#doesn't seem like a fun method

[two-of-tails]

Whenever I get stuck watching something when I have other stuff I need to be doing, I usually either guilt myself into stopping by reminding myself how unproductive I’m being, or I leave it on in the background while I do the thing I need to be doing. Provided it doesn’t require my full attention. I don’t know, maybe the thing you need to do is build a nuclear reactor, in which case, that probably requires your full attention. But maybe you could start off with something small and work your way up to the thing you need to do. By the time you’ve worked your way up to the more difficult task, you should be in enough of a flow state to do it without the video.

Thanks for the advice! I'll try uh. All of those methods! Except for the guilt one. I think I've already tried that before but it makes me more miserable than motivating. Spite, though...

[spamtoon]

(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)

Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...

Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!

(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)

I know what you are.

Farewell, now!

(She then leaves the way she came from.)

(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)

And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...

(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)

You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?

I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.

(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)

Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way

(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)

Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.

WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.

Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever

[freefallintothevoid]

I've always loved the idea that the Bats are feared in Gotham for the exact same reasons that the Justice League and the rest of the world deems them to be trustworthy and safe

Batman is respected outside of Gotham because of his staunch refusal to kill even when it would be easier. Gotham criminals are terrified because it's well known that his no-kill rule is his biggest hard limit on what he's willing to do. Pretty much everything else goes and they know it

Nightwing is widely beloved for being the nicest and happiest member of the Bats. His smile and constant playful banter are contagious and always make a situation seem better. In Gotham, the only other people who smile and laugh and have that much fun in combat are Harley Quinn and the Joker

Red Hood is a well-known murderous crime lord, but the League is able to trust him because he's one of the Bats. Gotham loves Red Hood the crime lord because his regulation of drug dealers and constant protection of the weak has done wonders for the lower class of the city. He's terrifying because of his open affiliation with the Bats

Red Robin is well known to be a skilled detective who always has a plan to save the day. In Gotham his meticulous investigations and planning are scary because no one can beat them. It's nearly impossible to outsmart someone who is the smaller more calculatedly vicious version of the Batman himself

When Robin doesn't unsheath his sword or bring it with him to a fight, other heroes are glad to see him get used to less violent methods of combat. If someone from Gotham sees Robin enter a fight without a sword, they're terrified because everyone knows Robin deems his sword to be the most efficient weapon for fighting, and if he's not using it things are going to be far more brutal than normal.

Signal is the only Bat that goes out in the day, and is therefore considered less broody and scary to many non-gothamites. Gotham is scared because he's a Bat that shows up during the day.

Orphan/Black Bat is a very skilled hand to hand combatant that the League knows can handle herself. In Gotham, anyone her height that can still win against someone like Bane in a one on one fight is immediately on the 'do not anger' list.

Spoiler is friendly and gets along pretty well with everyone. She's easy to talk to and work with. In Gotham her friendliness has made more than a few give up important information by accident. They like talking to her despite knowing full well that its a terrible idea. She puts them at ease more than she possibly should because she sounds just like one of them

Gotham always flips everything on its head, and that applies to how and why the Bats are perceived the way they are too

[yoru-exe]

PHAINON ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆ . call my name

as overly formal and unnecessary as it sounds, the amphoreus' hero has always been lord phainon to you. while it comes with great honour and respect, much like how it applies to your master; lady aglaea, it feels like there's a barrier between you and him, and he doesn't really like that, considering that he'd like to know you better, closer.

so naturally, he revels in making you drop the honourary title, and the best way to make you do so (based on his countless personal experiments of trial-and-error, which he very much enjoyed) is to catch you off guard. shock you enough to make you forget all about the formality, enough to make you see him not as just amphoreus' hero, but as phainon himself.

one of the times that happened was when you found a lost little girl in the wood. so you asked around the village nearby if she's familiar. you were starting to get some leads when you stumbled upon an elderly man who commented, "my, what lovely family you three look".

"no, we're not-".

"well, thank you so much, good sir. unfortunately, they're not family members. we're actually looking for this child's parents. although i'd like to note that i do look forward to starting a family with this woman".

"phainon!".

of course, that's just one method of making you fall into his plan. there's trill in guessing how you'll react. the blush that never fail to paint your face rosy red always manage to make him fall deeper for you. but nothing made him completely weak than you calling his name consciously out of your own choice.

not even mydei's hardest punch to his gut could do as much damage as you do in this situation.

he was looking at the moon one night all alone when you appeared beside him. "someone seems busy with his thought. would he be so generous to share?", a teasing tone laced your words, making him chuckled. you always seem to know how to calm his nerve when it's going wild.

"just.. thinking about the battle to come. do you think we'll make it this time?". from the hill you're standing on, the ruins around the perimeter glowed under the moonlight. the destruction they faced was unmistakable. from the way he sympathetically shifted his gaze upon them, you guessed that perhaps it's from his previous battle, one that you didn't embark together with, one that he failed.

without warning, you took his hand in yours, caressing circles on the scars on it, a gentle smile gracing your lips. "of course we will, because you have me by your side", you announced pridefully, so full of confidence that it felt contagious on him. "and you by mine, phainon".

you voice was so low, as if a whisper of a mother soothing her crying child, or a girl confessing to her lover of her affection. but he heard you loud and clear.

although, he felt like he needed you to repeat that again because his system was in a mess from you saying his name that he didn't get to savour it to its fullest.

"no, that only come once".

safe to say that he spent the rest of the night begging that you call his name like you just did. but where's the fun in a challenge if you just give him what he wants?

⊹₊ author's note ₊⊹

this is kinda silly, but someone implied that phainon isn't as innocent as what we originally thought he would be did something to my brain chemistry. and you know what? good for him. this man needs some fun before he d***

[onlycosmere]

*In response to a meme about a tv show adaptation of a book being written by a writer who had not read the book*

Brandon Sanderson: I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood.

I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising.

A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently.

The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on.

Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production.

So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made.

I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster.

Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[sunderwight]

More cumplanewar au thoughts (stealing the ship name idea from @thesadisticsiren):

-This throuple is like, two guys and their attack dog. At a glance it would seem like SQQ and SQH are the two guys and LQG is the attack dog, but it actually depends on the situation.

-SQQ is the attack dog for winning verbal arguments, and Shang Qinghua is unleashed when the best solution would be to just ruin some clan's big picture financial prospects for the next ten generations. Liu Qingge might stab you but the other two are more likely to make you wish someone had just stabbed you.

-Yue Qingyuan has mixed feelings about this whole situation, but standing on the outside and smiling sadly at this strange adult version of Xiao Jiu while he moves on with his life without him feeds his emotional masochism, so that's mostly what he goes with.

-Qi Qingqi did not know that men could have polycules. She thought this was mostly just something women did when they smartened up and realized that having sex with each other and locking their shitty husband out at night was a better way of coping with being in a harem than competing. Live and learn.

-Luo Binghe eventually joins Cang Qiong (despite numerous efforts to get him into some other sect) by climbing Bai Zhan Peak. SQQ and SQH start coming up with contingency plans for what to do if there's some sort of "kill his own shizun" mandate in effect and Liu Qingge bites it. This is useful stuff just in general, given that Liu Qingge is still just lousy with character death flags and also has literally made it his job to run headlong into dangerous situations.

-Shen Qingqiu still manages to die the most.

-Mu Qingfang doesn't know why these two specific martial brothers of his with like zero medical training keep coming to him with new miraculous methods for healing multiple amputations and heavy blood loss, but he is NOT complaining.

-Huan Hua Palace Master likes to make insinuating remarks about Cang Qiong's "famous fraternal love" between peak lords in a way that seems perfectly polite but also implies something seedy is going on. This doesn't work out well, mostly because it flies right over Liu Qingge's head, Shang Qinghua is just nodding along and feeding every scrap of HHP intel he gets to Mobei Jun, and Shen Qingqiu's roasting ability was forged in the fires of online comment sections, so pitting him against a tacky drama villain is like releasing a feral cat onto a small island that has only evolved flightless birds with no native predators.

-It actually does take them a while to start fucking. Mainly happens because of sex pollen the first time, of course, and then Shang Qinghua has to just be like "that was fun, let's do it again" so that Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu can yell at him about it until they calm down enough to agree.

-Liu Qingge keeps trying to get Officially Married, but Shang Qinghua doesn't want to do the paperwork (worries he's secretly the third wheel and they're going to want to get rid of him at some point), and Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to firm things up until after the plot has passed (thinks he might still get murdered and doesn't want to make things 'messy' if that happens).

-There is a persistent external impression that the shrewd & scheming SQQ and SQH have basically beguiled and bewildered Liu Qingge into their beds in order to exploit his potential and use his body. Shen Qingqiu tears this porn to shreds, Liu Qingge is reluctantly into it, and Shang Qinghua is just surprised to be cast as a top even though he's the shortest.

-Mobei Jun trying to figure out how to navigate human culture just well enough to get into the polycule but only to exclusively date Shang Qinghua is the lady with the math equations meme.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Kutning's Dag - Max Verstappen x reader

cw: dubcon/ cnc, rapeplay, intox kink, unprotected sex, creampie, public, perv! Max, icky! Max

At this point in the season, Max Verstappen needed a miracle. He had heard it all, at the start. That the car was so fucked he dragged it first to podium, then to the points, but what happened when this was not the case. Amateur theorists- that's what he called F1 podcasters- had predicted that it would be sooner than later. And he had shut them down in Japan. Suzuka was a dream. Fourth consecutive pole there in the last seconds of quali. Fourth consecutive win there, the return of the F1 outro, as the fans dubbed it. But the Dutch anthem didn't stick around the podium for long. There were a few hiccups after, but not for the McLarens. His 1 point behind Lando was gradually increasing. He was feeling like a fish out of water, for the first time in his career. The retirement jokes he so brazenly made during previous months were now met with hushed whispers. It didn't help that the Redbulls were down in the constructors championship too. They took Liam, and with the way Yuki was driving, Max could bet one of his cats that Hadjar was getting fitted for a seat soon, whether the rookie driver wanted it or not. Verstappen's fake Instagram even liked a few Helmut Marko as the 2nd driver memes, a bunch of Daniel cursing the thing too. But it seemed to be true now.

So Max Verstappen desperately needed to win the Miami Grand Prix. After a triple header that started promising and two weekends of pure hell, something needed to be done. Whatever. Literally anything. He remembered last year how Lando's first victory in the sunny state triggered this chain of events. This championship contender narrative that was heating up between the two since. Lando then, with his little nose scar, who had been partying in the Amsterdam canals before. A metaphorical lightbuls sparked up above Max’s head. If you can't beat them, join them. He was going to celebrate King's Day for the first time in a while.

Of course, he used to honor the holiday as a teenager. Which 17 year old doesn't go across the border to the Netherlands to drink copious amounts of alcohol in the streets. He was lucky that his mom and sister brought him in at the end of the night. It was a fun time. Lots of bad beer. Crowds of loud people dressed head to toe in orange. Music that everyone knew shouted at the top of one's lungs. Then, with the years, he was too busy racing for such frivolity. But now the calendar was smiling up to him, a nice little break between Jeddah and Miami. It was a nice opportunity for him to fly back to the Netherlands, try the "Lando method," and come back. Copious amounts of gin tonics and a few kebabs never hurt anyone. Especially on King's Day. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Nevertheless, Max did it.

Once his plane touches down on Dutch soil, he realizes this was a mistake. He's forced to take a train and be packed like a sardine in first class. "No, I'm not him, but I get that a lot," he says, ad naseum, eyes glued to the maroon seats around him. Once he makes it to Amsterdam, he all but scours the city, going from store to store, trying to see if there's any alcohol left. He piles premixed cans of gin and tonics into his Alpha Tauri backpack. He sure is an ambassador now. But his quest isn't just a way for him to grab some booze. No, he's strategically scoping out areas where he won't be spotted. Where the crowds were just drunk and rowdy enough to ignore him, but not thay quiet and sober that he'd be bored. One would try to rationalize that most people didn't bat an eye at Lando. Who knows, Max could even accidentally spot the Britton on his way, dj skills being tested on a party boat. And people wouldn't care. We'll that was a bit harsh, there would be many overjoyed fans. But not as many as Max's. It was the fucking Netherlands, we was treated as the second coming of Christ. Or the first, depending on the province. Amsterdam was definitely not on the Bible belt, so that was that. Still, the Dutchman took some precautions. He hid out, going over to long lost friends' houses. People who he had known since karting, all drinking together, wearing orange, and treating him like a normal guy. Yes, there were some offhand comments about F1 and the Redbull performance. There's a few people trying to get him to help them with their fantasy team too.

He offers them a pass at his own ranking if they beat him at a drinking game. And those he never loses, always choosing to go for reflexes or showing feats of physical strength. After all, those hours in the gym aren't for nothing. Max is more than pleasantly buzzed by the time they have to leave. It's past 10, and people are already plastered. Of course, this was strategic. It was more plausible that people got a mass hallucination of Max Verstappen after a few dozen beers. He steps out through the crowd, shoes already sticking to the pavement. The smell of sweat and vomit and beer is in the air.

Max reflexively pulls the orange army cap over his own face, especially when they play anything by Maxx Power. He grins when they play 5 remixes in a row, the dj shouting something about a 5th WDC incoming. Max is happy that at least the fans are happy they believe in him, albeit delusionally. He relaxes, the tension sliding off of him like dirty air. He's too relaxed, almost, and now his mind is wondering how. Yes, the 6 pack of gin and tonics helped. He almost sniffs the air and gets hit with a string smell, similar to the one from the house. He reluctantly takes a hit of this green electronic thing and coughs. It's good, but weird.

"Didn't know vapes were this popular here?" He shouts to his friend, who deadpan that it's weed. Of course, Max almost smack his forehead. He's contact high, just like half the grid was in Vegas. He remembers that day, letting the flashbacks warm over him. Yep, he was fucking fucked.

Max decided that he'd fight the weirdness and tingliness of his body by people watching. What better way to be distracted by analyzing others. He blends into the crowd, only because people are packed like sardines. Mostly friends, big crowds of people dancing, drinking and shouting with each other. He doesn't miss the rowdier ones. There's couples making out and dry humping all around him.

He feels like a teenager all over again, that awkward virgin 17 year old at house parties. Hormones not as contained as he'd like to, popping a boner at other people's activities. If he listened very hard, everything was sexy. He'd hear the little moans and groans of the couple, the pleas for more. Everything made his cock stand up and throb painfully in his pants. And now, 10 years later, it's the same. Max never pegged himself as a voyeur. But now, with every sensation in his body heightened, he couldn't help it. And with his dick needing release and fast, he sets out to find someone willing to do that. His gaze searches, he's like a hawk looking for a bunny. And his eyes land on you.

You hated King's Day. It was a stupid holiday, a Saw trap thing made to torture you. You hated the gaudy orange color. The public drinking. The stupid songs you didn't know as a foreigner. You should've stayed home. But here you were, freezing in a two-piece set. You hate the flimsy fabric of the thing. You only ordered it last minute to impress an ex, who you knew you'd run into. You didn't expect to find them with their tongue down the throat of a mutual acquaintance. But you made a vow that you'd make out with someone. So far, your lips only touched the bottle. Whatever they were drinking was strong, made you feel woozy and light. At least you were doing King's Day right, getting very intoxicated. You didn't even flinch when you felt a pair of hands glide dangerously close to your ass. The whole night, it kept happening, accidentally, sometimes not. It was the crowds, you reasoned, because you were practically sandwiched between many backs and elbows. Then someone did really feel you up from behind. God, his fingers were deliberate. Groping, touching, all short of clawing. Needing you, needing this, and it was gross. The man apologized, a faint sorry from under the rim of an orange hat. You had mentally prepped a joke about redbull giving him more than wings or an aggressive overtake. And then he does it again, this time his hands loop against your hips, seemingly trying to move you out of his way. His fingers hook against the straps of your orange thong and snap them. You want to scream, yell, to tell him to stop. But it's as if you've swallowed cotton. And the warmth of someone's touch against you was clouding your judgment. The stranger lets his fingers move up your bare stomach until your tits. He flicks at your already hard nipples, a little hum of appreciation. He comments that you're practically asking for it by not wearing a bra.

The voice is familiar, even though you can't exactly place it. Didn't all Dutch men all kinda sound the same. This one's hands were kneading your breasts roughly, more for him than for you. He was whispering absolute filth in your ears, the brim of the hat he won't take off digging into your shoulder. He smells like a gin brewery that was next to a coffeeshop.

"Look at you, just letting me touch you. Aren't you ashamed that a total stranger's groping your tits. Right in the middle of Amsterdam, mind you, with thousands of people around you. I think you like it. I think you're a little whore. Because if you wanted to, you could have asked for help. Look there, bimbo," he says as he grabs your chin and tilts your head towards the police at the edge of the crowd. "You want me to stop? Let's walk over there, and I'll let you report me. Hell, I'd even turn myself in. Yeah? Go tell the nice cop about me, I'm right behind you."

You try to move, and he follows. The stranger even lets his hands fall from your chest. But with every step you take, you end up going 3 steps back. It's a Sysyphean challenge. You stop suddenly, and the guy stops with you. You two are surrounded and pressed against each other. You're not sure who makes the first move again. You just know that you're rubbing your ass against his hard cock like an animal in heat.

He rolls his hips against yours, lifting your skirt with every movement. He can't help but knead your ass, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. When the stranger hears a low wolf whistle, you're dragged, literally through the crowd. He's taken his cap off and he's barking orders in Dutch and English, parting the people like they're the Red Sea. He ducks with you in an alley and you swear your drink was laced.

"Max Verstappen? What the fuck are you doing here?" You say, still unsure of what was happening. He shuts you up with a kiss, a bit sloppy and needy. You kiss him back, but then it all starts to be too much. He was a renowned athlete, a role model. Not someone who got a bit too handsy. That dawns on both of you at the same exact time.

"You could ruin my life. You could actually go to anybody about this, and they'll strip me of everything. It'll be Mazepin again, but this time with consequences." He says, and instead of stepping away, he begins unbuttoning his jeans. Sliding his boxers away and taking out his cock. Sizing it up against you. You plead with him.

He pretends to think as his hands go in your panties. He tells you how he's in deep shit as his fingers rub your clit. He goes on about how you should report him, how despite his celebrity status and the inebriated state you're both in, he's going down. You try to mention police injustice, how the odds are against you, even bring up Christian Horner. Your body betrays you as you talk. Your hips snap to match his movements.

"They'll come up with some bullshit excuse. That I was too wet or something. No signs of struggle, no bruises on you or something of the sort." You chastise, as he slides his fingers inside of you. One, then a second, in a hooking motion. He moves them with precision and you blush. In the small alley the sounds of your wetness echo. Max knows exactly how to press his fingers inside of someone to make them fall apart. You cum against him, despite yourself. You press yourself close to him, shut your eyes and let the orgasm wash over you. You're limp, letting him tap the head of his cock against your clit. Allowing him to thrust inside of you, burrying himself to the hilt. Telling you that "if he's gonna go down for this, at least he's gonna make it worth his while."

He tells you how good your cunt feels, how well you take his cock. He holds you down, muscles pressing into you, keeping you in place. He goes on this tangent about coming inside of you, leaving you something to remember him by. You don't have the heart to tell him he's the first and only man to fuck you raw. That his blue eyes and all of today will haunt your dreams. You can't express that what he's doing to you terrifies you, yet thrills you. That you just might be sick in the head for not hating this. Your warm wet cunt was drawing him in. Wanting him. Needing him. You bite your lips bloody. Yet he still catches your whisper of "please, come for me." His thrusts become faster, and he spills inside of you. If this were real life, he'd leave after that, blend into the crowd, and accept his fate. He'd wait for the other shoe to drop and get what was coming to him for being a disgusting pervert who touches women.

But it wasn't real life. Max was in a stupidly expensive Monaco sex club. Their new marketing ploy - get you in the door for a free visit and impress you so much you come back. He had to hand it to them, they followed up with him like a champ. Getting extras to play the drunk and disorderly dutchies. Even the set of the alley was good. Max casts a glance at you, his throughly fucked out girlfriend. You're sleeping with a grin on your face. He remembers the day you told him about your unusual kink. How the two of you would dabble in it, occasionally. He'd pretend to break into your shared apartment and rape you. You had been so loud and rowdy that night that your neighbors called the cops on you. But just before the sirens, you had come on Max's cock so hard, he swore he could marry you right then. After he was done politely explaining the misunderstanding to the policemen, he started googling. And a couple months later, here you two were. Completely immersive experience. And no sheets to wash. Max feels bad for the person who has to clean the floor after you squirt on it. In his defense, you didn't even know you could do that. He lets himself be photographed leaving the club with you in tow. Shoots off a few messages to his friends and the other drivers on the grid to also try it out. If he creates enough buzz, they'll give him a discount. And it's not as if his hefty paycheck doesn't allow him to visit sooner. Especially after he wins Miami. Because he has several bets going on - one with Christian, one with GP and one with Lando. He gets them all, collects the cash and says he'll invest it. He puts it on another night with you. Because the true key to Max Verstappen's winning strategy was a well fucked girlfriend.

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

[prev]

"...I really don't think this is necessary, Plain Yogurt. My hair is neat enough." Healer Cookie tries to protest to Shadow Milk, who sits behind him with his legs stretched out beside each hip, trying to comb his hair icing with his fingers.

Healer Cookie. Bleugh.

It's such a generic name, it's hardly a name at all. Shadow Milk knows Pure Vanilla doesn't remember his actual name, but that doesn't make him hate that stupid placeholder any less. As a matter of fact, Shadow Milk actively refuses to call him something so bland, so he doesn't.

"But it could be so much neater! Just let me do this for you, my dear." He insists, gritting his teeth as he fights with a stubborn clump in his hair. This would be way easier if he had his claws out, but 'Plain Yogurt' isn't meant to have claws and Pure Vanilla would probably notice the scratch of them against his scalp. "You don't have any patients to worry after right now, anyway. You can relax a little."

Pure Vanilla winces slightly at the tug of the clump coming undone, but he doesn't complain, finally giving up his protests as his body goes lax. He sighs, a faint smile flickering over his face. "Alright, alright. Just this once."

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Shadow Milk continues to painstakingly smooth Pure Vanilla's neglected hair out. Pure Vanilla sits docile as he does, like a doll being dressed up, and Shadow Milk grins to himself, enjoying the thought. That's what he is, after all.

There's a delicious irony in this situation, and Shadow Milk never fails to savour it. He had known about this amnesiac spell before he had escaped the Silver Tree, but he had kind of been assuming it would have resolved itself by the time he got his opportunity for freedom. It was an inevitability that one would arise, with the two halves of that torn White Lily Cookie both locked in stasis. It encouraged her Seal to weaken faster, and Shadow Milk jumped out at the first chance he got.

Only his spirit could slip through the crack, but that was fine, that was fine, since his original body was stale and practically useless after several millennia without use. All he had to do was steal the body of a Cookie on the edge of crumbling entirely – a traveller fallen victim to a monster attack with their soul already fleeing their body in fright – and maintain its endangered state with his own magic so he could throw himself at Pure Vanilla's doorstep, the picture perfect image of a miserable Cookie in need. It just so happened that the doorstep was a dusty, ignorant one.

Well, whatever. Pure Vanilla's current state is both convenient and inconvenient for Shadow Milk. The Soul Jam is currently dormant, but it still seems to be stubbornly connected to Pure Vanilla, because it didn't react to Shadow Milk's presence or his remaining half of the Soul Jam. With it in hiding like that, it makes it legitimately impossible for him to quickly steal it back, because there is nothing to steal.

That means Shadow Milk has to use more convoluted methods. That's fine; those are his favourite kinds of methods, anyway. Slipping into the village like a wolf in sheep's clothing, carving an undeniable space for himself at Pure Vanilla's side and waiting, waiting, waiting.

When Pure Vanilla finally resonates with the Soul Jam again, he will certainly regain his memories and buckle under that unaddressed storm of grief, regret and self-loathing. Taking the Soul Jam back then will be the easiest thing in the world. Who knows, maybe Pure Vanilla will hand it over himself in a fit of grief-stricken anguish! Wouldn't that be fun?

It doesn't seem like that will happen anytime soon, though. Funnily enough, Pure Vanilla seems to be avoiding the Light of Truth to the absolute best of his ability, wrapped tight in those bandages of his and unwilling to shed them. It makes Shadow Milk laugh if he thinks about it for too long.

Denial is the first step towards Deceit, after all. First, you refuse to look Truth, harsh and bitter, in the face. Then, when you inevitably have to confront it, you turn to the veil of Deceit to make the world less unbearable to look at. And Pure Vanilla has already managed to get himself one foot on the staircase, without Shadow Milk interfering in the slightest.

It gives Shadow Milk an inkling of an idea. He could get Pure Vanilla there, surely. All he has to do is swoop in as he suffers through his returned memories and... twist the knife a little. Or a lot.

Whatever the case, he has to be there for that. The wait is sluggish, but Shadow Milk doesn't bother speeding things along himself. He could, and he definitely will if he starts getting too bored, but for now, the novelty of playing pretend with a physical body for the first time in far too long hasn't quite worn off yet.

"You're being awfully quiet." Pure Vanilla teases quietly, breaching the silence that has nestled around them. "You're usually much more talkative than this. Perhaps I overlooked a patient in need?"

He's not being serious, and his curled lips make that glaringly obvious. Shadow Milk scoffs out a laugh. "Oh, please, I've never been crispier! I just have my work cut out for me with your hair, so I have to focus."

Pure Vanilla's smile falters into a small frown. "...Is it really that bad?"

Yes, Shadow Milk wants to hiss. He's used to Pure Vanilla's visage being delicately graceful, holding the air of a king, his pale blonde hair framing his face in immaculate curves. Now it is ruffled and unkempt, the ends dirtied with the grime that floats around the village, and though some of it is removed with each pass of Shadow Milk's fingers, it is far too saturated to get rid of it entirely like that.

It annoys Shadow Milk, teetering on the edge of anger, and so does Pure Vanilla's outfit. The rags he wears as robes, haphazardly and poorly stitched together. They don't suit him at all, and Shadow Milk's director's eye, attuned to aesthetics, chafes at the sight of his doll like that.

He could dress him in much, much better things than that. Sweeping robes of black and gold, because gold has always been flattering with his complexion, made of the finest sugar coat fabric. Or blue and gold, like a night star. And if - when - Pure Vanilla lays his eyes on the Truth once more and chooses to continue hiding from it, then Shadow Milk will provide. He can give him a blindfold of silk, embroided with honey floss, far softer on the eyelids than some old bandages.

Pure Vanilla just needs to properly reconnect with his Soul Jam first. Draw it out into the open.

So, yes, Shadow Milk really does think his hair is that bad, but he won't tell him that. He's not above upsetting Pure Vanilla, but there is nothing to gain from it in this tiny instance. It wouldn't even be that funny, really.

"I'm exaggerating, I'm exaggerating." Shadow Milk reassures lightheartedly, at least satisfied with the silkiness returning to Pure Vanilla's hair under his meticulous ministrations. "I'm fixing it up now, anyway. Why, do we have to talk all the time?"

"No, of course not." Pure Vanilla's hands idly twist together in his lap. "But you usually hum when we don't talk, so..."

Shadow Milk usually hums on purpose, to make sure Pure Vanilla is always aware of his presence. It has to be a conscious decision, because Shadow Milk is naturally silent otherwise, in the same way his footsteps tend to drift along the ground if he isn't trying to make them heard. It is the instincts of a predator stalking its prey.

But Pure Vanilla doesn't need to know that, because that doesn't apply to Plain Yogurt. So, instead, Shadow Milk says, "You don't like the silence?"

"No, the silence is fine, but I like hearing your voice." Pure Vanilla admits, with that small, content smile of his creeping onto his face, at odds with his bedraggled appearance. "It's lovely."

Shadow Milk's fingers stall in his hair. His incorporeal eyes blink and squint in the shadows around the village, exactly where he has left them. Then, he slowly lowers his hands down to Pure Vanilla's shoulders, leaning forward to speak gently into his ear, a taunt and a fact, "Of course it is. It's mine."

Shadow Milk watches as the barest hint of colour rises to Pure Vanilla's cheeks. He wonders if he knows that he does that, whenever Shadow Milk gets close enough for his breath to brush his dough– no, he doubts it. Pure Vanilla knows very little, the way he is now.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Black Raisin's voice is sharp and intrusive from the tent flaps, respect for Pure Vanilla muddied by a marked unhappiness. Pure Vanilla obviously can't see the withering warning glare she shoots Shadow Milk then, but Shadow Milk does, and he relishes in it. He leans the slightest bit closer to Pure Vanilla and gives Black Raisin a mocking grin past his shoulder, showing the slightest flash of his fangs before dulling them back down to Plain Yogurt's average Cookie teeth. Just a little trick of the light.

Black Raisin's expression darkens, her fist tightening at her side. Shadow Milk knows very well that she has not liked him from the beginning, and he has been gleefully pushing her headfirst towards hatred ever since. Things like this are always more fun with a little antagonism, and he gets a thrill whenever Pure Vanilla kindly sides with him instead.

"Oh, no, Plain Yogurt was just combing my hair. He insisted." Pure Vanilla chuckles, a little sheepishly and a little fondly, mostly unaware of the lethal staring competition happening over his head. He runs a hand over his own hair, as if to check what Shadow Milk has done, and Shadow Milk finally leans back out of his space. Black Raisin calms, and looks towards Pure Vanilla, who turns to her with a more serious expression. "Did you need me for something? Did someone get hurt?"

Black Raisin softens entirely like chocolate in the sun. "No, Healer, nothing like that, thankfully. I just wanted to let you know a group of us are heading out to patrol."

Pure Vanilla's face loosens into a relieved smile. "Ah, alright then. Stay safe, all of you."

"We will." Black Raisin turns to leave, hesitates, before turning back. "Oh, and the others just finished a batch of raisin buns. Feel free to help yourself."

Pure Vanilla hums in acknowledgement, but very pointedly does not answer. Shadow Milk knows why he doesn't. His eating habits were already abysmal to begin with, but living in poverty in a village with limited supplies made it even worse. He never seeks food out himself, and when it is given to him, he has a tendency to try and squirrel it away to give to some patient later, as a pick-me-up. Unfortunately for him, Shadow Milk tends to notice these things.

Once Black Raisin has left, Shadow Milk scoots back from Pure Vanilla, pulling his legs back from where they were stretched out to finally stand up. "So, should we go and help ourselves?" He challenges Pure Vanilla, daring him to refuse.

Pure Vanilla tilts his head this way and that, clearly reluctant, before tackling the dare head-on. "You can go ahead without me. I'm not hungry at the moment."

It's not a lie, but it dances on the edge of one. Shadow Milk sighs, ignoring his own budding amusement in favour of the scene. "But I don't want to eat on my own. You don't have to be hungry to eat, do you?"

Pure Vanilla hesitates for a few seconds, before reaching for where he had laid his staff, picking it up and steadying it against the ground. "...No, I suppose I don't. And I certainly wouldn't want you to be lonely."

He says it playfully, but Shadow Milk's eyes narrow at the words, his face falling blank. He doesn't respond immediately, circling Pure Vanilla with silent footsteps, not bothering to make himself heard.

The tense moment lengthens, and Pure Vanilla's expression falters with uncertainty, his head turning left and right. He had spoken playfully, so he must have expected a similar quip back, and found the silence he got instead unnerving.

"...Plain Yogurt?" He calls, with the slightest shiver of nervousness in the name. Shadow Milk comes to a stop in front of him, silently tapping his heels together with a sense of satisfaction.

"I'm here, my dear. Let's go, shall we?" He smiles, holding a hand out towards Pure Vanilla with a little snap of his fingers so he knows where his hand is. Pure Vanilla eases.

Yes, it'll take some time to get the Soul Jam if he continues to let things run its natural course, but Shadow Milk has time to spare. Even this little play in a rundown village is far better than the thousands of years he has spent stagnant, doing nothing, practically non-existent in the eyes of the world. Here, his presence makes an impact. Here, he can pick Pure Vanilla apart thread by thread and Pure Vanilla will let him, with a smile on his face.

That's all there is to it, really.

Shadow Milk hums as Pure Vanilla slips his hand easily into his palm, like he trusts him with his whole life.

"Just follow me!"

(Sweet fool.)

[next]

[jackoshadows]

Brandon Sanderson on why TV adaptations of fantasy works end up being so different to the source material:

I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood. I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising. A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently. The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on. Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production. So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made. I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster. Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[mysticetus]

i present to you my blind kieran AU where he lost his eyes when he got kidnapped and interrogated by the o'driscolls but he got rescued...

i have a bunch of notes about it i put under the cut.

ive had fun researching disability history and also how each disabled person finds their own solutions and methods.

white canes weren't properly invented until the 1920s but he would pretty quickly start using a cane and likes finding good sticks (+ different sizes for different things).

he already couldn't read when he was sighted so not much changes there but mary beth would learn about braille and teach him i feel like she would be into it shes nerdy.

the gang seems to hold an attitude of acceptance for societal outcasts and find ways of survival in harsh circumstances so he would be in good company i think.

being blind doesn't impair his fishing that much because fishing doesn't rely on sight and hes got a little bell on the rod (sighted fishermen use this too).

HORSE: he can still ride and care for horses. it's so cool seeing all the stuff blind equestrians do. horse is a lot of tactile and smells and stuff and it's more about bond than anything. Bro's best friend is his horse i think branwen would be a great companion for outings.

despite a glass eye making a slightly plot-relevant appearance in rdr1 kieran wouldn't bother with one. these days prosthetic eyes are made of acrylic and are much more comfortable but in his era they were delicate and uncomfortable. i imagine arthur looting a glass eye off a body and giving it to kieran, asking him how it feels, and kieran's like "it feels like i have a rock in my face." and he never wears it again lol.

reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[secretaccountlol]

okay but what are we thinking about loud! mark? i see all (only 2 lol) these loud readers but no loud!mark centered fics. whats your head-canons or anything you can think of on him?

(i hope this is an ask, right?)

-🎀✨

Okay, first I fuckin wrote this whole request out already and tumblr DELETED IT. SO SRRY FOR HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO REPLYYYY

 I had to take a break from my computer for its safety 🥰

 18+ smuT POOKIES NO MINORS THX !!!

BUT ITS FINE !!!

Yeah.. we don’t have any loud mark fics so I’ll be the first >:) muwahhah I made the reader gender neutral hope that’s okay.

 LOUD! MARK Headcanoonsss!!!!

It's not like he doesn't try to be quiet sometimes, but it just doesn't work. For example, you decided to visit your folks for the first time, and after a full day of yapping and family fun;

 

You make the executive decision that now’s the time to get a little frisky in your childhood bedroom.

 

I mean, he really does try to stay silent, he makes little noises but as soon as soon as he feels his cock stretch out your aching hole, his eyes roll back.

Does he already have his shirt in his mouth because he already foresaw the future of him not being able to stay quiet? Well, yes!

Does that stop the moans from leaking out? No.

As soon as your bodies collide, and the delicious smacking sounds of his cock sliding into your tight hole are sinfully audible, he moans. Hard and fast.

Your arms flail in front of his face trying to get him to quiet down. Was it as loud as he usually was?

No…not exactly, but anyone who walked by your door would definitely know you were fucking in here.

“Mark! Shhh!”

“I— I’m trying! Fuck you just… feelsogood—!”

It could have been his moans seeping through his shirt, or maybe it was the clear drag marks on the floor from your bed being mysteriously moved.

Or maybe it was the loud thumping noise all night.

Regardless, next time you and Mark came over, your parents made him sleep on the couch..

 

Yes, Mark is loud but, that doesn’t mean he just moans.. nah. He teases and compliments too. Especially when he’s feeling dominant.

 

You’re in prone bone, his hand comfortably resting on the base of your neck keeping your head up as he ruts into you.

It’s slow and methodical. The way he fucks into you is precise, as he chuckles at the small sounds you make under him.

“Fuck— yes, yeah take it, take it, I know you can, baby.”

“Oo, like when I hit it there. Hm? Your tightin’ up sooo much, ah..”

God forbid, he can see your face.

“Come on, baby keep those pretty eyes on me, please?”

“Stick out your tongue, sweetheart.. yeah there we go, cute.”

“You can barely speak right now, huh? Don’t worry, I can do aalll the talking.”

 

Oh, also imagine trying to do some impromptu public sex. God. You’d be arrested.

He’s way too obvious for you to drive straight in.

So you try to warm him up by running your hands up and down his thigh, toying with his belt buckle.

 

Then you go for the kill, slipping your hand into his boxers, your hands grasping the quickly hardening member.

But whatever words attempt to crawl from him, stumble, and crash in his throat as you pump lazily.

You feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes at him as you questioned him sweetly. “Are you okay?” Your friends are also looking at him with concern.

The once chatty man is now reduced to stammers.

 

“Yeah! Sorry— choked..”

You nod, laying your head on his shoulder. It seemed to be a cute gesture, a loving couple cuddling at a table.

But in reality, it was much more devious. Leaning against his chest made it easier to side your hand deeper into his pants as you tugged rhythmically.

Your friends continue talking as you nod along, squeezing the base of the shaft as he grits and whines through his teeth.

His ears tinged with red. The metallic taste lingers in his mouth; his lip splits from his teeth sinking into the soft flesh to keep him from moaning.

Your friends noticed again, asking him if he was okay, if he had a fever. But no, he’s stubborn.

 

“I— m’fine!” Your thumb swipes over the tip of cock, he damns near jumps under the table.

 

Your speed now makes it impossible for him to clamp his mouth, he tries to cover his mouth as he hiccups out moans, but you snatch it down under the guise of “wanting to hold his hand”.

 

He tries to stuff food into his mouth, with his other hand, trying to muffle the moans but that leads to him actually choking.

It works out in the end though, because you finally have an excuse to leave.

You usher him out muttering apologies as he tries to calm himself.

You get your shit kicked in bad when you get home, though.

How many hours? You don’t know but the sun is down now.

It’s like a crime scene.. but with cum.

Your back is sore from being bent like a pretzel, that brilliant mind of yours is reduced to a bucket of buzzing desire.

Totally worth it.

[almost-an-arsonist]

Wild is one of the smartest members of the chain and watch me PROVE IT.

(picture is tiny sorry :C)

-

lookie here. wild gets a lot of attention for being a feral arsonist, but unfortunately its often made into his ENTIRE personality in fanfiction (etc). which is an unfortunate, but common occurrence when a 'chaotic' character...well, exists at all.

but when people promote these qualities in wild they often seem to gloss over how smart this man actually is. people forget that out of the chain he is one of the most likely to have received a formal education............... not to mention most of the people he spends time with in game are SUPER MASSIVE SCIENCE GEEKS (Flora, Purah, Robbie, etc etc the list goes on), point being that he likely has extensive knowledge about varying scientific areas, as well as field experience. and in totk he's a freaking teacher.

but the real kicker? Wild is INSANELY creative and resourceful, as shown in game AND in LU canon. he is an out of the box thinker, and while his methods may be...... unconventional....... THEY WORK. and he has fun with it. that's the big one here.

yes, Wild sometimes does dumb things. but doing dumb things doesn't make the PERSON dumb. it doesn't DEFINE them- which I unfortunately see a lot in Wild's fanon characterization. to add on, this man woke up out of a dang cave after 100 years (and before that basically only military training) so LET HIM FREAKIN' LIVE!!!!

he is definitely (at least in my eyes) the most creative chain member, so why does this quality always get overshadowed by "hehe feral gremlin man"??????

-

idk please voice your opinions below lol

-

and thank you for coming to my tedtalk :D

-

(also I think someone made a post about something relating to this topic farther back in the LU community?? I don't wanna scroll back but that was my motivation to make this post)

-

@linkeduniverse for the art credit :D

[gor3-hound]

teachers pet

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+content, dub-con, pussy spanking, spanking, degradation, milddd brat taming, teacher x student relationships (age gap, but reader is in college), p in v, pull-out method, cum eating

a/n: i have been really struggling to write recently, so i hope you guys still like this :3 i um... hate it sorry it's not that good... writer's block is so shitty rn. feedback is appreciated !!

word count: 1.3k words

Leon finds you infuriating at the best of times. Sitting at the front of the lecture hall, giggling as you look at your phone. You never pay attention to his lectures - he doesn't understand why you even bother to show up.

You're not even subtle about ignoring him. The least you could do is try and hide in the back like the rest of his students who don't give a fuck.

To make matters worse, your grades are actually decent. Nothing to write home about, but you always turn his assignments in on time, and you've never failed to get a passing mark. If you failed, at least you'd flunk out of his class, and he wouldn't have to put up with your shit anymore.

It's like you want to get a rise out of him.

He's sick of it. He's sick of you. He retired and took on teaching college kids in the hopes he'd finally have some time to relax, but you seemed to enjoy making his life a living hell. He'd had enough of it. As you're packing up once he dismisses the class, he makes his way to your desk, his footsteps echoing across the lecture hall.

“Not you, miss. I need to have a word with you. Please come to my desk once you're packed up.” He tells you, tapping two fingers against your desk as he leans in to speak before he's returning to sit at the desk at the front of the hall.

You let out an exaggerated groan at his words, shoving your laptop into your backpack before begrudgingly making your way over to him. Your bag is slung over one shoulder, hanging precariously off to the side.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“That's right.” He says with a slight nod of his head, gesturing for you to take the seat across from him. He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he waits for you to sit.

“I'm going to be honest. You've gained my attention, however it's been for all the wrong reasons. You're smart enough. I'm sure if you applied yourself to this course, you'd get top marks. Is there something I can do to help? Is it a motivation issue? Something at home?”

“Well, if I'm being honest, sir. I thought when I chose this elective, it'd be more interesting. Your lectures are, like… seriously boring.” You say with a smirk that makes it clear you're just trying to frustrate him further.

“I'm seriously getting sick of your attitude.” He bites out, leaning forward against his desk. His eyes are narrowed and locked onto your own. “You can drop an elective. It will have no effect on your main course of study. Why are you still here?”

“It's fun to annoy you, sir.” Is your response, a shit-eating grin spreading across your face.

That's it. Leon is a patient man. He'd tried his best to help you. To figure out what the issue was so he could fix it. But you? Everything about you made him want to rip his hair out.

“Stand up.” He hisses, the feet of his chair screeching against the hardwood floor as he pushes it back suddenly before standing, stalking his way to your side of the desk. You don't stand, crossing your arms as you lean back in the chair.

“I said, stand up!” He repeats, gripping you by the arm and tugging you to your feet. He presses down harshly on your shoulders, forcing you to bend over his desk. “You want to act like an unruly child? Fine. I'll treat you like one.”

“You can not be serious.” You grit out, moving to straighten back up before your chest is forced against the surface of the desk once more with a strong hand pushing down on your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Jesus. I always knew you were a fucking freak.”

“This could all have been avoided if you weren't such a brat.” He hisses, raising your skirt to expose the curve of your ass. You hear him snort, bunching up the fabric of your panties and yanking them upwards harshly, making the fabric bunch up between your lips in a wedgie. It draws a whine from your lips, your brows furrowing as you drop your cheek against his desk.

“Fucking slut. Is that why you're acting up in my class, hmm? You want attention? Prancing around in those tiny skirts, skimpy panties like these underneath ‘em?” He lets go of your panties, sliding them down your thighs before smacking his flattened fingers repeatedly against your pussy until it runs hot, dripping all over his skin.

“Fuck… fuck off.” You say through gritted teeth, your mouth twitching downwards as he continues to spank your pussy. You bite down on your tongue, trying to prevent any noises from spilling past your lips.

He pinches your clit harshly between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a little yank. He grins at the sound of your whimper and the way you jerk away from him, letting out a low chuckle. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You hear the sound of a belt buckle and the shuffling of fabric, which is enough to send a shiver running down your spine. You swallow the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling your confidence drain from you. When you speak, your voice is almost a whisper. “Mr. Kennedy…”

“Oh? You finally learning to keep that mouth shut?” He grunts, running his tip teasingly up and down between your folds, letting his cock catch on your hole just to see you jump. “Trying to pretend you're not a filthy slut, but your cunt is crying for me...”

He presses forward with a low groan, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. His cock throbs as your walls tighten around him, his fingers digging painfully into the fat of your hips as he starts to fuck into you, his pelvis pummelling against your ass with every shift of his hips.

“Greedy.” He scolds, smacking your ass harshly, and once more just to hear the way you whimper when his hand connects with your flesh. “She's sucking me right in. Know this is what you've been wanting… shoulda asked, sweetheart. Pretty sluts like you always get what they want.”

“Perfect pussy… squeezing me so tight.” He groans, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pulling you back onto his cock and angling his hips so he's bumping against your sweet spot every time he bottoms out. He fucks you with deep, hard strokes, letting you feel the drag of every inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“Ah, that's right. Just need to fuck the brattiness out of you, hmm? Goooood fucking girl. Gonna… gonna make me cum.” He says through gritted teeth, slipping a hand down to circle a thumb around your clit. You babble helplessly as he touches you, nothing but ‘please’s and ‘sir's spilling past your lips. He almost cums inside of you when he feels your clenching around him as your orgasm hits, but he's not too pussydrunk to release how stupid it'd be to get his student knocked up, so he pulls out quickly and coats your ass in his cum.

“You gonna be a good girl for me now?” He asks, dropping to his knees behind you, his tongue darting out to lick his cum off of you. The sensation has you shivering, but you nod weakly at his question. He pulls your panties up, straightening out your skirt before patting your butt and going to sit at his desk once more, as if nothing's happened. “Good. That's good.”

“Come see me after class tomorrow, babe. Gotta make sure the lesson really sinks in.”

[ennn]

On Writing Rio Vidal

So @trickofthelights did a great post on things to take note of when writing Agatha Harkness in fic and I figured I could do one for my girl if some folk are interested.

Now I do see that getting a handle on Rio can be tricky because she only has so much screentime and every time she pops up we see a different side to her character. That said, here's some fundamentals I see for portraying Rio:

Disclaimer: I'm not a cop. Fic writing is for fun. This is entirely about canon-consistency, which can also apply to AUs. If you want to write an original romance novel inspired more by the actors than their AAA characters, hey you do you.

Rio is powerful and knows it

Canonical Rio literally embodies power. She's Death and even gods die. She is one of the most powerful entities in the universe and she knows it. It's essentially who she is. Power is part of her being.

In non-magic AUs where Rio is human, the show literally serves up Special Agent Rio Vidal as a handy reference point to work with. She's an FBI agent with the power of a higher authority, amazing at her job, and she owns it.

I find it quite jarring when AU fics have Rio set up as someone needing saving, or someone seriously lacking in confidence. Even if you're doing a high school or coffeeshop AU, Rio Vidal needs to know she's hot shit in some domain. She doesn't need to have her life together but you gotta have that sense of power and self-assurance somewhere in her life.

Because when it comes to writing canon-consistent Agatha/Rio, this is fundamental to Agatha's attraction to Rio because Agatha is attracted to power.

Like yes, I know it's Aubrey Plaza but it is essentially Rio's power that compels Agatha to give her a second look. Canonically, it's Rio's inability to die that allows them to have a relationship. Not beauty, not a winning personality. They're able to match each other’s energy, to clash and survive each other.

Rio is lawful first, chaotic second

An all-powerful character who can do anything is pretty boring, which is why when it comes to Rio "with great power comes great responsibility" but in her case it's literal and on a cosmic level. Canonically Rio's power is limited by certain rules she has to follow.

The whole tragedy at the crux of Rio as a character is that her identity is her purpose is her function is her duty is her job. As unpredictable as she seems, Rio literally describes herself as "the natural order of all things".

It's interesting that in the Zoom call interview Plaza mentions Puck when describing how Rio acts in the show because I find the fey a helpful reference when framing Rio as a character. Yes, Rio can cause lots of chaos but she has very specific rules she's obligated to follow. Everything beyond that however is fair game.

In non-magic AUs, this doesn't have to mean Rio has a literal job or profession that she values highly (although it can). It could be a personal mission, a set of principles, a duty to certain people or an organisation. Regardless there should be a method to Rio's madness.

And when it comes to writing canon-consistent Agatha/Rio, this is a delightful contrast because Agatha's such a rule-breaker ("So you broke the rules, big deal!") and a cheater ("You can't cheat Agatha / Says who!").

There are sharp edges to Rio's character

I sometimes joke that in AU fics the best way to help ensure canon-consistency is to give Rio a knife. It's funny because it's kinda true?

There is a darkness to Rio as a character that if ignored, I think does a disservice to her. Canonically, she's the balance of life and death, the cycle of decay and rebirth, the ugly and beautiful, violent and soft.

I think very romantic or domestic AUs do come with the risk of making Rio too soft, too patient, too kind. Which is not to say she can't be those things—you could argue that anyone who chooses to put up with Agatha Harkness certainly has those qualities in no small amount—but it's the contrast that I think makes Rio interesting as a character.

Consider Rio's capacity for love contrasted with her viciousness, her patience with her pettiness, her restraint with her rage.

There's probably more where this came from, but these ones seem to the main ones that stick out. And look, I'm a fan and I get that it's tempting to pull from the other roles Plaza has played, and we only see so much of Rio (I mean, consider how much of Agatha we got to see from Wandavision before AAA) and AUs are meant to be a playground—but there does come a point where a character just doesn't seem like Rio Vidal.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I usually don't have all that many character headcanons of the domestic non-angsty variety, but for some reason I have, like, a Lot of specifically cooking themed Life Series headcanons (in the hypothetical scenario where they eat meals like normal human beings and not based on minecraft game mechanics), so I'm just going to leave them here:

Grian cooks. All the time. He makes every meal for his team, three meals a day, every day. It's Grian's thing, and he takes pride in it. Grian will cook if someone is lagging behind in their performance, he'll cook if they don't seem like they're feeling well, he'll cook before a fight, he'll cook before a long day of resource gathering, he'll cook when he's bored. If one of his teammates is gone for the day they'll come back to food left on the table for them. If one of his teammates is working on something he'll leave snacks in their workspaces or by their beds. When Grian has to join a pre existing team late in the series cooking will be one of his go-to methods for being 'useful' enough to earn his place with them. When Grian hasn't seen someone in a while he'll ask if they've been eating and then cook them something regardless. When Grian wants to win someone over or apologize for something it will be through gifts of little snacks or desserts. I just imagine Grian as someone who cooks for people and is proud of it. Ironically, I also imagine that when he doesn't have a team (on the rare occasions he doesn't) he won't eat very much because cooking would be more of a social/affection and personal pride thing for him than something he does because he particularly enjoys the act, so there doesn't feel like much point when he's alone (and i just don't think taking care of himself would be a thought, because grian has never been too concerned with his own general health).

I think Skizz is very similar to Grian in that he enjoys cooking for people, and is probably the 'designated cook' in pretty much all his teams. Unlike Grian, though, I think Skizz would really like the act of cooking itself and find it fun. Don't get me wrong, I imagine it can often still be a social thing and a show of affection for Skizz too, because Skizz is the kind of person who would be very happy to be able to see his teammates happy and well fed because of him. But I think enjoyment would also be a big motivator for Skizz and he'd still have fun with cooking for himself if he were alone.

I truly have to imagine Bdubs as being comically bad at cooking. I just have this mental image of Last Life Etho puppy eyesing Bdubs into cooking for him and then Bdubs just happily plopping down a block of nondescript inedible burnt mush right out of a kids cartoon storyboard trying to convey the concept of 'bad food' through design alone. And Bdubs just expectantly watches Etho who (without taking off the mask) unconvincingly mimes eating it and then tosses it out the window while Bdubs goes ":D" so glad Etho enjoys his cooking and already planning tomorrows meal. Bdubs does the same thing with every team he has to varying responses.

Jimmy started off Third Life not being able to cook at all, but has become quite good over time. I imagine Scott did all their cooking in the early parts of Third Life, but Jimmy's not the type to be content with letting someone else do labor for him with no reciprocation, so I think he very quickly started trying to cook too, literally corralling Scott out of the kitchen and not taking no for an answer. I think Scott would have playfully complained about Jimmy insisting on cooking when his food was literally inedible, but Jimmy is very stubborn, and Scott knows how to go with the flow with these things, so they'd probably end up taking turns with meals. I imagine Jimmy kept up the habit through the following seasons (when grian wasn't there to stake full claim over the kitchen and push everyone else out in last life and limited life) and has become quite decent at cooking, which always seems to surprise other players.

Tango would be a disaster in the kitchen. Like. I'm picturing fires and explosions (we can chalk it up to him being a fire entity if that makes it better). Usually Tango is just outright banned from the kitchen, but Double Life is an exception. Jimmy and Tango strike me as the type of people to cook together as a cute couple thing. Jimmy does most of their cooking at first until Tango jokes about how he can't cook and Jimmy's like "Well wanna try helping anyways?" and it just becomes something they do together with…minimal..fires and explosions, because Jimmy wouldn't mind, and cooking is fun, especially when you're doing it with someone you love.

I also feel like Pearl is someone who'd find cooking fun. She wouldn't necessarily take it upon herself to cook all the time, but she'd enjoy it when she does cook. It would start being a hobby in Last Life, though I think her enjoyment would take a massive dip during Double Life. I don't see Double Life Pearl as someone who really had the will to do many things for fun, or even to take care of herself, really. I imagine Pearl didn't put much effort into cooking in Double Life, understandably, and didn't find it fun anymore. Although I think she still probably kept up healthy eating habits solely because I imagine Tilly would remind Pearl to eat and Pearl would never purposefully worry Tilly. After Double Life, once Pearl started slowly feeling better and felt like she had real friends again, I think cooking slowly would have become a hobby Pearl was actually able to enjoy again and do for more than practical reasons, which is a habit I think has continued through Wild Life.

I'm gonna put Scott and Cleo together because I imagine they have very similar views on cooking and they've teamed multiple times so I can put them together here. I feel like both Scott and Cleo see cooking as a chore. They're both responsible people who are fully capable of cooking and do so with minimal complaint because it's a necessity. But neither of them really find it enjoyable, I'd say, and would rather not. If doordash existed in the life series, they would have gotten it frequently in Double Life, but alas, they are in a death game lacking most modern technology and are cursed to cook for themselves. They had an alternating day schedule, because it's more convenient than both of them cooking for themselves every night and also even if they don't like cooking admittedly I think Scott and Cleo just like doing nice things for each other regardless. When not with each other, I think Cleo is the kind of person who'd usually go "Okay I'm cooking for myself, you guys figure yourselves out" with their teams because they don't want to be stuck cooking for other people all the time and also don't entirely trust other people to cook for them (partially because some of the people she's teamed with are just bad cooks, partially because cleo has some trust issues generally and is prone to suspicions over their teammates potentially betraying her). Although I think Etho and Bdubs specifically could both probably puppy dog eye Cleo into giving them food sometimes, and while cooking for other people isn't a habit of hers, if Cleo really wants to be nice or suspects someone they care about won't eat enough on their own, she might make an extra plate of food for them. Scott, on the other hand, I think would prefer for cooking to be split evenly in his teams (and he certainly wouldn't complain if someone wants to cook for him all the time), but is also very much willing to do the majority of the cooking if he has a partner who can't or won't cook. Scott is flexible and very willing to compromise for team cohesion and morale, even if he gets the worse bargain. Fortunately, though, Scott has never teamed with someone who takes advantage of that. Scott started off trying to do all the cooking for him and Jimmy automatically, but Jimmy is a good husband- and a stubborn one- who shut that down rapidly with his active desire to contribute (also as a side note, i feel like scott literally did not eat a single thing in between jimmy's death and his own in third life). Cleo, Pearl, Gem, and Impulse were all more than happy to split cooking duties with him too. I don't imagine Scott and Martyn spent many meals together, so Scott was mostly just feeding himself in Limited Life, which was fine. Scott probably occasionally made Martyn something while he was cooking for himself if Martyn was around, just out of love, but it wasn't something Martyn really asked him to do.

Gem is also on team "Cooking is a chore that I don't really enjoy but I'm an adult so I am fully capable of feeding myself without complaining". It's not something that's especially fun for Gem, but I think she split cooking duty with Scott and Impulse without much complaint in Secret Life. That said, I do think she maybe convinced Joel (who i imagine is surprisingly good at cooking) to do most of the cooking during Wild Life, and Gem has probably also coaxed a few meals out of Pearl when things are okay/good between them. Gem is willing to contribute but she also won't complain if people are willing to be convinced to do things for her.

Impulse is my final "Cooking is a boring chore, but I'm an adult" guy who is a decent but not super impressive cook. Usually I think Impulse defaults to just cooking for himself, unless he has teammates who like cooking and want to cook for him, or who want to alternate cooking for the whole group. I see Impulse as fairly flexible in this regard.

Joel is a shockingly good cook and also enjoys cooking. Joel was pretty much completely alone for all of Third Life, and had very inconsistent companionship during Last Life, so it was pretty much a necessity to figure out how to cook for himself at least. And, well, cooking can be very calming, which I think is good for someone like Joel who is very high intensity all the time. I think this quickly turned into Joel cooking for other people too once he started getting more solid companionship. I mean, he's not necessarily the type to frequently do things for others just to be nice, but Etho's good at the puppy eyes act, and I think Joel quickly realized as well that it's an ego boost when people enjoy his cooking, which is always a bonus with Joel, so I imagine he's made a habit of cooking for his teammates.

Etho has never cooked a single meal in his life (/hj) and he doesn't have to. If his teammates won't feed him, Etho can go around to his other allies (because he always has alliances outside his main team, etho keeps his options open) until someone invites him in for dinner. Wandering the server stopping by with various allies looking pathetic is a huge staple of Etho in the Life Series, this man is absolutely a chronic dinner guest.

Scar isn't someone I think cooks consistently, or very well. Not that he can't cook at all, necessarily. I don't think he's very good, but he can make passable simple meals. It just slips his mind, really. I imagine Scar as someone who'll often honestly outright forget to eat for long periods of time if he's left to cook for himself until something reminds him he hasn't eaten in a while. Often Scar's meal plans consist of either being fed by an ally (grian cooks, as we've established) or using his patented Scar charm to convince random people to give their food to him when it does occur to him that he ought to eat. That being said, I do think Scar enjoys baking specifically. He's not good at remembering to cook for sustenance, but if he's bored or wants to do something nice for someone, he'll bake, and he does quite enjoy it (often the product is mediocre, but the actual taste of the food is not the point of baking for scar).

Martyn is another guy who I think forgets to eat. By no means is Martyn an 'all work' type of guy, and he'll stop to goof around plenty, but I feel like he categorizes self care acts specifically as a waste of his time. Stopping to cook and eat just feels like Too Much when there are so many other things to do. He cooks simple mediocre meals when he gets too hungry and snatches little bits of food from people when he's at their bases, just to be a nuisance, and that's about it. Luckily Martyn often has someone there to get him to eat. Ren in specific is really good at making sure Martyn has meals, he'll just make Martyn a plate of whatever he's having and Martyn's not the type to complain about free food with friends (he doesn't have anything against eating, it's just the taking time out of his day to make himself food when alone that's an issue with martyn). I also imagine Skizz cooked for the whole Red Army toward the end of Third Life. Martyn probably didn't have too much issue in Last Life either. Grian Cooks, and probably had the whole Southlands supplied, plus Lizzie served snacks at Shadow Alliance meetings. In Double Life Cleo probably would have made sure Martyn ate enough too, because while they might not be on great terms, Martyn's poor self care effects people outside of him while he's linked to Cleo. Limited Life was hard, I think, because he was really into Winning that season, and for the first time ever, Ren wasn't in the series at all. That said, I imagine Scott made enough food for Martyn whenever martyn was home around meal times, and I have a very vivid image of The Clockers frequently slipping Martyn food on his way out after visits (to varying degrees of appreciation. cleo hands him an actual plate of food occasionally, which is..nice. scar passes out slightly burnt cookies, which aren't as filling or well made, but they're yummy enough and something is better than nothing. and uh..martyn isn't sure what to do with the stuff bdubs hands him). In Secret Life Jimmy, who again, likes cooking and is decent at it, is probably more than happy to make enough for Martyn while he's alive, though I imagine the later episodes after Jimmy dies is the worst Martyn gets with his 'doesnt think about taking care of himself'.

Ren is admittedly a mediocre cook. His food isn't always bad, but it's also not usually great. That being said, I think he makes up for it in enthusiasm. I think Ren likes cooking for his friends, and I think he gets incredibly excited to eat his food. And, I mean, nobody turns down free food, especially when Ren's excitement is generally so contagious, even if it's sometimes slightly burned.

Mumbo can't cook. Luckily everyone very much wants to feed Mumbo. Grian absolutely made sure Mumbo had plenty to eat during Last Life and Wild Life, and Mumbo was on a team with multiple people who like to cook in Secret Life (plus grian probably showed up with food for mumbo a few times in secret life anyways because he really does adore mumbo). Mumbo honestly doesn't even have to ask, so far I feel like people have just been happy to feed him.

Nobody has ever seen BigB eat. He does eat, obviously. It's just that people don't see it. He'll sit down for a meal with someone and only take bites exactly in the .4 seconds it takes them to blink in very exaggerated cartoon fashion. I don't know, I just wanted to capture BigB's confusion strats because he's literally so funny.

Lizzie can cook, technically, but she does not want to. Luckily Lizzie is very very good at convincing people to cook her meals for her. Usually Joel. But sometimes Ren in early Last Life and also Jimmy in Wild Life. Lizzie does bake, though. Cookies, cakes, brownies, etc. Lizzie likes having sweet things to present at meetings and parties and traps.

[jellyrabbitz]

It does NOT matter whether you are affirming to get something, or to remind yourself you have it. Your subconscious doesn't know the difference and it will manifest either way! There is nothing stating that you can only manifest if you 'aren't manifesting from lack'. What is that even supposed to mean? Please stop trying to overcomplicate this!

You can use any method you want to manifest. Using methods doesn't mean that you are in a state of lack. Personally, I like to script or affirm because I genuinely have fun doing it. It's not a chore that I make myself do so that I can receive something. I do agree that you shouldn't force yourself to do methods if you don't want to-they aren't necessary and are merely tools-but there's nothing wrong with using them either.

Anything can bring you your manifestations. Whatever you decide will grant your wishes has no choice but to do so. A lot of you seem to forget this is the law of ASSUMPTION. Whatever you assume is true will be, and if you assume that methods only hold you back and are a waste of time, then of course they won't work for you!

Stop limiting yourself. Not only that, but quit projecting your limiting beliefs onto others! If you don't like methods then that is fine, but there's no need to prance around on your high horse shitting on people who do and telling them 'they're doing everything wrong'.