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esotericbluntbaby · 3 months ago

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tendencies

hamzah the fantastic x reader

description: hamzah, having a match on valentines day, gets caught up in his own world without his girlfriend. after missing the date he was supposed to go on with you after his match, he picks you up in the darkness of the night. the lingering angst and anger builds up into a plethora of tension; more specifically, a more erotic, steaming tension.

mentions: ANGST! obvi, arguments, build up of tension between you and him, both of you have your toxic traits that really shine through, nsfw!, impact play..?, size kink..?, masochist! reader, boxer! hamzah, hurt/comfort, happy ending because sadly i dont think i could ever give u guys a bad ending

PLS DONT KILL ME AGAIN I HAD TO STUDY FOR A CALC QUIZ

you were soaking wet, and not in the good way.

hamzah was supposed to be at the purring cat hours ago, leading to your valentines day spent skimming over the laminated menus and sipping on a martini that couldn't get you drunk even if you tried. the warm oranges and reds in the room's lighting and ambiance mimicked the anger you felt rising up inside of you. the lighting, obviously intended to create a romantic atmosphere for all the happy couples on the day of love, taunted you like it was a witch holding out lollipops to children.

now, if some external circumstance did happen, you weren't the type to get riled up or anything; you were a decently reasonable person who was always wiling to hear him out. however, there were multiple blue bubbles on your phone from texting him about his whereabouts and a diminishing amount of his texts responding; in fact, there was really no response at all. you valued the communication and comprehension that was, normally, found in your relationship. however, there was a complete lack of on the day that it mattered the most. you were simply a pawn in his game; you didn't know how much longer you could keep getting moved to different areas of his board without knowing when this game would be over.

it was now so far into the night that the waiters exchanged glances of pity at one another, ending up with your meal comped and a complementary lava cake in front of you. you realized you had said that he was running late for the past two hours. gazing at the melting ice cream placed on top of the moist delicacy in front of you, it mocked you with a certain hunger that you didn't know how to explain. simply gazing at it made you remember how it was supposed to be him that you were dining with.

it was supposed to be him who was holding open the door for you, not some random couple who booked the same reservation time as you. it was supposed to be him who was grabbing your hand from across the table as you both marveled at the complexity of the menu, not you simply ordering a martini to sip on while you waited for him to show up. it was supposed to be him who paid for dinner, not the employees who gave you pity smiles and reassuring gestures of, "i'm sure he'll be here soon."

a scowl of disdain ended up plastered on your features like a mural to an empty wall. furrowed eyebrows, pursed lips, and resentful eyes made its way to your facial expression, which you understood was what caused all the waiters to comp your meal; not out of gratuity, but out of sorrow and compassion. you also understood that the waiters shouldn't have had to comp your meal, if your boyfriend was simply there.

he finally arrived in the lounge as they were about to close at around 11 o'clock at night; you had been waiting there for about three hours. bruises riddled his face, a more prominent one forming on the bridge of his nose. you were too upset to care. not one single text, nor one call, and instead, a pity meal given by those around you. a cyclone had formed, rushing winds and emotions being swirled around the two of you regarding the tension within the air between you. there was not a single word spoken, yet an understanding that you were both going to leave.

as you walked to the parking lot, he attempted to put his arm around your shoulder as if nothing happened; as if he didn't leave you to fend for yourself on the one day that you shouldn't have had to. so, you threw his arm off you, causing an audacious scoff coming from his mouth. the car ride was silent after that.

opening the door, your heels slammed on the floor with a slight stomp echoing with every step. you unlocked the door for yourself, closing it behind you with a loud bang of intensity radiating off of your emotions. you were incredibly pissed and you wanted him to know that.

the next day, you still avoided hamzah like he had the plague and was going to spread it to you with every word spoken. you slept on opposite sides of the bed, an invisible barrier being set between the both of you. you ate breakfast together in silence, only after he decided to sit with you on the island. you sat on opposite ends of the couch as you continued the series you started together before he decided to be a complete jackass, only after he joined you on the couch.

it was only throughout the series that he realized he fucked up incredibly and you realized that it's been almost a full day without a single apology. so, he shifted uncomfortable in his seat, sighing heavily as his eyes made it to you.

hamzah could lie and say that he absolutely hated that you were mad at him with no amount of leniency regarding your behavior; he could lie and say that the anger and passion in your face didn't turn him on. he knew it was bad, however, it was like something primal awakened in him. he didn't like you mad, obviously; more importantly, he didn't want you to leave him. however, hamzah believed that you were incredibly hot with that certain scowl on your face. he was at an ultimatum; keep you upset and angry at him so he could admire you even more than he already does, or apologize so that he could stop being a complete asshole.

he chose the latter, attempting to ease his way into an apology.

"i lost yesterday."

you were quick with a rebuttal, "serves you right."

"i didn't show up because i was with some friends," he awkwardly rubbed his neck, "they offered me a drink and i stayed at their house for a little."

"that's so, so great, hamzah. what do you want, a fucking medal? a medal that says 'best boyfriend ever?'" you laughed sarcastically.

"i'm trying to apologize-"

"and i'm yet to hear the word 'sorry' exit your mouth."

his voice raised out of frustration, "because you aren't letting me fucking speak!"

"great, that's just- that's fucking great. not only do you ditch me on fucking valentines day, but now you're damn near cussing me out and yelling at me."

"oh my fucking god- i'm sorry, okay?"

"so sincere!" you exclaimed in sarcasm as you stood up from the couch, "that was the best apology ever! the only apology to ever fucking exist, actually! you might as well be a world-renowned fucking apologist, hamzah!"

you made your way to the kitchen, pouring grapes into a bowl for you to munch on as your boyfriend tried, and failed, to apologize. he followed you, still frustrated from your well-deserved attitude.

"look, i get it- i should've been there yesterday."

"they comped my fucking meal- do you know how bad they felt for me to the point where my meal was free?" you yelled, "3 hours- 3 fucking hours, jackass! i was there for 3 hours just sipping on straight vodka wondering where my fucking boyfriend was! now i'm finding out that he was with his friends instead of his girlfriend because- actually, there is no because. you're just an asshole for leaving me there like that.

he attempted to diffuse your anger by putting his hand on your shoulder, "hey-"

"not only that, but you lost your fucking match yesterday too. you fucked up with your girlfriend and also lost your damn match. how do you fuck up twice?"

you realized that was uncalled for the second it left your mouth. the expression in his face was no longer frustrated; this was pure, undeniable anger. he got closer to you, causing your eyes to look upwards towards him; the height difference caused the intimidation to rise between the both of you. yet, you weren't going to back down. he was the one who messed things up between you and, while you probably shouldn't have brought up his match, he did deserve it. there was a moment of silence between the two of you with your eye contact making all the conversation needed for a couple of seconds.

he stared at you with testing eyes, "what'd you just say?"

you made a noise between a laugh and a scoff, "i said that you fucked up twice."

his hand made its way to your neck, softly slamming you into the wall behind you. your hands made its way to grab at the hand choking you by the neck; not trying to take it off of you, but simply holding it in place. you took a sharp inhale as a smirk landed on your face, taunting him the way that the loneliness in that restaurant taunted you.

"enough with the fucking attitude."

"or what?"

he realized that you were enjoying the show that he was playing for you; he was simply a puppet in your theater. this was amusing to you; his hand around your neck was the piece de resistance of this play. you wanted to know what would happen next; in fact, you were hungry for the climax.

he laughed angrily, "oh, i get it."

"what do you get?" you acted clueless.

"you wanted this."

you scoffed, "don't get too caught up in your ego."

"what? you want me to apologize, baby? you want me to make it up to you?" his hand on your neck became tighter.

you gasped, "frankly, i don't give a shit about what you do."

suddenly, a sting emerged onto your cheek. hamzah slapped you with his hand, as he choked you with his other. your head was turned to the side, until the hand he slapped you with made it back to your face. he turned you so that you were now looking at him with your head towards his own. he gently caressed the area with the burning sensation. even in his rough moments, you're still his princess.

"you got a fuck ton of attitude for someone whose neck is in my hand," he got closer to your ear and began to speak quieter, "you're so fucking tiny, you know that? compared to me, you're so small. your neck fits in one of my hands- both of your hands fit in one of my hands. i could ruin you if i wanted to."

"except you won't."

he laughed once again, "you sure about that?"

"i'd like to see you try-"

and with that sentence, hamzah's lips were rammed into yours. this kiss was full of hunger and remorse. the two of you couldn't get enough of how the kiss was altered by how angry and sexually pent up the both of you were. the dinner yesterday was undoubtably going to end up in drunk and high sex, but this is different. this was sober and needy. this was feverish and hazy. this was better.

he manhandled you, carrying you as you straddled his waist with your thighs. laying you down on the bed, he began to take off the entirety of your clothes in swift and rough movements. getting to your underwear, he physically ripped it off of you with how rough he was being.

"hamzah!"

"i'll buy you three new ones."

he was left in his underwear by the time that his sentence was finished. taking off his boxers, his body moved on top of you in missionary and he aligned himself with the wetness of the area between your legs. he didn't give you much time to adjust as he slammed into you over and over again. he was never rough like this before. moans and your names were exclaimed from both of your sides; you were always a noise girl, so you finished quite quickly. embarrassingly quickly.

you expected hamzah to stop as he normally does; whenever you finish first, you normally let him finish by sucking him off or using your hands. however, his pace didn't stop; in fact, it quickened with the speed of a metronome on its highest setting.

he was overstimulating you, causing your hands to move on their own. you attempted to push him away, being met with being choked by him and slapped once more.

"h-hamzah-"

"you fucking asked for this."

though to an outsiders point of view, this was odd; to you, this was heaven without the process of dying. you previously asked hamzah to be more aggressive during sex; he knew that you were a masochist, yet he was always too scared to hurt you because he simply isn't that kind of guy. the realization of why he was being so rough was sweet. it was obvious to you that he felt bad for leaving you on valentines, and this was his unofficial way of apologizing. by making you feel the best you've ever felt, it made you more incentivized to forgive him for his mistakes.

he finished shortly after you, pulling out and laying down on top of you. the covers were over the both of you as you both laid there: sweaty, out of breath, and fucked out.

"did- did i do okay?" he asked, his anger and frustration now being masked with shyness and timidity.

"you did great, baby."

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to leave you yesterday- i was just upset and i didn't want you to see me like that, especially not in public. i should've texted or just toughened up."

"hamzah, just talk to me. i would've understood."

"but it was valentines day-"

"yea, it was, but i would've been fine just being with you. we didn't have to go out or anything."

"i was being a dick. you don't deserve that. i'm sorry, pretty."

you kissed him with a kiss that foiled the previous one, one that was more gentle, "it's okay. you can make it up to me another time."

he kissed you on the cheek, gazing at you from below, "be my valentine on unofficial valentines day tomorrow?"

"of course."

authors note!

guys i am SORRY i lied to u like terribly horribly sorry but happy late valentines day U WERE ALL MY VALENTINES SO NONE OF U WERE ALONE ON VALENTINES BECAUSE I WAS HERE ok i love u guys bye

#hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah fluff #hamzah x y/n #hamzah angst #hamzah smut #hamzahthefantasticxreader

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littjara-mirrorlake · 10 months ago

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The Color of Hope: Ambition, Necromancy, and Black Mana

Black is one of the most misunderstood colors in Magic: the Gathering, not least because it appears on the surface to be so straightforward. Look at the most iconic black cards of Magic and you'll see deals with demons, necromancy, mass destruction and cruelty and suffering–the trappings of classic fantasy evil. Even the color's symbol itself is a skull, a universal signifier of death and danger.

And in early Magic that seemed to be all it was. White was the color of Fantasy Good, black was the color of Fantasy Evil, and the rest of the colors were... fire magic? Elves? Whatever odd but intriguing skeleton affairs are implied by Time Walk?

Gradually, though, Magic deepened as both a game and a storytelling medium. The color pie grew into itself as a system of complementary philosophies, archetypes whose associated aesthetics were only part of the full picture. Their arrangement around the wheel, below, is highly deliberate; neighboring colors are said to be allies with a high degree of philosophical and mechanical overlap, while colors on opposite sides of the pie are known as enemies, more likely to disagree on fundamental levels.

Black stopped merely representing capital E Evil and became the color of striving for power; unlike its peers, black felt that nothing, least of all morality, could prevent it from seizing what it wanted. Mark Rosewater's 2015 article about black emphasized the color's focus on the self:

"Black's philosophy is very simple: There's no one better suited to look after your own interests than you... Many costs require the sacrifice of others for your own advancement. Because it puts itself first, black is always willing to make this trade. The weak must fall for the strong to thrive." -Mark Rosewater

At its worst, black is an exploitative, amoral color that prioritizes itself at the expense of all others, allowing the "weak" to fall and scorning the very idea of compassion. Rosewater writes that black is "always willing" to trade others for itself. And these can certainly be parts of black's philosophy, when taken to its worst possible extremes, but they're far from the entire story.

Over time, Magic's outlook on black gained nuance. Magic story introduced protagonists like the necromancer Liliana Vess, whose craving for immortality, seemingly exploitative nature, and demonic deals called back to the oldest portrayals of black–and yet she was not one-dimensionally evil. She underwent character development over the years, learning the value of reclaiming herself and standing beside others, and at no point did she become any less mono-black for it. Remember her; we will come back to Liliana and her story later.

In addition to the usual death and decay, black cards began to feature a theme of relentless devotion. On the plane of Eldraine where each color represents a virtue, black's is persistence, explicitly as important as any other color. On the plane of Ikoria, the love between bonder and beast pulls Winota back from the brink of death. Wherever this Oathsworn Vampire printing is set, its flavor text is quintessentially black. It's the same self-driven attitude as before, but cast in a different light: black is nothing if not persistent when it's got its heart set on something (or someone) it cares about. Nothing, least of all the grave, will keep it down. After all, black will always come back for its own.

These newer cards uncovered the true face of black as a color capable of both great love and harm (sometimes even the latter for the sake of the former), and suggested a tantalizing new thread: perhaps putting yourself and yours first isn't all that bad, necessarily. Black is a deeply protective color; it says you don't just have to accept what you're handed, it's okay even to be furious about it (hello, ally color red), but let that galvanize you to do something about it.

Vraska, a gorgon who faces extreme discrimination on her home plane of Ravnica, triumphs by reclaiming herself, gorgon powers and all–and even more radically, loving herself. She displays traits often considered the purview of white and green, such as a love of home and a drive to elevate the oppressed, but they are all filtered through the lens of her black alignment. Vraska staunchly refuses to deny herself or her people, the Golgari Swarm, of their value. Nor does she allow law or propriety to prevent her from championing them by any means necessary–even if that means cold-blooded murder, or aligning herself with a villain like the Planeswalker Nicol Bolas.

"[Vraska] thought of Mazirek, of the kraul, of the rest of the Ochran assassins and the malignant Jarad who reigned with casual ruin over the most downtrodden of the downtrodden. She remembered her years of isolation, and the heinous cruelty of the Azorius, and how no group deserved to suffer as much as those who would subjugate her own. Eliminating that hell was all she ever wanted." -The Talented Captain Vraska, Alison Luhrs

Like Vraska, black loves fierce and hard, willing to break any taboo for the sake of those it cares about. And it whispers, the entire way through, you are enough. You deserve better. No matter what others may say or do, you are enough.

"If I am to be met with disrespect, then I must first love myself with a fierceness no fool can take away." -Vraska in Pride of the Kraul, Alison Luhrs

Even black's "ruthlessness" isn't as fundamentally cruel as it appears, centering a passion for problem-solving (shared by its other ally blue) instead of a blunt disregard for others.

"People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think it means 'mean.' It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it." -K. A. Applegate

All of this comes together to make a black a color not of evil but of strength, integrity, and persistence. And that's all well and good, but I'm going to take it even further and put forward a new proposition: that black is the color of hope.

Of the nine mono-black Magic cards with "hope" in their names, all but Liliana portray black as an instrument of hope's destruction. This is, once again, black's flaw taken to its extreme–crushing others to achieve its own ends–but neglects black's own relationship with hope.

Black, more than any other color, requires hope to stay alive.

For black to persist, it must believe in a light at the end of the tunnel, a future in which its goals are realized. As long as it does, it will endure any hardship, walk through fire, and turn reality itself upside down on its way there. Primal, desperate ambition is the engine of hope that burns at the heart of black, keeping it always one step ahead of stagnation. Bitter and stubborn, black believes tomorrow will come because there is no other choice. After all, for black to relinquish hope is to let itself wither, regress, and die–an unacceptable outcome.

Thus, it is monumentally difficult to strip black of hope. That only makes it all the more crushing when it happens, when black contends with the idea that there is nothing it can do.

Black's deepest, darkest fear is helplessness.

Like any mono-black character, Liliana Vess is driven at her core by a seething, desperate hope. When Liliana first unlocks her necromantic power, it is out of a sheer refusal to allow her ill brother Josu to die, even when the esis root that would cure him is destroyed by enemy witches in an undead-raising ritual. She defies her previous training as a healer, which taught her only to take the safe path, in favor of a higher-risk and higher-reward approach: stealing life from the witches themselves to restore power to the esis root she needs. It is her knowledge that her brother needs her, and her sheer stubborn will to succeed, which allows her to defeat the witches against steep odds.

"Six foes, and Liliana stood alone. But Josu's life depended on her, and the power blossoming within her was more than enough." -Liliana's Origin: The Fourth Pact, James Wyatt

Tragically, however, Liliana's attempted cure goes horrifically wrong, transforming Josu into an undead being plagued by eternal suffering. In his pain, Josu attacks Liliana. For a while Liliana holds out hope, finding the power to fight back while she determinedly searches for a spell to reverse the harm she's done. It is when she realizes this isn't possible that her strength falters.

"All this time, she had believed… that she could turn the power of death to the service of life and health. That a healer should use every tool at her disposal. But Josu was the result, a horrible fusion of life and death, and all her spells meant to manipulate the life force of the living could do nothing to harm the dead." -The Fourth Pact

Liliana learns that even her own dark magic, fueled by determination, cannot solve the problem she's created. She discovers the hard limit of her willpower, and the despair of this discovery is what causes her Planeswalker spark to ignite.

At this time Planeswalkers are as gods, immortal and near-omnipotent. Liliana spends decades enjoying this affirmation of her capability before the Mending strips her and all her peers of their power, reducing them once again to mortal mages.

"Then the Multiverse reshaped itself, robbing her—and every other Planeswalker—of the godlike power they once had wielded. Some called it the Mending, as if something broken had been repaired, but to Liliana, it seemed the opposite. It broke her beyond any hope of repair." -The Fourth Pact

Once again, it is Liliana's fear of helplessness and her refusal to accept it that drives her to push beyond the bounds of propriety–this time, to make a pact with Nicol Bolas and four demons to maintain her immortality. It is not enough for her merely to delay death; she requires the security of knowing she is fully beyond its reach, that she will never be helpless before it again as she was with Josu.

"Holding death at arm's length for whatever years are left to me? No, that's not enough. I want to be free of its shadow." -Liliana in The Fourth Pact

Black isn't like its enemy colors white and green, which are superficially associated far more often with hope. Unlike white, it doesn't believe that conviction, justice, and community will bring about rightness. Unlike green, it doesn't trust in the wisdom of the world or the natural order. Black believes that nothing will change unless you make it change; ultimately, black's self is the only one it can trust to bring about the world it needs. In addition, black lacks its enemies' idealism. Instead, it strives to be a pragmatic realist, making a final assessment of defeat all the more definite and crushing.

While white and green are more amenable to finding hope and holding it aloft as a banner, black claws hope desperately to its chest with shredded, bloody fingernails. Every ounce of hope black has, it tore by itself from the clutches of an uncaring world.

Ironically for such a self-driven color, black's fierce hope is the greatest asset it can provide to others–on its own terms, of course. It was Liliana who turned the tide of battle against the Eldrazi titan Emrakul, defiant in the face of cosmic despair. And when Nicol Bolas made his bid to return to godhood, using Liliana's necromancy to command his undead hordes, Liliana finally turned against him. In reclaiming her power, so too did she use it to free her fellow Planeswalkers from Bolas' assault. Her fear of helplessness no longer shackled her to him; agency and autonomy were hers at last.

The triumph of black, its moment of ultimate victory, is the hard-won fulfillment of its hope.

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." -Dylan Thomas

An aetherborn, railing against the shortness of their natural lifespan, constructs a new body for themself with their own bare hands. An artificer's grief over her lost companion causes her to push invention to its limits. A young girl who loves her brother calls on the darkest of powers to save him. As it turns out, necromancy–that original thematic keystone of black–is only one of black's many, many refusals to let go of love and hope once it has them, even in the face of the ultimate end.

Time and time again, black–in love with life, ablaze with hope–looks the Grim Reaper in the eye and tells it: "Not today."

#mtg #magic the gathering #color pie #black mana #liliana vess #vorthos #literary analysis #war of the spark #magic origins #planeswalker #nicol bolas #vraska #necromancy

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tamrielwolf · 10 days ago

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Good to know even the authors of the Prima guidebook were unnerved about Oblivion’s epilogue. (Ramble below)

“Martin was Oblivion’s real hero and protagonist” is an agreeable but somewhat misleading statement. I’ve always considered Martin and the HOK as two sides of the same coin. There is absolutely no way Martin could have done “what he was born to do” without your help, and likewise no other person besides Martin who could have made you “the scribe of the next Elder Scroll.”

Martin was born for a specific inescapable fate in true Dragonborn fashion while you were an agent of free will given the grace to choose your level of fidelity to Uriel’s final wish, prescribing your own meaning to the obscure prophetic dreams he shared with you in the sewers. When presented with Jauffre’s invitation to join the Blades, there is an implication that you have personal motive and reasoning for doing more than what was initially expected of you. Martin innovated the possibility of each foothold against the enemy as he studied the Mysterium Xarxes while you were the ground-level means of executing it. You watched his rapid metamorphosis from farmer’s boy to emperor while you had simply stayed a valued trusted friend in his eyes. And lastly, Martin’s final form is that of an Aedric avatar while yours is a Shezzarine and Daedric Prince. The two of you served different, yet complementary roles of equal importance. Though I’d still consider Oblivion’s epilogue and canon player ending as grim, the fact that both of you become immortalized in opposing fashions, one of grandeur and sacrifice and the other in moral ambiguity is really fitting. It makes sense that a machine missing its adjacent part whirrs for only a little longer before breaking down. But as mortals, you two are always remembered together: there will be no history books about the Oblivion Crisis written in the 4th era where your names aren’t inked on the same page.

#martin septim

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superbat-love · 1 year ago

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Superbat Moments #14

Opposites Attract

Superbat Master Collection

#inner thoughts #sunshine alien and emo human #different yet complementary #superbat #dc #dc comics #official #superman x batman #batman x superman #superman/batman #batman/superman #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #superbatcollection

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cherryredstars · 11 months ago

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hello can I request a reader being from 1610 Miles universe and she feels left behind by him since all he can do is like Gwen, so somehow she ends up in 42 Miles universe and they hit it off.

Pairings: Miles-42 x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Angst?, Reminder: READER AND MILES ARE MINORS!

A/N: Hello! Of course you can!

Unedited

It's the same just... different.

It seems like home, smells and feels like it. But something in your gut tells you it isn't. Your gut screams that something is wrong, that something is missing. Your mind just can't prove it. Not yet, anyways.

You're not sure how you got here, how you can be asleep in one place and wake up in another without ever moving. Maybe it's some sort of fever dream, one of those insanely vivid ones that leave you yearning when you wake up. You're sure it has to be. How else would you explain this.

Your heart beats widely for the boy in front of you, even though your mind rations that it isn't really him. This isn't your Miles (and some cruel part of your mind sneers that he wasn't yours to begin with). This is someone else, something else. But he looks and feels like Miles. He speaks and acts like him. He has the same lopsided smile, same deep eyes that draw you in, the same carefree yet playful tint to his words. The only thing that differentiates him from the real Miles is his hair.

Two thick braids run down his scalp, containing his usually natural afro. They look good on him, like they're made for him. Now that you've seen them on him, imagining his hair in any other hairstyle feels wrong. There is something so complementary about this simple style on this specific Miles, and your gut tells you it's because this Miles has something that yours lacks.

For example, that look in his eyes. It isn't very unique to this Miles, because your Miles has that same tell-tale shine in his eyes too. But it's not for you, it's for Gwen. The girl who up and left one day but left some remnants behind that Miles clings to like a lifeline. That particular glossy sheen that envelopes his pupils when he talks about her, that rise of color that highlights his cheeks when you find him drawing her silhouette over and over. But this Miles- the one standing in front of you- is looking at you with those eyes and blushed cheeks. He's looking at you the way you wished Miles would.

He's tripping over himself, sputtering on his words as he tries to pull a faux illusion of calm. One so horrible and see through that you can't help but laugh, causing his eyes to widen and his collar to feel tight around his neck. He can feel the heat of his blush forming perspiration on the nape of his neck, the pounding of his heart sounding like it's shaking the whole space. He reminds you of a puppy, instantly fascinated with the new things dangling in his line of sight.

He opens his mouth and closes it, the words forming a ball in his throat. His eyes scan you as he tries to gather the words. He feels like he's in kindergarten again, trying to collect the numerous cards of words and trying to piece them together to find something that makes sense. In the end, he fails, the meaning of what they all mean- all these nouns and verbs and adjectives- escaping him until his mind locks onto the only word he really knows.

"Pretty."

Breathless and intrigued. You smile, a warmth flooding your face and your heart singing. This may not be your Miles, but he's the Miles that wants to be. The Miles without a Gwen. The Miles who makes you feel like you're not someone's second choice. This Miles who looks at you like you're the stars in the night sky. This Miles is the one that was made for you.

You only fear that you'll wake up from this dream too soon.

#cherry's requests🍒#miles morales 42 #miles morales prowler #miles g morales #prowler miles #miles 42 #miles 42 x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler morales #earth 42 prowler #atsv prowler #miles morales x reader #42 miles x reader #42 miles morales #prowler x reader

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opalescent-cheetah · 3 months ago

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"my blue, and your orange... I guess something will remember us." --River Song, Archipelago (The Ninth Doctor Adventures: Star-Crossed)

blue and orange.

orange and blue.

they are intertwined, always.

she is blue, like the TARDIS - his TARDIS, her second mother. blue like the diary modelled after it.

he is orange, like the life she breathed back into him, lifetimes sealed in a single kiss. (clock that blue light flare on river too-!!)

blue and orange. orange and blue. the colours where they come to life.

even his TARDIS interior is blue and orange: the echo of a timeline that still lingers in soft whispers.

from an artistic perspective, these colours were probably only used together so often because they're complementary, which can add depth and distinction to a shot. but still, it feels meaningful: they're complementary. just like river and the doctor. so different, and yet they look and work perfectly together.

now, if you'll allow me to stretch the point a little further, let's go back to lake silencio, at the junction where sand meets water:

(i'm calling this a stretch because i'm well aware the sand is more yellow than orange, lol. but those colours are analogous so... i figured the idea was worth keeping in)

she emerges from the water, so cold, so blue.

he descends from the sands, golden and warm.

they meet where land meets water, orange yellow meeting blue. he is the sun and she his sky, and at 5:02pm, the universe folds itself around them, curling in on the point where these colours converge.

#doctor who #river song #doctorriver #yowzah #big finish #doctor who spoilers #idk if i need that but. jic #doctor x river #archipelago #star-crossed #nineriver #another day of opal being unwell about colours #am i just connecting dots that aren't there? probably #but hey #i love reading too much into things #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #opal speaks #the nineriver boxset has taken over my whole brain ok #are there more examples? absolutely #the husbands of river song is lit in blue and orange like 80% of the time #the singing towers scene is almost entirely golden-orangeish #his final gift to her: a world filled with his colour #i know it's just the sunset but shh let me have this #and the library episodes? lit predominantly in blue #it's her goodbye #stormcage is also predominantly blue #but that's probably bc they wanted to make it look cold and eerie #can u imagine warm-toned stormcage. lmao

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weiirddude · 1 year ago

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So different and yet complementary.

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sth #sth art #sth fanart #sonadow #sonic and shadow #sonic fanart #shadow fanart #two sides of the same coin #night and day

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thebibi · 8 months ago

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There is a different side to Jack Seward that gets unlocked once Van Helsing enters the story, and I think that speaks volumes on how deeply layered their relationship is. Not quite intertwined, but complementary to each other. It still endlessly fascinates me that before Van Helsing, Jack is an entirely different character to the reader.

Jack's appearance and personality is of one slowly unravelling, slowly becoming more unhinged. He cannot get over Lucy's rejection and instead uses Renfield as a distraction. He gets invited out with the boys but we don't hear him talk about it, it's almost as if another Jack Seward got invited. He talks about how vivisection was misunderstood and maniacly plans to let Renfield escape so he can study him further. The audience can feel he is spiraling though he does not want to admit it.

And yet when Lucy is sick, Jack does something unexpected - he asks for help. He reaches out to his old friend and mentor, and it softens him into a different person. When he writes to Arthur about Van Helsing, his arrogance about the hierarchy of man melt away into earnestly describing how incredible his former professor is. And in turn we see how quickly Van Helsing drops everything to go see him.

Not only that, it changes our perception of Jack as well! When Van Helsing teases Jack and confuses him with his vague statements, he's still so accepting. In the next few entries, we will see Jack's character diverge from being a brooding "mad doctor" type to being pathetically loveable. He becomes less sure of himself, yet somehow more vulnerable, more impartial, more sympathetic.

I cant get over it. These two doctors drive me mad, actually.

#dracula daily #dracula (novel)#abraham van helsing #jack seward #helward #sorry i wrote this is 2 seconds #thebibi on vampirez

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 5 months ago

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Second Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: edging and overstimulation

Genre: smut

Summary: Some things are not self explanatory, and Steve has decided he's going to fill in the gaps by coming to you to ask his questions about sex and some of those questions have more involved answers than you'd expect

***

You hear a knock at your door while you're looking for something in your closet.

"Coming!" You call, taking a moment to contain the hurricane that you've created in there. You open the door to find Steve in the hall.

"Are you busy?" He asks.

"Not particularly, what's up?"

"I have another question."

"Shoot." You say, gesturing for him to walk into your room.

"Edging. What it is?"

"It is pleasuring yourself or someone else until the brink of orgasm without letting them actually have an orgasm."

"That sounds like torture." Steve frowns.

"Sometimes it is. It can be used as a punishment, some people enjoy it though, it can also be about increasing endurance- you know- training to last longer in bed, it also usually makes the orgasm more intense when you do eventually get to that point."

"Huh, have you done it before?"

"Been on both sides." You shrug. "Oh also I should mention that like most kink terms there is an equal yet opposite complementary term. For edging its complementary term is overstimulation."

"And that is?"

"If edging is about restraint when it comes to pleasure then overstimulation is a hedonistic indulgence in it. Orgasming again and again and again, sometimes to the point of pain this is where a safe word can be useful because you may say things like stop or I can't take it especially because post orgasm sensitivity can be a bitch but the whole point is to keep going and if you've already talked about exploring either edging or overstim, your partner will probably ignore you saying stop because again the point is to keep going even if you are sensitive, but if they're going to ignore you saying it's too much, you need to be able to stop them if it actually is too much."

"Are all aspects of sex so- severe?" He asks.

"No. Sex can be incredibly soft and gentle and sweet, it can be slow and tender in many ways. I mean, you saw some of that last time. You just- happen to have coincidentally questions about the other end of the spectrum today." You shrug.

"It just seems very, intense. Like maybe too intense? I don't get why you would want to put someone through that. It seems like a slippery slope, sex should be about love not some form of- torture."

"Well calm down, you sound panicked and it's not like I'm going to strap you down and force you to experience it. It's not for everyone Steve, different people have different preferences, this is why it's good to have those conversations before you sleep with someone so nobody gets put in a stressful situation they didn't sign up for. Plus there are a lot of ways to express love you know. If your person wants you to do these things then that absolutely shows that you love them, especially if you do them with the care you're meant to."

"I just don't understand it I guess." He shakes his head.

"That's fine Stevie, no one can force you to do it or enjoy it or even comprehend it really. Like I said, it's a personal preference. Just- be honest with your partner when the time comes." You shrug.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you... like this stuff?" Steve asks.

"I do. With the right person."

"Really?"

"You have your ideas about sex, I have mine." You shrug.

"What's that mean?"

"You said sex is about showing love and I agree with that to a point but to me it's also about pleasure. It's about exploring yourself, sometimes through someone else. It's about learning and adventure. The heat and intensity, passion that is borderline all consuming, sex can be many things. I like to experience all of them."

"Oh." He breathes.

"Of course that's just me. I'm not here to change your mind about anything." You hum.

"I have to try this edging thing."

"You don't. The hands on lessons are an option not an obligation, you don't seem interested in that and that's fine! You can just take the verbal explanation and proceed with your day as long as it makes sense to you, there's no reason to force yourself to try something that don't appeal to you." You shake your head.

"Well, it's hard to understand something if you're not open to experiencing it right?"

"I mean, I guess sometimes."

"So I want to experience it. That way I can understand it." He insists.

"As long as you're sure about this."

"I'm sure. Let's do it." He nods.

"What? Now?"

"Do you have time?"

"Depends on what time it is now."

"Three seventeen."

"I've got til six, I have another engagement later this evening."

"Is that enough time?"

"Plenty. Get comfortable, I would recommend getting naked, you do need to at least take off your pants or you'll likely stain them but it'll probably be more comfortable to take off everything because there's a chance you'll get hot. I know you run pretty warm already but I don't know how much you'd enjoy your shirt sticking to your back after twenty minutes." You say.

"Right, yeah." Steve hesitantly shuffles out of his pants and underwear and then, after seemingly debating in his head, he also pulls his shirt over his head and places all of them on your desk chair before sitting on the bed.

"Alright, I'm going to treat this like I would a real situation. Of course, the expectations are different, I know so don't worry about performing a certain way. Just like last time if at any point you have a question or something makes you feel uncomfortable you can simply say so assuming you can focus. If you can't focus use your stoplight. Yellow, or red, just like we discussed before." You tell him as you pull open the drawer by your bed and grab the bottle of lube.

"What's that for?" Steve asks when you squirt a generous amount into your hand.

"It's a lubricant. It might be a little cold at first, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it, especially the longer this goes." You say sitting beside him. "I'm going to touch you now, is that alright?" You ask.

"Yes." Steve nods with more conviction than you'd expect. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick and he takes in a large breath. His exhale is shaky as you drag your hand up his length with a pressured grip. You circle his tip, slowly massaging it, watching his reactions, enjoying the way his abdomen seems to flex sporadically. His breathing is coming out harsher now and you begin to pump him. Last time you made a point not to stare at him since he was clearly rather nervous about the whole thing but not looking is rather impossible with this 'lesson' so you take the time to really get a look at his dick as you stroke him. The tip is a reddish pink and there are a couple veins running very noticeably along it. You already knew he was big, he's been inside you for fuck's sake, but looking at it unobstructed, boy was he... endowed.

"So how this works Stevie, usually, is that you'll tell me when you're close, ask me, beg me if I tell you to, ask me to cum and I'll tell you if you've earned it. Of course I won't demand all that from you, I'm rather good at reading people's bodies." You explain to him, stroking faster, holding a little bit tighter.

"W-what do you mean usually?" He asks wearily.

"When I do this with partners. There's a bit of power play that comes with this, if you hadn't noticed, having control of how much pleasure your person receives at any given moment. It's a very powerful feeling. But this is more about teaching you than my own enjoyment, so it's a bit different, I'm just offering you more details about the appeal of it all." You explain.

"A-and you- you like that? The p-power play?" He asks. You can tell he's really starting to struggle with his focus, his body is twitching, and he's gripping the sheets, blinking rapidly as he speaks. You watch his whole body tense up and take that as your cue to ease up. You slow your wrist to almost a stop, relishing in the groan Steve lets out.

"I find it can be intoxicating." You smirk.

"So that's how this works?" He pants.

"Pretty much." You nod, picking up speed again. Steve moans as his body jolts again. You can't help but imagine how nice he'd look with a couple of hickeys. You won't be giving him any of course but the idea does captivate you for a brief moment. It's clear that Steve is trying to control his reactions, but the shaky breaths and strained grunts give him away.

"My god." He whispers, tipping his head back. If it was anybody but Steve saying those words, you'd affirm that you are their god and they should worship you as such but it's not somebody else, it's Steve and you'd best keep it simple. When his body tenses up again, you slow your hand accordingly, and Steve lets out a strained groan.

"You know Stevie, you don't have to try so hard to keep quiet. I like your little noises. They're hot." You say.

"I'm not- r-really used to... making n-noises like that." He pants out.

"Well, a bit of advice, most girls like to hear that you're enjoying yourself."

"Really?"

"Yep." You say, stroking him faster, again. You continue your game with him, slowing down when his body tenses up and speeding up when his shuddering breaths quiet. With each denied orgasm his restraint on his vocalizations seems to slip, by the fith time you're slowing down he's an unending string of moans and grunts and even a few whimpers when you squeeze in just the right place.

"This is torture." Steve grits out. His entire body is flushed and his skin is glistening.

"I know but you're doing so well. Just a little longer and I promise I'll reward you. Don't you want that?" You ask with a mocking sweetness in your tone.

"Please." He says breathlessly.

"Oh that sounded nice." You smile. You're not even trying to break him like you would under usual circumstances but the sound him whimpering please to you almost makes you want to.

"Y/n- I feel, like I'm on fire. Please I need to cum." Steve huffs through clenched teeth and you start to wonder if he's reaching his limit. Gripping his chin you gently tilt his head to look at you.

"Checking in Stevie, gimme a color please." You say softly.

"G-green, this is insane." He says shakily.

"You haven't tapped out yet." You smile slightly.

"Is that the goal?"

"Not today." You wink at him. You decide it's probably best to stop here, so you pick up your speed again watching for the telltale signs of his orgasm but this time you finally let him peak and you can't decide if the sound or sight is more dazzling. Either way, you work him through it as evidence of his release spurts over your hand and his thighs in thick ropes. There's an impressive amount of it and you wonder if this is a super soldier thing or if he's just really pent up. When nothing else comes out and he hisses against your touch you let him go. "I'm gonna get a wash cloth, hang tight." You tell him standing from the bed and walking into your bathroom. You rinse your hand first and then soak a washcloth with room temperature water. When you pop back out his arm is draped over his eyes but he otherwise hasn't moved. You start with his neck, wiping the sweat that's probably made his skin sticky. You do a quick swipe across his chest too before moving on to cleaning the remenants of his orgasm from his thighs and recovering dick. "How are we feeling?" You ask him once he's clean. You toss the washcloth in your hamper and grab a water from your mini fridge before sitting beside him on the bed.

"That was- intense." He says.

"Yes but you knew that going in."

"I mean- when you finally let me, you know. It was intense- probably more so than I've ever felt." He says and you giggle at his avoidance of saying orgasm.

"We should really work on your comfortablilty with some of these terms. But yes that intensity is a high some people crave."

"Wow."

"Was it worth it?" You ask.

"What?"

"You said it was the most intense orgasm you've ever had, would you say the payoff was worth the buildup? After all you called it torture."

"You're not even nice about it."

"I was actually very nice, I didn't wait til you were crying to get you off which- is usually what I'll do."

"You make people cry?" He blinks surprised.

"Sometimes." You shrug.

"That's- further than I-"

"I know, that's why I didn't make you cry. Although crying is way more likely with overstimultion anyhow." You shrug.

"Is it?"

"Wanna see for yourself?" You ask opening your bedside drawer again.

"Well I'm not sure I can hand-"

"Here." You drop one of your toys in his hand.

"What's this?"

"A vibrator. I figure it's not fair if every lesson is just me doing things to you like some sort of lab rat so I thought you might want to try overstimulating me. The only other way for that to happen is for you to learn my body but who has time for that? This is efficient and pretty much idiot proof it'll get the job done regardless of your personal experience." You shrug.

"You- want me to use this on you?" He asks wide eyes watching you quickly take off your clothes.

"Yes I do. It's simple, I promise. It does most of the work for you. If you have the energy for it that is." You say.

"Depends on just how simple it is." He says. You sit on the bed next to him and grab his wrist, placing the vibrator in his hand against your clit. It's not on but your insides still clench in anticipation when it touches you.

"Put it here, small circles or wiggling it up and down is fine but keep it in this general area, start with light pressure and press harder as we go. I'll be using the same stoplight system, so here's a couple of preliminary warnings, if I squirm away follow me or hold me down, if I cry that's fine, if I scream let me, ignore me if I ask you to stop or say it's too much. In fact, no matter what, you keep this against me until I call red and I will call red. Sound simple enough?"

"You might cry and that's a good thing?" He frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. It probably won't happen anyway I'm just covering my bases no need to look so terrified." You chuckle.

"How do I turn this on?" He asks after a moment.

"The last button."

"What are the other two?"

"One controls the rhythym and the other controls the power, don't mess with those buttons. For the sake of this lesson they are off limits."

"Last one turns it on?"

"Yes." You nod. Steve stares at the buttons for a moment before a sharp click fills the silence and you jolt from the sudden stimulation. He moves the toy in tight circles, his face pinched in focus. Your hips grind against the vibrator and it doesn't take long for your first orgasm to hit you with a soft moan.

"Oh." Steve says, as if he's surprised.

"Keep going, add pressure." You huff out. Shuddering pants indicate that Steve's done what you asked, your muscles tensing from the continued pleasure post orgasm. The thing with this particular vibrator is that it works quick and you hardly manage to calm down before your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Steve trades the circles for little up and down motions that draw a couple sharp moans from you.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Fine Stevie, I'm fine." You say shakily. Your third orgasm comes with a cry through your closed mouth. You know it's impractical to be so mindful of your sounds but you've got to remain at least semi-composed to be of any help to Steve. More and more your body spasms as the stimulation continues, practically twitching from the pleasure. Small whimpers begin to escape with more frequency as you quickly approach orgasm four. On this one your eyes roll back and you allow an obscene sounding high pitched moan to fall from your lips. Steve makes a sound somewhere in his throat which you barely hear. You're starting to feel that bite of overstimulation layering under the pleasure and it makes you squirm. You jerk against the toy, hoping for a reprieve from the buzzing and Steve, the dilligent student that he is, places a hand across your stomach, holding you in place and all you can do is cry out as he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. You grip the sheets tightly as he starts to make little circles around your too sensitive bundle of nerves, your whole body is shaking as another orgasm quickly creeps up on you with a squealing noise and string of curses. You can feel your brain getting fuzzy, that familiar hedonistic haze threatens to blanket your thoughts, you know if you don't stop Steve soon you'll be far too blissed out to do so and Steve is not equipped to handle that sort of headspace.

"Okay, red. That's enough Stevie." You say breathlessly but firm. Steve quickly moves the toy but struggles to turn it off so you take it from him and turn it off yourself. You take a couple of moments to recompose yourself, ignoring the phantom buzzing and overwhelming wetness between your legs when you sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

"Are you alright? Do you need water? Can I get you something?"

"I'm fine Stevie. How are you feeling?"

"Me? I wasn't the one-"

"The whole point of this was to see if you enjoyed either edging or overstim- having tried both, do you feel like you at least have a better understanding of them like you wanted?"

"I- guess I have a better understanding."

"Well what're you thinking?"

"I thought I would- hate the edging thing but, as... intense as it was there was something, freeing about it? Like getting on a ride at Coney Island and the ending was, worth the build up."

"And overstimulation?"

"It's incredible watching the way your body reacts to such an onslaught. Plus the idea of bringing your lover imense pleasure like that is undeniably delicious, I can see how that kind of thing can be so thrilling."

"Well there you go. Questions answered. You're free to leave." You say.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm fine Steve I'm just going to hop in the shower you've got nothing to worry about really. I've got other things on my schedule of today remember?"

"Alright- if you're sure. I'll see you around. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. See ya." You say. Steve seems hesitant to leave but without a reason to stay, he has to shuffle his way out. You let out a sigh after your door closes. You've got a couple hours before your evening plans, good thing, you'll need it. Hopefully one of these days Steve will ask a simple question with a simple answer that doesn't a demonstration.

***

Tagged Users: @chososg1rl

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut

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