin-dark eyes. “Good. That’s a good girl.” No, he promised you something else.

“That’s not very mean.”

You get no further warning.

He braces one muscled forearm across your chest to force you down before shoving that hand under your jaw, so your face is entirely in his control. He keeps you looking at the ceiling, and you realize it’s so he can pull his mask down.

Dammit. You try to fight it, dip your jaw to see his face, but his grip is tougher than iron and so tight that it will leave bruises on your chin.

Then you feel his teeth bite into your throat, mark after mark along the length of your neck, and it hurts. It fucking hurts, and your eyes roll back into your head, skin on fucking fire. “God, real eager, ain’t you?” Ghost hisses as you cough and struggle for breath against his hand. “Haven’t known me for twenty-four hours, and you’re already spreading your legs like a whore.”

There are lingering kisses that are just shy of gentle, long lathes of his tongue along your sweaty skin, and then there are savage bites into the side of your breast, in between them, his fingers plucking at the hardened bud of your nipple.

Your mind is empty, completely empty, as your hips grind up towards his and the thick, heavy erection you can feel through his jeans. “You do that for every man who looks at you twice?” You can hardly hear him over your squeaks of pain mixing with pleasure. Now he’s slotted a knee between your thighs, giving you something to rock your covered pussy on.

“Only for the ones who deserve it,” You get out between clenched teeth, holding back your moans, so he doesn’t get that satisfaction.

He chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuckin’ hell.” When he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, licking, sending jolts of pleasure through your nerves but hovering on the edge of real damage…

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to put together a retort. “Jealous that you haven’t had a turn yet?”

“Naw, I ain’t jealous. Ain’t gotta be. I know you want me.” He punctuates his words by cruelly pressing his knee harder into your clit, wrenching a long, tortured sound from your throat.

If he keeps that up… already, something hot and vicious begins to simmer low in your stomach, a hollow ache.

Then he fucking lets up on covering you in marks to watch your face twist in rapture when he does it again. “Come on then, Lieutenant. Big, scary, mean Ghost,” You tell him breathlessly.

Again, his knee, your aching clit, you don’t wanna come all over his pants except you kind of do, and if he realizes that, he’ll make you.

His fingers pluck your nipple one last time. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ show you.” Then he shoves his mask on haphazardly, withdrawing his hands so he can pull his gloves off. “Take that shit off. Right now,” Ghost orders.

The fabric of your soaked panties rips a little in your enthusiasm to get them away from you, and you toss them in some corner without looking.

And as you hold his gaze, face flushed and dewy from his kisses, you part your legs.

Ghost is so taken by the sight of your glistening, aroused core that he has to sit back for a second and just… “Fuuuck,” He groans, eyes lidded with want.

You run a single teasing hand along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Still pretty?” Your smile is all teeth, hunger, and a promise that you don’t need him to have a good time.

He shakes his head. “I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches,” Ghost warns. As if he isn’t literally rolling up his sleeves as he speaks. As if you can’t see his muscles strain and flex with the effort of not touching you.

His shoulders are so huge that he casts a shadow when he looks over you. “You will.” You pause to make a show out of sliding your wicked gaze down to his jeans. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to your…” Then Ghost grabs your hips before you can finish your sentence and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

You hear him sigh through his teeth. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Prettiest tits, prettiest ass… Where have you been hiding?” It seems that he does, in fact, like you self-absorbed. You’ll drag more compliments from his mouth before the night is over, you swear it.

When you try to slip a leg over his shoulder before he’s ready, Ghost traps your soft thighs open and in place with his hands. “The United States of America.” Fuck. Fuck.

He strokes through your folds with two fingers, not deep enough to do anything but tease. Still, you jump as soon as you feel him brush your clit with a feather-light touch.

Ghost takes those two slick fingers and lazily holds them out in front of your mouth. “Look at me, and this is over. You hear me? I don’t give a fuck how much you whine or complain.” You take them in your mouth in a show of obedience that surprises him, eagerly lapping up your musk and the salt of his skin.

But not entirely obedient - you nip his fingertips before you pull away, and a string of saliva stretches between you. “I hear you.” Whatever. Avoiding peeking at his face is, like, the easiest thing someone could do to get eaten out.

He waits until your head is properly thrown back, and you rest a hand over your eyes, so there’s no chance you will look down.

As if remembering your reaction to his earlier mercy, Ghost takes his sweet fucking time doing everything but eat your needy, dripping cunt. Your stupid, annoying, evil husband covers the soft, plush flesh of your thighs in kisses, he licks up the arousal that’s leaked onto your skin throughout this game, he leaves more love bites in the crease of your thigh.

Asshole.

And it feels good. Of course, it feels good, and you’re already a squirming, pleading mess, holding back your sighs because you’ll be damned if he thinks you’ll fold with no effort.

When he finally licks a hot stripe through your folds, carefully sucking at your clit, your resulting moan fucking bursts out of your chest, drawn out and desperate.

You can feel him laugh against your sensitive flesh before he just…

Your hips can’t get closer if you tried, you’re caught between grinding on his face and trying to flinch away as he fucks you with his mouth, Ghost’s tongue moving with unerring precision to pour pleasure like lightning through your veins.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as he goes back and forth, licking, sucking, making your thighs tremble around his face. “Shit, shit, keep doing that, fuck-“ You beg, mouth open because it feels like you can’t breathe. The air tastes hot, like sex, like smoke and bourbon.

Ghost’s groans are barely audible over the sloppy, explicit sounds of his mouth coaxing more slick out of your core, all over his face. “You taste-“ He presses two thick fingers inside. “So fucking-“ It stings, it’s a stretch, he has to lap at your swollen clit with a delicate touch to get you to loosen up. “Good-“ Your muscles twist and spasm around his fingers, fluttering in time with each thrust.

Then he picks up the pace. “Ghost, Jesus, what the fuck are you-“ You sob, gasping as you try to get control over your body. He’s got every reaction, your vocal cords, your nerves, your needy, desperate cunt, entirely in hand.

His free hand digs into your leg, nails aimed to hurt. And like the whore you absolutely are, every time he does that, your stomach tightens further. “No need to say my name twice, love,” Ghost tells you in a voice as smooth as velvet, like he’s endlessly amused at your expense.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” You bitch before getting that knee over his muscled shoulder and dragging his hot, wet mouth towards your pussy again.

Your shriek fills the air when he bites, like really bites your thigh in revenge. “‘M busy fucking you. Come on, lemme in. Lemme find it.” His fingers-

They’re thrusting into you deeper, he slides his other hand under your hips to angle your pelvis up.

And then you feel him brush something deep inside your pussy that makes you clench as tight as a vice around his hand. “Um, fuck, I-“ Your back arches off the mattress, and you’ve got your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, your free hand flailing around as you try to just- just get everything under control…

You can’t think, can’t speak, he touches that patch of sensitive flesh inside of you, and it just wipes your brain clean, replacing everything with Ghost. “There we go. That’s it,” He coos at your helplessness, smug with the knowledge that all your bravado and rationality fail when his fingers fuck you harder, rougher.

Ghost helps you chase the orgasm gathering on the horizon, so powerful that you can feel it humming like power lines in your teeth. “Hn-“ Your moans rise and echo off the bare walls, and he drags his fingers inside you at the same time he places his mouth on your aching, swollen clit.

“Got 60 seconds to come, or I’ll stop.” It’s right there, just out of reach, like your skin is on fire and your body is so, so, so desperate for everything he can give.

Tears gather in your eyes. “No, please, don’t stop,” You beg, words garbled up with whimpers and cries, tears tracking down your sweaty cheeks.

Whenever your leg tries to hold him in place to fight off the pleasure or your core clamps down so he can’t withdraw his fingers, he fucks you harder. “Pretty girl.” Holy shit. You just need to breathe, to try and focus, but you can’t. It’s so- “Good fucking girl.”

You need to come. You need to come, you’re trying, you don’t want him to leave you like this, so much arousal pours out of your flushed, oversensitive core that it covers his wrist, and your hips begin to buck and shake.  “5, 4, 3, 2, 1-“

“I- I’m coming, oh my fucking God-“ Your orgasm drags you down in a fury, pulsing hot and violent. Every muscle trembles and your whimpers reach a fever pitch. And Ghost pries at each scrap of your pleasure he can get, sucking and sucking at your flesh, and you can’t do anything. You have to let him swallow you whole.

You forget how to fucking breathe, and you’re sobbing under the hand over your face, trying to escape the sensation, but you can’t stop coming, clenching, chasing the high.

He lets you ride out the last of it on his hand, helping you through the aftershocks and gentling the pace of his tongue until you’re spent.

When that ringing sound clears from your ears, you sit up with sore stomach muscles and reach for him; mask be damned. Ghost gets the balaclava down over his nose, exposing his mouth shiny with your cum.

Your first real kiss is messy and slick, lips slipping against his and saliva going everywhere. His sticky hands tangle in your hair, and you gasp into his mouth from the sudden, sharp pain. It’s his turn to sigh when you nip at his full bottom lip, a deep, raspy sound that you could become addicted to very easily.

Your fingers slip under the edge of the mask - just where it covers his neck, and Ghost pauses for a moment, lips suspended over yours.

It takes three thundering heartbeats for him to return to kissing the air out of your lungs.

His hair feels short under your fingertips, bluntly cut to a regulation length. You’ve done it before for Soap when he first enlisted. You take your nails over the back of his neck once, then again, hard enough to make it sting.

“Bitch,” Ghost hums, and it’s the softest thing he’s said all evening. Like your teeth and claws are more impressive, more beautiful than your obedience.

Clearly, no one taught him how to behave toward a wife. “Manners.” This time, you draw a little blood from his mouth, and Ghost almost melts into a puddle in your hands.

“Let me fuck you.” He has one hand on your throat, not a chokehold so much as a loose necklace. A wedding ring on your finger couldn’t be more possessive than Ghost’s lingering, eager touch.

And when you press your forehead to his through the mask, he permits it. “I thought you just did.”

Something about his eye roll makes him seem younger. Lighter, more playful. “Let me fuck you again,” He tries. Yeah, no. You’re not a cheap date. “Turn around. Come on.” He has to do better than that.

The look on your face makes him sigh. “Don’t make me beg.”

Next time, he shouldn’t try and give you ideas. Definitely not for free. “What happened to ‘I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches’?” You ask coyly. You could ask him for anything right now, you think, and Ghost would give it to you.

Pained, aching frustration blooms in his dark brown eyes.

“Jesus, you’re never going to drop that, are you?” Ghost is so cute like this, squirming in his own vaguely-repressed way. He answers you quickly, far more quickly than someone who’s only tolerating this would. “You were right.” The hand on your throat moves delicately across your shoulders, massaging your neck, all luxury and indulgence, a slow seduction.

His words are like music to your ears. “I usually am.” You’re a sucker for that specific compliment. And with Ghost determined to caress every inch of your skin, your arms, the dip of your waist, well…

You bat his wanting hands away and flip yourself over. It takes a little care not to tweak anything, but being on your hands and knees is better for your spine in the long run, anyway.

His large palm runs up and down the length of your back, leaving warmth wherever he goes—softening your muscles, getting you used to his presence when you can’t see him, until you’re relaxed and pliant on the bed.

Fabric rustles behind you. It’s the balaclava; he’s pulled it off and tossed it to the side. You can just see it out of the corner of your eye. “Spoilin’ me with this view, love.” Then Ghost kisses the small of your back as he kneels on the bed, covering your skin with appreciation as he makes his way up.

You can’t help your small, genuinely breathless laugh when he kisses the side of your neck. “Make this good, and you’ll see it a second time,” You promise. Then he palms one of your tits, and you grind your ass against his hard-on, so he doesn’t get too lost in the sauce.

He nips your earlobe. “I’m the best you’re gonna have.” When he withdraws, he takes all his warmth with him, leaving you cold and bereft. “Might be a tight fit, doll,” Ghost tells you as he unbuckles his jeans.

Ooh, doll. That’s a new one. You haven’t been called that before. You like it.

His fingers dip between your thighs, nudging at your clit until you’re gasping and writhing. When he works two, then three digits into your cunt, he stretches you out with brisk efficiency.

The slick sound of skin on skin - Ghost pulls his fingers from you to spread your arousal over his dick, pumping himself a few times.

“I can take you.”

One of his palms rests on your back as he carefully, so so, so carefully slips the blunt head of his cock inside. “Ohhhhh, oh fuck.” You go completely slack, cheek dropping to the mattress. He’s big. He’s fucking massive.

Ghost is hardly moving at all, and still, your pussy is trembling, desperately trying to clamp down on him, but you’re too stretched out-

He’s gasping, exhaling hard through his nose while he tries to re-adjust. The feeling of you squeezing him is unbearable.“God. My fuckin’ God. You’re-“ Ghost cuts himself off, and you hear him curse. He pulls himself out slightly, then pushes back in. “Loosen- loosen up a little. Please.” You can’t even make sense of his pleading, not when his dick is so big inside your belly that you don’t have room for thoughts.

When he plays with your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb, you feel the pleasure grow and churn and make you shake. “I- you’re so big, I can’t,” You barely succeed at getting out.

But- he rolls his hips again, and your body opens for him bit by bit. “Please. That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl. Doll. Good girl,” He chants.

And what can you do but let out an answering moan, a strung-out, needy, desperate sound for words your brain doesn’t know?

Your nails are seconds away from tearing the plastic mattress cover. God, if only- if only your cunt wasn’t stuffed so full. “Ghost… fuck, you’re splitting me in two.” He bottoms out, and he’s so deep, like he’s molding you around him. After a moment, Ghost starts fucking you in earnest. 

“Holy shit, yes, right there-“ You gasp when his hard cock presses against your g-spot, your core shivering around him.

Ghost keeps at it with both hands on your hips to hold you steady. “I know. I know. I have you. I have you, love.” Your body trusts him to guide you through this - he’s sturdy and strong, and you feel every inch moving inside of you with his thrusts. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ.” Sweat gathers at your hairline before tracking down your face to join the little pool of saliva below your slack, open mouth.

When he grinds into your hypersensitive, tender pussy, you shriek, his cock fucking the sounds out of your strained vocal cords. “Feels so good,” He groans in a shaken, undone voice.

Despite your fucked-out head, despite getting the best dick of your life, you find another ounce of spite you haven’t tapped into yet. “B-best you’ve ever, hngh, had?” You’re dripping around him, so soaked that the wet sounds of your cunt echo almost drown out your nonsensical, cock-drunk noises.

Ghost laughs before fucking you harder, determined to make you scream. “Yeah, best fuckin’ pussy. Best girl. Fuck. Fuck.” And just as he does that, you hear him lick his fingers before pressing them to your swollen clit.

Oh no. Oh no. Your pussy begins to tighten and twitch, and you didn’t plan for this, the pleasure sneaks up on you as you fight it, trying to keep your head above water and your body from… “I’m not gonna last, shit, you’re too good to me,” Ghost growls, relentlessly pounding into you.

Your stomach aches and screams with your orgasm, but you’re not ready yet, you need a second. You- he’s manipulating your body so keenly, you’ve never felt anything like it.

His hips snap into your ass, aiming viciously for your g-spot. “You’ll come again. Like this,” Ghost orders, then presses down on your back, so you drop your chest and cant your hips up.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can,” You confess, each sound chopped up and breathless as he fucks you harder and harder.

He keeps his fingers on your clit at the same pressure, same speed, and it feels so good that you’re going to start sobbing at any second. Your knees are about to give out, and Ghost’s thrusts get wilder, messier.

“Come. Come for me.”

You’re screeching, crying, wailing as you come. Cunt spasming on his dick, your lungs empty and howling for relief. Your hips keep pushing back towards him to chase the high. Each wave is more painful, more powerful than the next, leaving you a twitching, helpless mess.

You come so fucking hard around him that you think you were meant for this. It’s the sweetest relief, like hot fire licking through your veins. It’s all Ghost and the cock he’s breaking you open on. Your pleasure slices into your gut like a sharpened knife, and your slick covers his pants, your thighs, the bed below you.

He shoves himself into you one last, impossibly deep, painfully good time, and Ghost comes with a long, drawn-out moan as your muscles milk him. There’s a burst of warmth - except your spasming, still-orgasming pussy is packed to the brim with his cock, so you feel his come drip all over your trembling, weak legs.

When he pulls out, he slides an arm around your waist before gently lowering you to the bed. Then Ghost lays on his side so he can draw your bare, sweat-soaked back to his chest, tucking you into him. And while you’re insensible, he grabs the balaclava and shoves it over his face.

You come back to yourself in increments, your head hazy and filled with small snapshots of tenderness.

Ghost adjusts the open buckle of his belt, so it doesn’t hurt you or irritate your sensitive skin. Your hand seeks one of his blindly until he wraps his fingers around yours. He stops your shivering by unzipping his hoodie and draping it over your naked body.

Your heart rate slows to something more reasonable, and as your eyes open, you see his tattoos. He’s got your head cushioned on his shoulder, so your hair has draped itself all over his arm.

You can see monochrome shadows dancing on his muscled, scarred skin, skulls, bombs, and dog tags, all of it peeking out.

Beautiful. Edgy, scary, beautiful. “I like them,” You say as you outline a lovingly-detailed sniper’s scope with the tip of your finger.

He doesn’t laugh, he’s recovering too, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Barbed wire in that faded, blue-black color that tattoos turn with age, greyscale fire, and brimstone… “They suit you. And so does the mask.” Ghost exhales softly, air fanning out across your skin.

Then he shifts, tightens his arm around you, and brings you closer. “Thanks,” He murmurs after a long, substantial moment.

You try to banish the exhaustion creeping on you to the recesses of your mind. It makes your tongue slippery, makes the thoughts fall straight out of your head and into the world. “Yeah, no problem. Did you know that your eyelashes are blonde? I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.”

There are many other things you want to say, but you chew on the inside of your cheek and manage to stop them.

“Have you now?”

Aw, damn. So you did say that out loud, and he heard you. “Yeah. Yeah.” Each time you blink, you do it slower, like gravity is somehow increasing as time goes on, and you’re losing the power to resist it.

Where’d he go? “Gotta fuckin’… put some sheets on this bed. Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, love.” You poke your head up for a second and look around. No Ghost behind you, no arms cradling you.

Then you spot him by the door, shoving his keycard in his pocket. “Mmph.” You don’t lie down until he circles around and curls his palm around your cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” Ghost promises, and with his blessing, you roll over and close your eyes.

-

Tagging @abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @poohkie90 @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @555ilovecats @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @drugsaftersex @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney

Idk how tag lists work so i guess just reply if u want to be added? and reply/shoot me a message if you want off!

Thank y'all so much for the support and love <3 <3 <3, the next chapter will be more smut, as well as the 141's reaction to your wedding!

One last thing - please do not ask a disabled author/person in general to disclose intimate details of their disability because you think their disability should limit them from doing something. that is very rude, and also very ableist. the only person entitled to my medical history is my doctor, and I've already had someone act entitled toward my medical history over this fic. i am super uncomfortable that i had to disclose anything at all, but i felt that if i didn't, they would pick a fight. my pinned post contains the comment i made on AO3 about this, including said details that I wish I didn't feel forced to tell people. I am not going to be responding to questions of that kind going forward. thank you.

(as always, dedicated to cuckoo <3)

[jhuzen]

Small brainrot--

Zhongli: You always seemed to get injured when I accompany you on your commissions, is there something wrong? Have I done something to cause this? Please, talk to me...

Reader: My love, darling, sweetheart, I swear it's not that deep. I keep getting hurt because I'm distracted staring at your ass-

-Morax

distractions [gn/m.reader]

AAAAAAAAAA MORAX ANON PULLING THRU WITH A GOOD ZHONGLI BRAINROT! i planned to make just me also brainrotting but here’s a quickie HAHDHSJDCJD. i had so much fun making this LMAO

𖦹 kinda crack lmao, degenerate reader 😭

He was hypnotic.

Zhongli, as your dearest beloved, exceeded your expectations far more than you could ever imagine. He was all too good! An absolute gentleman, completely attuned to your needs and would never lead you down into a path of agony and harm. He was always there, perhaps almost always there, considering that his job as the consultant at the funeral parlor was the only thing keeping him away from you 24/7.

You had no doubts that this man is absolutely enamored with you, tailing you around like a loyal dog when you’re out in your errands. And by these errands, often they are commissions posted by certain people, asking the bravest souls out there to get rid of a few pests loitering around in Liyue.

You were perhaps one of the most sought out bounty hunters in the field. And while you weren’t directly affiliated with world renowned Adventurer’s Guild, you still were often dragged into their commissions, as adventurers personally had to come and ask for your help in the middle of your afternoon tea to track down some pesky ruin guards that indiscriminately attacks everything in its sight.

People may have fretted at the sight of any ruin machine that they came across their paths, but to you, they were the quickest way to earn a lot of mora as having Zhongli for a lover doesn’t come cheap, the man basically buys anything that catches his eye, and the fact that he’s absolutely atrocious in bargaining with you barely excelling at it as well, you’re bound to constantly have enough on you for his spending exploits. Suffice to say, you were the apex predator of these machines, constantly on the hunt for them.

Though that did not seem to apply as you winced for the tenth time at this very moment.

How lucky was it that you were nearby Mingyun Village when you took on a certain bounty that was given on you. It offered a million mora as you had to deal with two hulking ruin hunters, aggressive in temperance as it looked to be one of those just seem to lock on to you in sight.

Zhongli was free that day, and offered to come with you. Your endearing lover expressed his concerns when he happened to look over the paper that contained all the details for your target. And to see you deal with those merciless machineries, he couldn’t hold himself back and immediately asked to come with you.

You weren’t one to deny his offer. Zhongli was a warrior god above all and you’ve seen him countless times on the battlefield when the traveler had asked you and him to accompany them on a tedious commission. And on the off chances that you’ve been on a mission with your adoring lover… you’ve noticed one insufferable thing.

He’s far too distracting.

There was a common denominator in every single time you and him went out on a mission; you were always somehow barely escaping death by the skin of your teeth. It was ridiculous. You’d think having Zhongli in the field would inspire you to do better — but no. He distracted you. Him and his graceful movements, the way his shield just granted you unparalleled protection and when he kicks his spear, you could almost shrivel up and just die then and there.

And unfortunately, this one almost had you kicking the bucket.

Blood trails can be seen on the grassy fields as your worried lover hurried to the nearby village. The residents were quick to aid him and had given him the much needed things for your wound treatment. There was a concerning gash on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and Zhongli was damn near in tears as he patched you up.

You failed to hold in a wince as you joked around to lighten the mood, “Guess that hunk of junk was eager to be on me, huh?” You peered up at your lover while you sat on the chair, whose frown never left him as he continued to clean around your still bleeding wound. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look so sad… I just happened to be at the wrong spot, love.”

A tensed silence fell between you and him and even in his unresponsive state, you could feel the worry that emanated from him. And even that was something you felt responsible for, unable to say anything else.

And finally he granted you mercy as he heaved a soft sigh, looking at you with eyes that overflowed with so much concern, “I was so worried… you’ve never been this badly injured before.”

You had no heart to tell him the stupid reason behind your fuck up, so you opted to stay silent.

Zhongli took your silence as remorse for your mistake and only continued to press on, eyebrows furrowing as he caressed your face that had a tad bit of dirt smudged into it, “I never wanted to bring this up… but it seems as though every time I accompany you on your hunting missions, you always seem to end up getting hurt far more than when you worked alone…”

You hated where this was going but did not bother protesting, you know trying to get ahead of him is a losing battle, “Is… Is it me? Have I done something to cause this? Am I perhaps lacking in providing you protection? Please…” his words were soft as he pleaded, amber eyes meeting you with a hint of desperation. “Please tell me… I must know what led up to this point. I don’t want to realize things when it’s much too late.”

Stupidity pounced on you as Zhongli expressed his dissatisfaction. This is awful. You felt the guilt seep through your veins when your precious lover was unloading so much of his scorn all for a reason so stupid.

But then again, your dignity was always a notch lower than your love in a list of priorities. You can only hope the man doesn’t hurl his giant meteor at you once you do tell him the reason.

“Don’t… be mad,” you started and immediately grimaced at his pointed stare. Right. Never patronize a worried lover. With your good arm, you pulled him by the waist, looking up at him with a small grin, “It’s not that deep. I promise you. Though, yes, to an extent, my subpar performance has something to do with you.”

Your grip around his waist tightened when you felt him bristle at your words, almost close to pulling away. You quickly fished him out of his misery as you continued, “Forgive my crudeness… but you have been a distraction for me when you join me on my missions…”

“Pardon?”

“Your…” you coughed a little as a light blush dusted your cheeks, “You… uh, how do I put this delicately… you present a rather delectable view on certain angles when you fight.”

Yet another blanket of silence enveloped the both of you, but you broke out a sweat as Zhongli slowly processed your words. The frown on his face suddenly deepened and it was only now or never before he hurls the meteor at you and kills you for good.

Zhongli jolted as your hand brushed against his fine ass and gave the supple area a little squeeze. You bargained for an ounce of mercy with that charming grin of yours.

The former archon sighed with a loaded indignation. He wonders sometimes how on earth can you be a bounty hunter with that kind of reckless attitude. “You… you are impossible.” He murmurs with the intention to chide you but even you can hear the embarrassment in his tone.

“Aw c’mon! It’s not too bad!” You cackled as the atmosphere between you cleared. You gave him one last wink before going in for another squeeze, prompting him to smack your wounded shoulder out of instinct, making you keel over, pressing your head against his stomach.

“Ah! My apologies, are you—?”

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know. This was your punishment after all. One you would gladly take head on.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it,” you managed with a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know.

[secretagentsociety]

Huge yandere X extremely concerningly chill reader pt2

We all know the drill eng isn't my first language,I didn't proof read yada yada and this is again just self indugent

more about huge yandere!

•first thing first the world you're in Because no!people no no this fic is not taking place in our normal modern world that would be boring.to write,anyway this world is a fantasy world called gaia,it have worrior,villains,heroes,fairy,god goddesses,elf,goblins and even the legendary m.i.l.f. and d.i.l.f so there's that.

In my defense who doesn't know a fantasy magic based world amirite? Alr we done? We cool with this? Moving on!!

• so whats like his deal?,like what's his backstory?Well you're in luck!bcuz I have just the thing!firstly he hails from a humble beginning-

Nah he's the hero of this world,yes you heard it right the righteous hero,summoned isekaid typical op mc but he's just built naturally tall and naturally scary so ppl thought of him as a devil and basically discredit his hero Status, The mages then proceed to summon another hero a more traditional looking one yk?suave,cool,has way with words and prolly have a whole harem?yes that replaced our beloved yandere

oh but it's fine!he doesn't rlly see the point of a harem,in his eyes there can only be one person he shall devote his life into And that is you!:D his beautiful dearest darling (yes even if you're a dude you'd still be beautiful to him)(no exceptions)

• now that his backstory is over let's get to know him really His name is Tresh (real name unknown)(goes by Tresh cuz yes)

his height?that depends how tall are you?now take that and add about...hmmm....alot more than that and bam!you have his height!(How many is alot more is unspecified,go ham make him a giant for all we care :P)

His appearance typical scary mobster but still kinda cute kinda hot ya feel me?,like wouldn't be the first guy you laid your eyes on but wouldn't be the dude you forget instantly

his hair is basically just black with little white strand to it His eye colour plain brown just normal brown that looked like black nothin special but it's cute yk?I love brown eyes,they cool,they vibing

•his job? well he's basically a hero?villain?who knows not even me the author knows,but I could tell you this,since he is the original hero the world favours him GREATLY!

so don't even try to run cuz some of the most ridiculous sht will happen to you like for example tripping on a stick and bam! Right into his arm how you get there?idk.

and since he basically got the world's favor he's strong as fk remember? he's mc,typical op and yada yada all that jazzy plot armor,yes he had those even if he's 'replaced' the only thing the new hero can obtain is just the thing he never pursue After

which he felt lucky that he pursue you (he say pursue I say kidnapping,but yk what tomato potato) Before the new hero,cuz just the thought of you being eyed by that sleezy womaniser!perverted!douchebag! new hero made him angry to the point his mana spills out causing a not so good natural disaster

Oh well he's sure the new hero will fix it :D

• how jealous CAN he get Now I mentioned previously he's jealous as fk,now his jealousy doesn't show Infront of you,although if it did you prolly wouldn't even gaf,but behind you oh boy...

honestly had you not been aware of you surroundings?!

basically everyone avoided gazing at you for more than 5 seco-i mean 3-no?ok 2 seconds???- okay he gotta stop or everyone gonna have to use a blindfold just to keep the empire peaceful and away from his wrath

may or may not have had his loyal subordinates to trail after you,not to stalk you or anything (yes it's to stalk you) it's just to take records of what you're doing everyday (which is stalking) but it's not rlly stalking if it's for your safety (nope still stalking) he just loves you so much what if you got injured?!and he wasn't there?! Oh god the horror of paper cuts you could be in pain!!(cool motif still stalking)

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Have to stop here bcuz it'll be too long,I shall continue later.

Pt1

[humanityissstrange]

When the aliens found earth, there were several factions, but it took decades to realize the heads of every faction were puppets, propped up to give the illusion of choice.

Pick your factions, pick your puppeteers, pick your driving motivations as you please, but there's only one group of puppeteers, regardless of how diametrically opposed the factions appear to be.

The Religious, supposedly many groups, supposedly holding no lands, but holding majority sway in many of the most violent and impoverished countries, with their congregations just doing what they were told in the name of God/the gods/ancestors/karma or whatever the local group espoused, and their leaders answering to a hierarchy that was either secretly supplanted by or outright created by one institution in particular, founded by an emperor from the butchered corpses of the religions of his day, and predating most forms of technology beyond basic metallurgy. Violent extremists ready to die for their cause embedded in nearly every nation ensure that none move against their interests too strongly.

The Structured, who have rigid societal systems that may or may not allow transitions between castes, and pursue efficiency and predictability. Those in the upper tiers fight amongst themselves viciously while their lessers cling doggedly to patriotic purpose, medicate themselves into a non-sapient haze, or kill themselves. Often all three, in that order. Their soldiers are generally brainwashed and their leaders are entirely unconcerned with collateral. After all, what use is the machine they have mounted with such effort, if not to build what they wish, and destroy what opposes them?

The Free, a rabid mob led by feelings and a constant stream of peer pressure from their omnipresent technology, that spends their time decrying the latest in the chain of liars to lead them and violently attacking one another over their perceived differences rather than questioning why their ballots only ever feature liars, or finding ways to do better. While it is near impossible to prevent the transmission of information in a technological society, it is incredibly easy to drown it in refuse and ridicule anyone who dares look at it. It is hard to stop the river of human consciousness, but shockingly easy to dye and divert it as one pleases, so long as you don't need precision.

The Profiteers, an alliance of less ignorant and more amoral members of most nations, and owners of a few. They ask one question in response to any and every thing to ail their fellows. "Now how can this be used to benefit me?" Bankers, corporate shareholders, political leaders, media personalities and mid-level religious figures all fall within this category, none hold to the ideals of their place, but are allowed to go on because they smooth logistics and are very effective saboteurs if ousted. They play symbiont to the upper echelons and parasite to the lower, which positions them as easy scapegoats should any of the chattel ever decide that enough is enough, and resort to violence.

The Equals, only ever scavengers feeding on the carrion of profiteers who overstayed their welcome, they rapidly self-destruct or transition to Structured or Free as soon as their twice-stolen wealth runs low, while their leaders abscond with whatever remained to join the Profiteers instead.

Three billion people, divided amongst these groups, according to our analytical algorithms connected to their Internet.

The "reset" a cyclic purge of population prevented them from growing too numerous, and after we saw the results, we asked the computer who or what ensured the reset would happen.

Twelve hundred people not in any category was the answer. Not mentioned on the Internet, no papers of identification, just inferred from holes in the information.

They did not rule anywhere, nor were they known to the public. But the ones who did rule, the ones at the head of every faction, answered to them.

Bored monsters, selectively bred for intelligence, not empathy, and trained from birth to see themselves as superior. The world as their sandbox, wargaming against one another to keep themselves sharp.

[theostrophywife]

hello! im quite new to tumblr so i don't know if im doing this right （っ＾▿＾）but, can i request an az x reader! basically feyre meets y/n and they hit it off, and one day feyre brings y/n to the inner circle house where everyone is chilling, and reader spots azriel and she's like "oh shit" because she's in a secret relationship with him? overall just cassian and rhysand freaking out like "YOU HAVE A GF?!" and the girls are like "wtf???" and everyone just scrambling to know more about her , just some chaotic fluff. i hope this isn't too much to ask for and i hope you have a great day (•◡•) /

secrets.

author's note: i'm truly here for domestic, soft az. keep em' coming cause i love writing this side of him.

You hiked your bag over your shoulder, hesitantly raising your fist to knock on the ornate wooden door in front of you. 

As if the double, triple, and quadruple takes you’ve given the ridiculously enormous estate wasn’t enough, you peeked at the large manor once again, carefully surveying the address Feyre had scrawled onto a piece of paper for you. When she invited you to come over after one of her art classes, you weren’t quite sure what to expect. In all honesty, you were just glad that you managed to make a friend during your first week in Velaris. 

The move from the Day Court had been a long time coming. While you enjoyed working for Helion, the Night Court libraries required your care and expertise and the High Lord of Day was more than glad to provide help to his strongest ally. You hadn’t met Rhysand yet since you’ve been given a week to settle in before starting your work, but fate seemed to be on your side because the spontaneous painting class you’d signed up for ended up being led by the High Lady herself.

Aside from your boyfriend, you didn’t really know anyone here. Azriel planned on introducing you to his friends soon, but he’d been away on a mission for the better part of this week. Due to the long distance nature of your relationship, the opportunity to meet the people closest to your boyfriend hadn’t come up until now. Neither one of you had told anyone about each other yet, preferring to keep the budding relationship to yourselves so you could explore it further without any pressure. 

For the better part of six months, you’ve been seeing the feared spymaster of the Night Court and he was nothing like what people made him out to be. Azriel was mysterious and aloof at first, but he was also extremely sweet and thoughtful once you got to know him. You met the shadowsinger during one of his trips to the Day Court. Azriel was looking for information on a particularly rare artifact that just so happened to fall under your expertise of knowledge. Helion had sent him to your library and the two of you had immediately hit it off. 

Since that first meeting, Azriel found excuses to keep coming back under the guise of seeking out your advice. After the third time he showed up at the library unannounced, he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out. The first date actually turned out to be a disaster. The place you picked out ended up being closed for renovations and on the way to find another restaurant, the two of you had gotten absolutely drenched from an unexpected storm. By the end of the night, you ended up huddled together underneath the awning of a random building in the city while eating cotton candy for dinner. Despite the chaotic turn of events, it was undoubtedly the best night you’ve ever had. 

Azriel was surprisingly easy to talk to and he paid attention to your mindless ramblings regarding the research that you were so passionate about. There was something about his dry humor that you found incredibly attractive and the fact that he was probably one of the most beautiful males you’ve ever seen in your immortal life didn’t hurt either. On top of that, you were extremely curious about him as a whole, but even more so about his never ending stories of his friend’s apparent meddlesome behavior when it came to his love life. Before he met you, they’d attempted to set him up on blind dates that almost always ended catastrophically. At that point in the night, you pointed out the abysmal turnout of your date. Azriel had only smiled and told you that there wasn’t a single thing he’d change about the whole ordeal.

As he dropped you off at your flat, he didn’t even bother waiting before asking if he could see you again the next day. You immediately said yes. Even then, the chemistry and connection was so clear that neither of you could deny it. For months, he’d gone back and forth visiting you in between missions. When you accepted the job at the Night Court, he was elated. He couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends, but it seemed that you had beat him to the bush. 

You turned your attention back to the door and finally mustered up the courage to knock. A few moments later, Feyre opened the door, dressed in casual overalls that were covered in paint. She wrapped you up into a hug and welcomed you into her home. 

“I apologize for all of this,” she says with a flourish. “My mate tends to go overboard.” 

“Well, he has exquisite taste. Your home is beautiful.” 

“You hear that, Feyre darling? Our guest appreciates my excellent choice of interior design.” The High Lord of Night bounded down the steps of the onyx staircase, kissing each of your cheeks in greeting. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I have to say, you came highly recommended by Helion. My dear friend was loath to part with you, but we’re more than glad to welcome you to our court.” 

“Thank you for having me.” 

“My pleasure. I look forward to working side by side on updating the archives of the library, but for now, I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you goodbye. I’m running late for a meeting with my brother.”

With that, Rhysand disappears into the second floor while Feyre continues to give you a tour of their home. As you passed through the frosted glass windows, she introduced you to her sister Elain who was tending to the garden while a handsome red haired male plowed the dirt beside her. The two waved at you while Feyre led you further inside. 

In the right wing of the home, the High Lady ushered you into her studio and personal office. There was an easel propped up at the corner of the room, but the canvas was covered. Lounging by the window, a female that bore a striking resemblance to Feyre looked up from her book. Another gorgeous blonde sat across from her with a tray of pastries and a cup of warm tea. 

“This is my eldest sister Nesta and my friend Mor.” 

Nesta offered a smile while the one called Mor embraced you into a hug. 

“It’s nice to meet you both.” 

The blonde gestured for you to sit at the table and the four of you settled by the window. 

“Feyre has told us all about you. How are you liking Velaris so far?” 

You smiled. “It’s been great. Everyone here has been really nice, especially the High Lady.” 

Feyre blushed. “Please, call me Feyre. I’m glad your first week here is going well. Like Rhys said, we’re looking forward to having you join us. I think you’ll really enjoy working with Clotho and the rest of the priestesses.” 

Nesta nodded. “My friend Gwyn hasn’t stopped raving about you since they received word of your arrival. She said you specialized in ancient artifacts and weapons and could identify them in your sleep. Gwyn is particularly interested in your work uncovering the weaponry of the Valkyries.” 

You nodded in confirmation. “Yes, learning about the Valkyries and researching their fighting technique and weapons has become a real passion of mine.” 

“You two will get along then,” Mor says. “Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie have revived their own faction of the Valkyries along with the other priestesses in the library at the House of Wind.” 

Your eyes widened. “That’s amazing! If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to observe your training some time.” 

“Come by anytime. Gwyn would love to meet you. Though my mate or his brother might have to fly you up, unless you’re feeling up to climbing ten thousand steps.” 

“I think I’ll pass on the steps. However terrified of heights I might be.” 

“Speaking of heights, where the hell are those Illyrian males?” 

The door swung open then, revealing a tall, broad male with shoulder length raven hair and a cocky smirk. “You rang?” He peered into the room, hazel eyes settling over you. “Is this Helion’s protege?” 

You rose from your seat, fully prepared to shake the male’s hand until he swept you up into a hug. He grinned at your surprised reaction. “Any friend of the High Lord of Day is a friend of mine.” 

“Cas, please put our guest down. At least give her a chance to accommodate herself to your barbaric behavior,” Mor teased playfully. 

Nesta shot you an apologetic look. “Excuse my mate, he has a tendency to be over eager.” 

Cassian set you down, smirking at Nesta. “I’ve never heard you complain about my eagerness before, Nes.” 

The female rolled her eyes, but you clocked the trace of fondness on her features. “Where is the rest of your little trio anyways?” 

“At a meeting.” Cassian looked over at you again. “So Rhys tells me that you’re supposed to be an expert on artifacts and weaponry. Does your knowledge extend to real life use as well?” 

You smirked. “If you’re asking if I know how to wield a sword, the answer is yes. I’m also well versed in spears, hammers, bows, and the morning star. Though I do need to work on the axe.” 

Cassian’s grin was almost wolfish. “Smart and dangerous? Oh, I think I like this one.” 

Feyre chuckled. “I told you. I think someone else in our little group would take a liking to her as well.” 

“I like the way my High Lady thinks.” The mischievous grin on the Illyrian male’s face only grew wider. “Tell me, my lady. Are you particularly fond of the quiet, brooding type?” 

Mor snapped her fingers. “He’s incredibly smart and well read like yourself. His collection of rare books would put Helion’s libraries to shame.” 

Nesta sighed. “All three of you are shameless. Haven’t you learned anything from the disastrous blind dates that you helped set up months ago?” 

“My brother hasn’t been on a single date for half a year. I’m starting to think he’s hiding -“

“Who’s hiding something?” Rhysand asked, popping his head in the doorway. 

Behind him, a familiar figure loomed in the hallway. Your eyes met and Azriel instantly smiled, nearly pushing Rhys over the threshold to get to you. The whole room stilled as Azriel picked you up and twirled you in the air. Seemingly unaware of your audience, the shadowsinger pulled you in for a kiss. You smiled against his lips and relished in the feel of him against you. 

You chuckled when Azriel pulled away, cheeks flush with the attention from his friends. “Hi, Az.”

“Hi, my love.” 

“Do you want to put me down? I think your friends have gone into shock.” 

Your boyfriend turned around and came face to face with five stunned faces. He shrugged, fully ignoring them.

"When you said you made a friend, you forgot to mention that it was Feyre."

"Perhaps I wanted them to like me before they knew you were my boyfriend. I would've told you sooner, but I didn't think you'd be back until later tonight."

"I may or may not have raced across the Continent to get home to you sooner."

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Somewhere behind you, an impatient clearing of the throat interrupted your thoughts.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Rhysand asked.

Azriel faced the others with a slight grimace as he beheld their expressions. “Everyone, meet my girlfriend.” He gestured proudly over to you. “My love, meet my family. Though it seems like no introduction is even needed.” 

“What? How?” Cassian sputtered. “Explain yourself, brother.” 

The High Lord of Night was fully gaping. “I second that. How is this the first time I’m hearing of a girlfriend?” 

“Because,” Azriel stated, draping his arm over your shoulder. “You lot are the nosiest busybodies this realm has ever seen. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I was actually planning on introducing everyone over this week’s family dinner, but it looks like my love beat me to it.” 

Mor let out a sound of disbelief. “How long have you two been dating? Where did you meet? I need the full rundown, shadowsinger.” She fully stood, shaking her head. “Actually, I want to hear from the source herself. Move over, Az.”

Azriel looked down at you for a quick check in, but you only shot him an amused smile. His hand remained on the small of your back while his friends stared at you expectantly. 

“Well?” Rhysand asked. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“We’ve been seeing each other for six months - long distance until this week. I met Azriel at the Sol library in the Day Court, where I used to work for Helion. When you asked for help with the library archives, Az and I took it as a sign.” 

“Six months?” Feyre exclaimed. “You’ve been hiding this from us for six whole months?” 

Azriel smiled sheepishly. “Technically, none of you ever asked so I wasn’t really hiding the relationship. Besides, we wanted time to figure things out for ourselves before we involved anyone else.” 

It was the best decision you two have ever made as a couple. You were both extremely private people so the choice had come naturally. The time you spent together alone was pivotal in making sure you were both on the same page. Now that you had officially decided to move to Velaris, your relationship was more than solidified and it made it that much easier to let your friends and family know. You were hoping for a more formal introduction, but it seemed that fate had other plans. 

“So what’s the verdict?” Feyre asked. 

“The verdict is that I’m crazy about her. Perhaps the Mother herself knew how excited I was to introduce her to all of you given the coincidence of today’s impromptu meeting.” 

Rhys snorted. “And to think, you were so against the idea of me setting you up with Feyre’s new friend. Turns out you were already dating her.”

You raised an amused brow at the High Lord. “You wanted to set me up with my own boyfriend?” 

Azriel chuckled. “He wouldn’t stop going on about it during our meeting. Practically dragged me in here. I should’ve known he was talking about you as soon as he said smart and pretty.”

He pressed a kiss atop your head, earning another incredulous look out of the group. You chuckled. When you first met, neither one of you was keen on public displays of affection, but now reaching out to hold Azriel's hand or giving him a quick peck on the cheek came as naturally as breathing. If you were being completely honest, it was hard to keep your hands to yourself and Azriel wasn't in the business of denying you either. He completely enabled you by always touching you in some way, whether it was a hand on your back or his shoulder pressed against yours. You'd been spoiled with physical touch and you couldn't get enough.

“At least now they can stop trying to send you on all of those terrible blind dates.” 

“Terrible?” Cassian asks indignantly. “My matches were great! Az is just extremely picky.”

Azriel shrugged. “I was just waiting for the perfect one to come along and she did.” 

You blushed as Azriel swept you to his side. His right wing curved over your protectively as did his shadows. They'd taken quite a liking to you and the feeling was mutual. As the shadows twined through your hair, you nuzzled into the familiar cold touch.

“That’s pretty damn adorable,” Rhys says with a chuckle. “But don’t think that this gets you out of answering all of our questions. Expect a full on interrogation.” 

Azriel rolled his eyes, grinning down at you. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you that my family is full of persistent gossips.” 

You grinned. “I don’t know, Az. They’re kind of growing on me.” 

“Mother save us,” Azriel muttered. “Go on then, tell them every detail that I’m sure they’re dying to know.” 

At his approval, all five of them launched into a myriad of questions, talking over one another as they scrambled to get to you first. Azriel tangled his hand with yours, squeezing in warning. 

“This is only the beginning.”

You smiled in return. For him, you'd gladly endure any amount of questioning.

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 19 thoughts:

Hopefully this is the only time I have more than a month wait between arc recaps. I was distracted.

Not a long arc really, but god damn did a lot happen.

My daughter is no longer eaten . . . ate . . . aten . . .

My daughter is no longer inside of a creature. That's good. Even though I was obviously 100% fine at the end of arc 18. I'm just more fine now.

Big props to Weld for just going swimming in a giant flesh pool and pulling people (and dogs!) out. He's an ok guy.

Based on the weird "dreams" Skitter was having while inside Echidna I am running on the assumption that the clones are pulled from alternate reality versions of the consumed person where said person had died. Well, not the clones themselves really, but the powers of the clones (and possibly their personalities/memories). Not sure it will end up mattering, with Echidna being dead.

But basically I think the dreams were partially visions of alternate realities.

I've been on the "alternate realities are gonna play a big role and are tied to powers and everything" boat for awhile now, but this arc finally brought that all to the forefront of everything. Just with Scapegoat and Scrub's power, clone Eidolon's powers, the door, and such. So that's cool!

Speaking of Scapegoat, I love his ridiculous little power. I saw it coming the second I saw the name and I was enjoying every second of it.

"She’s fucking blind!?" has gotta be one of the best moments in Worm so far.

Skitter finally realizes that Tattletale has been very clearly taking actions to portray her as the leader to everyone else. Cause bad ass lesbian super villain trio is everything.

Skitter hard carried the second Echidna fight. Everyone would probably be fucked if she wasn't there.

Starting off with taking out the teleporter Grue clone. My girl knows rule number 1. First, GEEK THE MAGE!

And of course she was using her bugs to monitor the entire battlefield, but then she starts giving information and direction to everyone. Kept track of clones, preventing any (hopefully) from escaping). And taking out a fair share of them herself!

Fucking just full on use swarm speech to speak to everyone across the battlefield at once! FUCK YES SHE IS BADASS!

I'm sure Shatterbird won't show up again and isn't going to be an issue at all!

And she's the one that sets up the trap to cut Echidna in half and contain clone Eidolon so Miss Militia can take him out! Clockblocker gets partial credit for helping I guess. But still, Skitter saved all their asses 10 times over.

Also Clockblocker is obsessed with my daughter. Kid has it baaaaaaaad.

I love that in the first few chapters there is some teasing of Cauldron's secrets being spilled a little bit, then Legend completely reveals that Cauldron exists but lies about details, and then suddenly clone Eidolon just dumps everything out there!

Faultline and crew - "We…worked on finding info on Cauldron for a year…and…he just…he shouted it out."

And through all of this Tattletale just out here like "I'm gonna tear a hole in reality!" God I love this reckless chaos child.

Gully deserves to punch a few Cauldron people. As a treat.

Lisa "I took one look at you and instantly knew I would take over the fucking city just to see you smile" Wilbourn over here! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

SERIOUSLY IT'S SO GAY!

"OH NO LOOK AT THAT POOR TRAUMATIZED CUTE GIRL, I CAN FIX HER!" IS THE MOST LESBIAN THING

Real quote: "Maybe- maybe when the interuniversal trade takes off. Can you imagine? With me and you as the top dogs? The whole world will pay attention to us." HOW CAN SHE BE THIS LESBIAN?

CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (SMUGBUG SMUGBUG SMUGBUG if you prefer)

THEY CAN RULE THE WORLD TOGETHER AND I WILL FORGIVE ALL WRONGS DONE TO REACH THAT POINT CAUSE GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! (Also obviously Rachel will be there too.)

(I'm sure Taylor crumpling the papers from Dinah in her fists at the end of the arc isn't ominous at all.)

Blasto Interlude thoughts:

Sucks to be Blasto I guess

Accord is terrible as always, glad to see more of him. Love his minions.

Colin can't do anything right. Seriously dude you cut Bonesaw in half and still lost! You have magic cut through anything and turn it to dust tech and you couldn't kill her! God.

Dragon is hard carrying this SH9 hunting team.

She got Manton! That's crazy! Good job robot daughter!

I 100% do not expect Siberian to stay gone. I mean outright Bonesaw is gonna be cloning people and she can probably get some of his DNA. But even without that, it was just too convenient, happening off screen like that. I dunno. It's not safe.

Also Blasto, I'm really sorry about what happened to you but also you tried to make a half Simmy clone! God damn that was the dumbest thing you could ever have done. You are so lucky it didn't work (probably), cause if it did it would have been because she planned it. God damn.

Time for the Slaughterhouse 99 or whatever. Gonna really suck for people.

Parahumans Online Interlude thoughts:

Timeskip!!! Shortish timeskip but still! It's been so day to day for so long so suddenly jumping ahead was surprising.

Greg from act 1 is back! And also kinda a dick. And probably has a Thinker 1 power. Tattletale light basically. Fits with what Taylor said about him in act 1 too.

GstringGirl is probably Sveta, that feels right.

Glad to see the Case 53s making their own team, that's a good start.

WagTheDog wanting to work for Bitch is super cute! I'm glad it seems like that is going to work out.

Loved seeing some of the stuff of people talking about Skitter. I've been wanting to see what the general public has been saying about her cause from an outside perspective the stuff she has done seems 10 times crazier than it is, and it is already crazy.

Emma Interlude thoughts:

Fuck this bitch

Sure she went through a really hard situation and she has terrible parents and it is easy to see how she got to where she is, but that doesn't excuse her actions. I still don't like her at all.

I don't know how much more I need to say, except that Alan shouldn't have left his traumatized daughter home alone with the instructions "If you feel like doing something bad please call the therapist who's number I put on the fridge" christ dude. You are worse every time you show up.

Like learning that Alan knows everything about Sophia as well? Just makes him even worse! Probably upgraded from a 3 fire asshole to a 4 fire asshole by now.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

A little Gwen&Alice with heaavy alice/sam, because I needed to write something after that last ep and tumblr ficlets are less intimidating than full fics.

In hindsight, hiding in the loo is dumb. Sam's making her dumb, which is aggravating and bothersome and does not horribly ache like it used to, before, in those last few weeks they'd stayed together in the same flat while Sam prepared his trip abroad. Alice's a Cool Girl. Cool girls don't hide in bathrooms because their best friend who just so happen to be their ex arrived to the office at the arm of another woman with the sparkly bubbly smile that screams I had such a good time this weekend Celia is awesome at sex.

Then again, Alice's pretty sure her Cool Girl's crown's been stolen the moment Celia walked in with those stupid donuts for the first time (and it is painful, in a way, that Celia is cool to hang around with; pretty and fun and chill and blessed with the same ability Sam has to be friendly with everyone she meets immediately).

Whatever; Alice's excellent at building new narratives and looking away to survive. She'll withstand having Sam back in her life and then feeling like she's loosing him all over again like a fucking champ -- but she has to admit, hiding in the loo was just not a good move, 'cause now she's got to not only deny her sad moody depressing feelings, but also the fact that Gwendolyn Bouchard is clearly weeping on the stall next to hers.

"Hey," she whispers, after three long minutes of wondering whether she wants to deal with this, then deciding it's the sort of night where she'd definitely rather think of someone else's problems than her own.

There's mouvement on her left, then a sharp exhale. "What?" hisses Gwen.

"Want to tell me what this is all about?" Alice asks, staring at the door.

"No," Gwen snaps. Then: "We're in a bathroom, Alice, for god's sake, do you have any sort of decorum--"

"Exactly!" Alice cuts her off. "We're in a bathroom. That's basically being in a confessional for us ladies, innit? Sure we're not drunk out of our heads at the club or whatever, but I think this qualifies all the same. Everything you'll say is sacred in here my dear. Any sin is between you, me, and those awful scratchy paper roll that we're always out of. Hope you've got an handkerchief ready, by the way."

It must strike a nerve, because Gwen stays silent for a good thirty seconds before she mutters: "Anyone could come in."

"Oh, please," Alice snorts. "We both know Lena's not human enough to have to use the loo and Celia's too busy getting lost into Sam's eyes, we're fine."

"Why do you say that?" Gwen asks, her tone suddenly more alert.

"...'Cause Celia is getting lost in Sam's eyes? I mean, I know you have your whole thing going on and you're wayy better than us now that you got that shiny promotion you wanted so much, but they've literally been building this whole sickening little office romance just in front of our noses for like, two months, surely you haven't missed that. Kinda surprised you haven't actually told them this was against regulations or whatever."

"No not Celia, I don't care about her, or whatever's going on with Sam (Lucky you, Alice thinks meanly, and has to bite her tongue very hard). I mean about Lena. Do you think she's --" Gwen stops, exhales shakily. "Now, that'd be ridiculous. Obviously. She's nothing like --"

Oh, Alice thinks. Oh, Gwendolyn. She wishes people would listen to her, when she says to look away. Sam and Gwen are similar that way, she notes. All too ready to dig themselves into messes that are much too big for them to take on.

"I was making a joke," she tells Gwen. "I do that, sometimes. Oh, not very often of course, you know me, all too serious for this sort of nonsense, but I have heard before that it can lighten the mood here and there--"

"God, you are unsufferable."

"Is that how you talk to your priest, Gwendolyn? Shame on you."

"I'm leaving now. This is all pointless, and we've got work to do anyway."

"Do we ever," Alice sighs.

"You've been here for like, twenty five minutes, by the way," Gwen adds. "If you want to keep pretending you're not the one mooning over Sam, you might want to come out soon."

[underforeversgrace]

wrong paper

DannyMay2023 Day 19: No Backspace Challenge

title: wrong paper

words: 665

Summary: Mr. Lancer gets an assignment from Danny that is not right.

DISCLAIMER: This is no backspace, no spell check, no auto capitalization, and no punctuation shortcuts. I'll probably provide a better copy later on because ya girl can't fucking spell. Or type. Or write. Some of the crossouts are my fuck ups. Some are for flavor. ...to hide all my fuck ups.

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Mr. Lancer streched tiredly, blinking sleep from his eyes as he pulled the next essay towards him. Not for the first time, he considered asking Ishiyama to allow him to o go over basic penmanship in class, how could absolutely none of these children write legibily? At least they were workingon a creative writing course so the papers were varied and interesting for once.

Eve i Or at least… some of them were. Thus far, Dash had written about a football star with superpowers, Paulina about marrying a superhero, Mickey wishing he was a superhero…

living in a town with an actual superhero probably influenced some of these papers, if Lncer had to take a stab in the dark.

The next paper he pulled ou was one with a lot of smurdged and crossed out text, no name a t the ti top. The hanwriting was familiar, at least. Mr. Fenton certainly had a… unique version of chicken scratch.

Lancer frowned at the paper as he began to read it. this… didn’t look like the ‘Write A Story’ assignment he’d assigned.

The sear words indicated as much, vulgar languageLancer had never heard Fenton use.

Man, I am so fuckingover this shit. Mr. Popular Asshat shoved me into a locker FOUR times today. I’m so ecsawus exhaush exhausted. I’ve shoved at least 15 ghosts back into the Zoe at Zone this week. It’s Wednesday. Wednesday!!! Skulker has come for my pelt four times alone. 

Oh I forgot the date - it’s Jan 23 26 2005.

honestly I should be working on my stupid paper for English class for Lancer. But what stoy could story can I possiblytell that isn’t less ridiculous than my actual life? or whatever the phrase is. My life is everal way too wild, more than anything I could imagine up.

Like… I’m a half dead teenager. I’ve been dead for nearly a year and no one’s noticed. I fight for my life everyday. I’m a superhero with a secret iedentity and best freind/sidekicks - though if I eevr called them sidekicks to their faces again I’m getting side-kicked in the face. I’ve even got extra bonus points! My parents want to dissect me, I’m failing school. Hell, I’ve even got an evil alternate timeline version of myself that caused the fucking end of the world.

The TV shows make it look so easy. so do th e comics. I’m so tired. I’m only 14, I’m not supposed to be atri sk atrisk at risk of getting murdered daily. Well, not this high of a risk. I don’t want to live like this. But if I stop fgihting, trying, I’ll be dead within a week.

It isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair and neither is death.

Still, might be a cool story idea.

A teenage slacker who gets electrocuted by his parents invention, dies, and get brought back halfway. Turns into a ghost and saves people while his human life seems to wither and die around him. Is constantly hunted and villified when he just wants to help.

Yeah. My life as Phantom would make a hell of a story, wouldn’t it?

Lancer stared at the paper in confusion. It certainly sounded like a wonderful fictttitious story… but somhow it didn’t seem like fiction. It seemed more like a journl entry.

Lancer turned to his computer, pulling up the local news website. It wasn’t hard to find an article about Phantom, he was in the top three stories.

PHANTOM SAVES 13 FROM OFFICE FIRE

Lancer studde studied the article, blowing up the picture of Phantom’s dace. Of Danny Phantom’s face. He opened up another screen, pulling up the student files (complete with pictures). He pulled up D. Fenton’s file, several alerts coming up about truancy, tardis, tardies, absences, missed assignments n fa and failing grades. Lancer enlarged the human boy’s photo and sat it side by side wth the one of Phantom.

Change the coloration… and these two were identical.

Oh no.

Ohno.

Oh no.

[underthehedge]

CTVT and a weird niche theory I fell down the rabbit hole about - giant transforming retroviruses???

This is a story about how a single line on a wikipedia page sent me down a rabbit hole of finding one scientist's fringe theory that's juuuust plausible enough to make me question everything while almost certainly being absolute fucking bunk.

Some background

So, on parts of tumblr at least we all know about Canine Transmissible Venereal Tumour, aka The Immortal Cancer Dog. For those who don't know, it's a cancer dogs get, usually on their junk, that unlike most other cancers, isn't made up of their own cells. The cells are actually all descended from this one dog or wolf that lived like 11,000 years ago and are, arguably, all technically that one dog. A dog that became a single-celled infectious disease.

We have a wealth of genetic, histological and observational evidence for this. As in, we know it what population of canids it came from, we know it's got a weird chromosomal structure compared to normal dogs, we know it's genetically distinct from the hosts. We also know it's not the only one out there: There's a similar thing in Syrian hamsters and also the famous Tasmanian Devil Facial Tumour Disease (DFTD).

Which made me pause when I was reading something on wikipedia about the devil facial tumour and saw a line mentioning that it was now known to be caused by a giant virus, much like CTVT. Which...huh? Oh I hadn't heard that afore.

Giant viruses

Ok so giant viruses are a thing and they're fuckin cool. They're a relatively recent discovery and comparatively huge, i.e. bigger than a bunch of bacteria. They were only discovered in 1981 and we still don't know an enormous amount about them but they're big and have large genomes and because of the way viruses are they're not easy to detect unless you're specifically looking for them.

They show up under microscopy (sometimes) and you can find them with genetic probes but you gotta already be looking for them to see that really. Current research though basically says they're more common than we think, just overlooked, and there's software out there that scans through genomic data to find sequences that might indicate their presence. There's even a possibility that one group might be involved in some cases of pneumonia in humans, though I need to stress that that's extremely not confirmed right now.

The "wait, what?" moment

So I mentioned that it was a line in the wiki article for DFTD that had me going "wait, really?", the line in question was this:

A study found evidence for an infectious agent resembling a giant virus that was capable of turning heathy cells into cancer cells. It was found to be a huge retrovirus with similar viruses being found in human and canine cancer cells.

Big If True.

So of course I check the source, which was a 2020 paper by Lusi et al. titled "A transforming giant virus discovered in Canine Transmissible Venereal Tumour: Stray dogs and Tasmanian devils opening the door to a preventive cancer vaccine".

Hang on, CTVT not DFTD? This is where some alarm bells went off because uh, as mentioned at the start, we know a shit ton about CTVT. Including the fact that it's all one specific dog. Which doesn't fit at all with the idea that it's caused by a virus transforming host cells into cancer cells.

So what fucking gives? What is this research that fully overturns decades of pretty conclusive research to the contrary?

Is this another case of Dr Barbara McClintock? Who spent decades being ridiculed by the scientific community over her wild theory that was, in fact, 100% right even if it seemed to fly in the fact of all prior evidence?

Or is this a Dr Donald I. Williamson situation wherein a scientist with appropriate training is just wildly but extremely vehemently wrong?