#gotta claim his territory

[shotmrmiller]

i'd think it'd take simon two times of him listening to johnny vent about all the shit dates he's had and how he's been abstinent for so long his virginity's gonna grow back for simon to be like "alright," with a casual shrug. "i'll let you fuck my wife."

johnny has a bitty little crush on you so he doesn't even question it. better agree to it before simon comes to his senses.

he tells him to come over for dinner tomorrow at 7 sharp. any later and he'll take that as johnny changing his mind. (delusional. johnny knows simon can see the raging hard on he's had since he brought you up.)

johnny asking why not tonight and simon uses you as an excuse. that he's gotta talk to you. warm you up to the idea. but in reality simon wants to fill you up, leave you full, overly so, of his come so when johnny plugs you up, he can see it leaking out of your cunt and coat johnny's cock. (he's had quite a few drinks tonight but that imagery is what makes his head spin. it's got him gripping the neck of his bottle hard enough to crack.)

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 20 / 31 * LOCAL LEGEND 」

December 5, 2000, 22:54

1646 Riverside Drive, Hill Valley, California

Divergence: Twin Pines(α) — %.5382217

“Doc!!” Marty shouts, leaning so far back in the chair that, for a moment, he experiences that panic-inducing sensation of falling that has him scrabbling for the edge of the desk as his life flashes before his eyes. “Doc, he’s on! Joseph Cabret! He responded to our email! Get over here!”

Emmett grunts his acknowledgement, casting one last long look at the mess of wires hooked into the housing of the Flux Capacitor before he drags a second chair over to the computer. The cursor is already in place over the single unread email in the box and Emmett can see Marty’s finger twitching in anticipation, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Go ahead, Marty,” he prompts, only barely finishing the word go before the email pops open to an intimidating wall of black text. Marty whistles, scrolling down to the bottom of what looks like a very long-winded, very complicated scientific dissertation regarding alleged time-travel that reminds him of most of the papers scattered around the garage right now.

Dear 1.21_Jigowatts,

Emmett groans upon seeing their ridiculous username come back to haunt them in the reply and Marty throws him a lopsided grin and a shrug that says it’s way too late to change it now, Doc.

“It’s the Internet, Doc—who cares? Nobody knows who we are.”

That is the last time he lets Marty pick the name for something without reviewing it first.

Before I address everything you wrote in your email to me, I wanted to comment on your username. Were you aware of its significance in relation to time travel when you joined the forum or did you simply happen upon it by chance? Could it be that you’re a time-traveller too?

If so, I’d love to share stories while we can.

I’ve been getting a lot of questions about the future, often all limited by the scope of your present time asking for answers to inconsequential things. The next election results, lottery numbers, things of that nature, as if that’ll verify my time-traveller status. And while I can’t say I’m surprised—I’ve studied your current time carefully and unfortunately, your time is remembered for being one of the most chaotic and selfish, so it’s not like I can fault those who ask—there are some, like yourself, who have been asking complex and meaningful questions that show a genuine interest in the possible future and in time-travel that I’m all too happy to answer, as best as I can.

To answer your simplest question first, the reason I stopped in this time is an entirely selfish one. Where I’m from, most of the people I care about have been killed. There was someone very important to my Dad and my family who was killed when I was very young that I wanted to finally meet. I know he's alive now, so I'm here. Even if you think it’s a waste of time, remember that time is of no consequence with the time machine.

Now, to the bulk of this message. I see you’re intimately familiar with the Everett-Wheeler model of quantum physics, which saves me a lot of explaining. You must be a man of science. That model is correct. When I say worldline, I refer to what you’d call an ‘alternate reality’ or an ‘alternate timeline.’ So, each individual worldline represents a set of paths and limits—possibilities, if you would—taken through space-time. These are all subject to the laws of special relativity. No two are exactly the same.

There is a device installed in my time machine that measures the change in each worldline I visit. Its inventor is dead, so I can’t tell you too much about how it works other than a general overview and how to read it, but from what I understand, it collects information from the ‘current’ worldline and uses that to establish a baseline. Then, upon the next jump, a second reading is taken of the new worldline and measured against the first one. The difference—or Divergence, as the device’s creator named it—is expressed in percentages. That's how I know.

The email continues on for several more paragraphs, each delving deeper and deeper into the realm of quantum mechanics with lengthy, detailed answers provided to each question they'd asked in their initial email. A dull ache throbs at the base of Marty’s skull as the words start to blur together and he leans back in his seat, needing a little more space between him and the screen.

Unlike him, Emmett has leaned forward, elbows propped up on the table and his fingers laced tightly together as he takes in every word, unable and unwilling to stop now.

For once, Marty can’t quite get a read on what his friend is thinking based off his strangely serious expression and the occasional noncommittal noise he makes while his eyes dart across the screen. The Doc’s thinking about something—he always furrows his brows like that when he’s deep in thought, puzzling out some scientific conundrum—that he knows he’ll share with him once he’s had the chance to process the information.

He himself isn’t quite sure what to think. After all, he’s heard some of these terms thrown around by Doc in the course of their testing and refinement of the Flux Capacitor. It has to mean something that Joseph Cabret knows it too.

Emmett finally breaks his attention away from the screen to train his still-thoughtful gaze on Marty.

“What do you think, Doc? You think there’s any truth to what he’s been saying the last couple weeks or you think it’s all bullshit?”

The words I look forward to your reply, JC stare back at them from the bottom of the screen and Marty doesn’t know why he suddenly feels self-conscious.

“I think—we can’t entirely rule out the possibility.”

“You mean—seriously?”

“I’m not saying definitively yes or definitively no. A lot of the science he talks about is sound. I’ve come to many of the same conclusions in my own work, as you’ve seen in the tests with the Flux Capacitor. We know time travel is possible. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean everything he says is true. Without any proof positive or photos of his time machine, we’ll have to take everything else he says with a grain of salt.” A flicker of uncertainty passes across Emmett’s face, there and gone in the span of a blink.

He pushes the chair back as Marty asks, “And?”

Emmett blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t read all of that,” Marty admits somewhat sheepishly. “I tuned out somewhere around black holes or wormholes and I figured you’d fill me in if there was anything important on the science end I needed to know. But I watched you read it and I saw that look on your face. There's something else bothering you about this.”

He doesn’t answer right away and Marty doesn’t rush to break the silence. Finally, he sighs, turning back to the screen. “No, you’re right. There is something that jumped out at me, but let’s wait and see what else he has to share with us before I start getting ahead of myself.”

 “You’re going to answer him back?”

“Why not?” Marty beams, clearly pleased. “Let’s take a couple minutes to sit with this and then I’ll start working on our reply. If it all turns out to be for nothing in the end, at least we pursued the possibility rather than let it pass us by.”

[bookwyrminspiration]

“my task was to hunt in shadowclan territory” noooo he is framing u bbg noooo

[rafeandonlyrafe]

chat part two

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only, cockwarming, p in v, very fluffy compared to part one i just wanted an excuse to write cockwarming sorry!, established relationship, streamer!rafe, gamer!rafe

part one / part two

“no, don't go.” you whine, gripping onto rafes hand, trying to pull him back down on the bed.

“im supposed to stream soon, baby.” rafe says, leaning back down to press a kiss against your lips.

you usually don't mind when he has to go stream, but you're feeling incredibly clingy today as you tug at his hand again when he doesn't lay back down, doesn't continue the cuddle session.

“why don't you come with me?” he offers. “you can sit on my lap while i play?”

that has you perking up, nodding rapidly. “can you carry me to your stream room though?”

your legs work perfectly fine, but that doesn't stop you from wanting rafe to carry you around everywhere, loving the way your bodies can stay pressed together.

rafe smiles softly, reaching down to scoop you into his arms. “you're lucky you're so damn cute.”

“love you.” you coo, pressing your lips to his neck as he carries you out of the bedroom and down the hallway. you don't hide the fact that your kisses quickly turn to sucks as you leave a hickey for everyone to see, yet again claiming your territory, not that rafe let's anyone even get close enough to try anything.

rafe sits down in his gamer chair and you quickly adjust to straddle him, your chests pressed together as he begins clicking buttons, setting up his stream.

“remember that time i sucked you off on live?” you ask with a small giggle.

“yeah, i remember how much shit i got from twitch.” rafe chuckles, dropping one hand to squeeze your ass. “totally worth it.”

“maybe… maybe i could sit on it?” you don't form the actual words, just alluding to what you're really asking for.

rafe hums, thinking it over briefly. he almost got his twitch partnership revoked, it even went as far as to threaten a ban despite nothing actually being seen. 

“you gotta actually sit still though.” he says. having your tight cunt wrapped around him will be well worth the possibility of a ban. plenty other streaming services would jump at the chance to have him exclusively anyways.

“promise.” you kiss rafes jaw as you slide your shorts and underwear off. rafe adjusts the camera, zooming it in more and changing the angle so there's no possible chance for your ass to be on screen as you pull his cock out of his pants.

“gonna start the stream now. get me hard then get on my cock.” rafe says, waiting for you to nod before clicking the button to start the live.

your body hides his privates as well, the camera just seeing rafe from the chest up as well as the back of your head.

“babygirl is feeling clingy today so she's joining me.” rafe says as the viewers start to roll in. “isn't she just the cutest?”

you smile, turning your head slightly to grin at the camera before focusing back on what you really want.

you wrap your hand around rafes cock, stroking him subtly until he's hard enough for you to raise your hips, hovering against his tip before slowly sinking down.

you let out a soft moan, remembering to press your mouth against his shirt to muffle the noise.

it's hard to stay still, but your eyes drift close and eventually as rafe streams, the gnawing need to get fucked or move decreases, and you find yourself enjoying the stillness.

“love you so much bun.” rafe whispers, kissing the side of your head as you're slumped against him.

“couple more games and ill be done, yeah?”

“um…” you glance at the time, blinking away the bit of sleep. rafe is always down to end a stream whenever you want, but you also don't want to force him to stop early. “im actually okay. you can keep going.”

“really?” he laughs as a new game begins. “not desperate to start bouncing?”

you shake your head no. “i actually kinda like just this.” you admit softly, laying your head back down.

rafe keeps streaming, his cock inside of you, warm and secured, your bodies secretly connected while you sleep on his shoulder, chat going crazy about how cute you are sleeping against him, wishing they were in your position.

rafe smirks seeing the comments. if only they knew.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @akirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[uc1wa]

*heavy sigh* possessive frat boy Dick Grayson getting increasingly more deranged about how he lays his claim on you as the semester wears on, finals week breaking point where he loses it on you like you're a stress ball, etc.

even though he'd never cave and make you his gf, nope no sir

tags: fem reader, toxic relationship, yanderish, misogyny, mentions of rough sex, penetrative sex, choking, manipulation, fucked up frat boy dick

dick fucked a different girl every weekend, y'know, before his drunk self stumbled to your door. but who cares about the smell of perfume that's clung to his half-buttoned top? the top that has buttons in places they aren't supposed to be. who cares? because he's still going to come home to you, and you'll be his last fuck of every weekend.

but you? the first load he spilled on your stomach should've said enough, no? dick doesn't just fuck everybody, at least that's what he thinks. you're his and his only.

the first time he smelt another guy's cologne on you, saw a shirt that was surely not yours, a product of your own one-night stand, dick grayson lost his shit. fucked you like you were a sleeve for his cock rather than a person.

"then... are we dating?" the condescending laugh that left dick's lips was your answer. dating? the word made him gag, why would he lock himself down when he was at his prime? are you stupid? do you know who he is?

no, you weren't dating. you were fucking, but you obviously had a problem understanding your place, didn't you?

it started with hickies. an embarrassing amount that no number of necklaces or turtleneck tops could cover in their entirety. hickies that started at your jaw, dark splotches moving down your body. did you want to wear a crop top? dick's taking note to leave one on either side of your hips. where there's skin, there are remnants of the man to whom you belonged.

it wasn't hard to stake his claim on you, but he also knew you were hot. do you think dick grayson, the commodity that he was, would fuck somebody ugly? he's not that low. he has priorities for himself.

hickies weren't enough, though. did you think you were slick when he saw a video of you at another frat house, one outside of his own, grinding on a man who was plenty of social levels below dick? you thought he wouldn't find out that you're even more of a slut than he thought?

rather than a hand wrapped around your throat, he used manipulation to his advantage. with a sickeningly sweet voice, he bought you a necklace with his initials since you needed a tag like a puppy; now you know not to run away, right?

"marking your territory, huh?" his brother, wally laughs when he sees you sporting the chain with a prideful chest, gold falling between your tits. don't look too hard, that's dick's property now!

"had to," dick replies, unfazed. "nothing too serious, though." he reminds his brother from his seat in their shared house. but it's still not enough.

he wants you all to himself and it eats away at him. hickies continuing, sucking your face in public, it's not enough because you're still giving guys attention. 'just friends' his ass.

that's why, overtop of the gold chain, his hand covers your throat and pushes down hard. between hickey-covered thighs, his cock is stuffing you full with painfully slow movements.

"i gotta remind you?" he asks, long past acknowledging the fact that you can't speak from the force his hand holds around your windpipe. "whose cunt is this?" a strangled whine, and dick squeezes harder, a satisfied smile pulling his lips when he finally feels your pussy squeeze around his length.

he doesn't care about words; he cares about your cunt being carved into the shape of his cock. he cares about sculpting you like clay 'till any guy you wanna talk to can only smell dick on you. can only smell the expensive cologne he wears, can only smell the scent of his musk. 'till you're limping to all your finals, and there's not a second thought from your classmates who put you in that state; the infamous "DG" that's still hanging between your tits, that's who!

[rebelliousstories]

Not Like The Movies

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Violence

Word Count: 1,688

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: How Cooper got landed with someone of her sunny disposition, he will never now. And it does not help that she knows his films.

“Good morning, you cutie. Oh who’s the best little girl ever?” A feminine voice brought Cooper out of his deep slumber. His eyes had to adjust to the bright light outside that flooded the building they had stayed the night in. He looked around for the source of the noise and was relieved to see it was just his partner playing with DogMeat. The man sat up from the bed that was miraculously in the building that probably used to be someone’s house and began to roll the sleep from his muscles and bones.

“Well, good morning to you, cowpoke.” She greeted, allowing the dog to roam around wherever she pleased.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. Whatcha doin’ up this early?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His boots hit the floor right next to where his partner was, as she sat up on her knees to pull him in close. Physical affection was something Cooper was still not used to after all this time, but he was slowly coming around to it. All of the affection happened behind closed doors, or in this case, a closed house. He still had an image to maintain after all.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I spent some time with Bella.” She said cheerfully into his chest. Cooper just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t go naming the thing. Then you’ll get too attached and then you’ll be depressed when it dies.” He groaned out, shifting their bodies so their eyes met.

“But she can’t be named ‘DogMeat’. That’s not a proper name,” came her cry. She laid on the puppy eyes really thick.

“DogMeat is a proper name because that’s what it is.” He argued back, tilting her head up by her chin.

“Fine,” she relented, and smushed her face back into his chest. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, gotta head into town now. Stock up on some supplies, gather a new bounty hopefully.” Cooper pressed a kiss to her hair, and shuffled so that he could pull both of them up to stand.

“You gonna behave when we get into town?” He drawled, voice leaning into dangerous territory. His partner giggled and nodded her head.

“Of course, Coop. When am I not?” She inquired, biting her lower lip. That woman knew the easiest way to get Cooper riled up was to do just that motion right there. Because, in an instant, his eyes were locked on to her lips.

“What about back in Filly where you kept smilin’ at folks, leaving me to save you from someone’s fist in your face? Huh?” Howard recalled, watching her shift in his arms as she, too, recounted their last adventure into town.

“How was I supposed to know?” Her whimper made Cooper weak, but he had a job to do today.

“Just tone down the sun a little bit, alright? Maybe a nice cloudy day instead of bright ass sunshine.” He offered, bringing her face back up to his. She nodded and stood on her toes to reach his face. Cooperate, ever the gentleman, met her halfway and locked their lips together. They moved as one, letting their lips slide across the other’s. Hands roamed freely, and it was starting to look like they were not going to be making it to town soon. That is, of course, until DogMeat came back in the room with a dead iguana in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor, and pawed at the man and woman who were locked in their embrace. The Ghoul groaned as his partner detached them in favor of tending to the dog he claimed he did not want.

“Good girl. Such a good hunter.” The baby voice was back. Seeing that the dog was getting the attention now, Cooper moved to grab all of his effects from where they were strewn about the room. His duster sat upon his shoulders, while his hat found its spot on his scarred head.

“Come on. Let’s get goin’.” He stated definitely. His saddle bag was slung across his shoulder, and his hand helped navigate his partner through the abandoned house.

They began their trek into town, which thankfully was not too long of a walk. DogMeat followed on the other side of Cooper, hot on his heels. He kept his eyes peeled as they drew further and further into the town. There was a pharmacy, a trader’s hut, several food stalls, and even a mechanics repair shop. Plenty for the two of them. Turning to his partner, he passed her some caps and pointed towards a couple stalls.

“Go get you some dried meat, and get a box of ammunition. Don’t smile so much, alright?” Cooper stressed. She nodded in return and patted his arm as she left with DogMeat.

The Ghoul made his way into the trader’s hut first to find a new bounty that was around. Thankfully, the woman behind the counter had one, and it was simple enough. Someone had not paid her what she was owed, and now she had a hat out on the man. He accepted half of the caps upfront, before moving on to the pharmacy next door. Cooper’s eyes caught his partner and DogMeat traversing the stalls, already having several pouches of meat in her bag.

Which is why he was not afraid to leave her alone while he took his time getting his chems from the pharmacy. Being a ghoul certainly had its drawbacks; the stares, reputation, and fear. But it also held some positives; the stares, reputation, and fear. It certainly helped when acquiring what he needed for a reasonable price. A commotion caught his ears from outside, but he was not afraid that it was his partner.

Until he stepped outside. Cooper saw his partner being crowded against a pile of sheet metal while DogMeat kept barking up a fuss. The dog ran over immediately to the man and began to drag him by his duster over to the woman.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t play hard to get.” Some man crept into her space, making her cower down even further. Based on what he could see, and the description the trader gave, this must have been the bounty. She did mention that he tended to go where he pleased like he owned it all.

“Please. Let me go.” She whimpered. Her voice was full of fear and worry, and Cooper was not about to let that stand.

“Everyone’s got a price. I can pay whatever your price is.” He continued, placing his hand on the woman’s waist.

“I do believe the lady asked you to let her go.” Cooper finally made his way over. The man turned around, and smiled with blackened teeth.

“Don’t worry, Ghoul. Once I’m done with her, I’m sure you can have a turn. Certainly don’t wanna do it the other way around.” He laughed, as if what he said was the funniest thing in the world. Cooper began to chuckle lowly as he peeked his eyes out from the lip of his hat. Catching his partner’s eyes, she felt relief as she saw her savior in western gear.

“See, she might be bein’ nice and askin’ you to let her go. But I ain’t that nice. So now I’m tellin’ you to let her go. Now.” Cooper growled, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Or what, Ghoul?” The man never got to hear another response. In a flash, Howard had aimed his gun and fired on his legs. Blowing both of them off, the not-so-tough man now crumbled to the ground, screaming and crying, pleading for the ghoul to have mercy on him.

“Well, ain’t that some shit.” The Ghoul growled, tying a rope around the torso of the man, and began to drag him to the trader’s hut. He focused on the task at hand, knowing that DogMeat would take care of anyone else that had dared get close to her owner.

Walking out of the trader’s hut, Cooper’s eyes scanned the town as he tried to find her partner. He found her, hugging her lugs, stuck in the same place that she was being held. DogMeat was chowing down on the legs that were left. His pocket felt heavy with the weight of the caps, but all that mattered now was taking care of her.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Howard held a hand out for her to grab onto, and she did. Eagerly shoving her face into his chest and letting out a shaky breath as she processed the events that had just unfolded.

“I’m good. Can we go please?” Her words were muffled in his shirt, but he understood them plenty. Calling for DogMeat, Cooper led the three of them out of the town and into somewhere more secluded. Once they were there, tears fell from her eyes as the weight of what happened fully caught up to her. He set her down on something resembling a chair, and squatted down in front to check her over.

“You saved me.” She whispered, letting her partner do what he needed to do.

“Course I did. What’d you expect? Me to leave you with that man?” He countered with a ridiculous tone.

“It’s like one of your old sheriff films.” Her giggles matched his groan as he dropped his head.

“This ain’t the movies, darlin’.” Cooper looked up at her.

“It’s kinda like the movies.” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to bring him in close.

“I can always take you back to that town and leave you there.” He stated in her shoulder. She giggled again.

“That’s not very sheriff-y of you.” Every time he thought he had won, she proved him wrong.

“Alright,” he stood up and took her with him, “let’s get moving. Maybe if we’re lucky we can find another house to sleep in.”

“Ooo, do you think we could find one with a television and a few films?” She teased, already walking off away from town. Cooper groaned, but caught up to her and kept her underneath his arm as they walked away from that town.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [29] - Enticing

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: It’s important to have a plan in mind before certain meetings.

Word Count: 2200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Fine, maybe Bucky did have a point.

You were two seconds away from jumping his bones and to annoy you even more, he was so busy with work that you could barely see him.

But thankfully, you had a solution for that.

“Take these home please,” you told your driver as you stepped out of the car, motioning at the multiple bags of lingerie sets on the backseat. “Thank you.”

“Of course ma’am,” he said and you closed the door, then made your way to the building. You took the elevator, then approached Bucky’s office and smiled at his assistant.

“Is he inside?”

“Yes Mrs. Barnes,” she said. “With his father.”

You raised your brows, then heaved a sigh and knocked on the door before opening it. George looked over his shoulder from where he was sitting on the couch and a smile pulled at Bucky’s lips as soon as his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there, am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, come in!” Bucky said as he walked to you and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your heart skip a beat. George smiled at you and stood up as well as you approached him.

“Hi honey.”

“George,” you greeted him back and let him kiss your cheek, then sat down next to him on the couch.

“I was thinking we could have lunch?” you asked and he made a face.

“I gotta meet Nat in half an hour sweetheart. Sorry.”

“About the raid issue?”

George raised his brows, looking between you as if he was surprised that you knew about it, but neither you nor Bucky commented on it.

“Well she also lost half a million,” Bucky said. “Needless to say, she’s furious.”

“Everyone is,” George said. “That cousin of yours is an idiot, Y/N. I mean there’s a difference between being new and being an amateur.”

“Stark called for an emergency meeting,” Bucky said with a smirk. “So did Clint, and I’m guessing so will Nat.”

You tried to keep your expression serene and heaved a sigh. “They will eat him alive.”

“Business talk can wait,” George told you. “How is your day going sweetheart?”

Not retorting to the condescending tone he thought he could hide was rather challenging, but you managed to control yourself. There was a time for everything, and you had to make sure not to look not as interested in just how Ian had screwed up, at least in front of George. You exchanged glances with Bucky who rolled his eyes, then turned to George.

“It’s going good,” you said. “I had coffee with Becca, then went shopping.”

“Oh what did you buy?”

All the lingerie sets you bought flashed in your mind and you bit back a smile as you stole a look at Bucky, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Jewelry,” you said, holding up your wrist to show your bracelet. “And yours, George?”

“Enjoying the retirement,” he said. “Something your father can’t do anytime soon, as it seems.”

You scoffed a small laugh. “He likes the job too much.”

“That’s not the only reason,” he muttered and you shot a look at Bucky who smirked.

“Yeah well, bad choice in heirs.”

“Has he talked to you?” George asked and you pulled your brows together, feigning confusion.

“About?”

“About what he’s going to do now that Ian screwed up in front of people that badly?”

“He doesn’t talk to me about the job,” you said. “But I’d say he made his choice. Now he just needs to train Ian.”

“That training was supposed to have started decades ago.”

You hummed. “And yet here we are.”

“If I remember right, your prenup said your second child would have claim on the territory, no?” George asked with a laugh. “Maybe you two should hurry up, Arthur does desperately need an heir it seems.”

The joke made your jaw clench. Of course he didn’t even consider you just like your father didn’t, but he was more than ready to accept your hypothetical child as the heir.

Anyone but you, apparently.

“Father…” Bucky muttered and George held up his hands.

“Just saying.”

“And that’s my cue,” you said, pushing yourself off the couch and George chuckled.

“Y/N, I was joking.”

“Oh I know, I just think it’s a good idea to see if my dad is alright now that you mentioned him,” you said, shooting him a fake smile before walking to Bucky to peck him on the cheek. “See you at home?”

“Absolutely,” he said and you walked out of the office, anger still poisoning your system.

                                       *

Your father’s assistant told you that he was home today, so you went straight there without dropping by the company. As usual, the foyer and the rest of the house were full of your father’s or Ian’s bodyguards and his assistant was by the study door. You waved at her but before you could approach her, you heard your aunt’s voice echoing in the foyer.

“Y/N, hello!”

You tried not to grimace, then turned to smile at her.

“Auntie.”

She came closer to kiss your cheek. “Arthur is taking a call, let’s catch up in the meantime.”

“I’m actually in a hurry, I just wanted to check whether he’s alright—”

“He is,” your aunt assured you as she gently steered you to the living room. “Albeit a bit tense but you know, it happens.”

“Does it though?” you muttered as you sat down on the couch. She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Ian’s tiny little mistake?”

“I haven’t,” you said. “I have heard about the million dollar mistake though.”

She pressed her lips together.

“He is under tremendous amount of pressure,” she told you solemnly. “Running around everywhere.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “Is that right?”

“And I told your father the same thing, I think he’s being too harsh with him lately.”

“Well, a lot of bosses want his head on a spike,” you pointed out. “I’d say he is being quite nice to him, actually.”

Your aunt shot you a glare but you only smiled, making her heave a sigh and clasp her hands in her lap.

“Arthur says people are pushing for a sit down,” she said. “And that Ian must be there for some reason. I don’t know why he insists on it—”

“Because if he didn’t attend it’d make him look even worse,” you said. “No one would take him seriously after that.”

“He’s not the boss!”

“He’s the heir,” you forced yourself to say. “Bosses can take heirs with them to the meetings. Father has a point, he can’t coddle him especially in a situation like this.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she insisted. “I’m sure Bucky has made them too.”

“He hasn’t,” you said, aware of the proud tone in your voice. “He was raised for this shit, so he actually pays attention. Unlike Ian.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Well you must talk to him,” she said and you pulled your brows together.

“To Bucky? Why?”

“Ian needs someone in that room that will have his back.”

You tried to stop the laughter threatening to spill from your lips.

“And you think Bucky will do it?”

“He will if you ask him to.”

“Why on earth would I ask him to?” you asked with a scoff and she threw her hands up.

“Because we’re family!” she said. “Ian would do the same for you.”

“Ian would throw me to the wolves if the roles were reversed,” you pointed out with a chuckle. “You know it as well as I do. They’d eat me alive during that meeting and he wouldn’t lift a finger, he’d encourage it.”

“You’re being very unfair to him, Y/N.”

“Maybe you just forgot what your son’s personality is like because you barely spend any time with him,” you said calmly and she narrowed her eyes.

“Careful.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue and held up your hands, gesturing surrender.

“Bucky wouldn’t help Ian even if I asked him to,” you said. “He doesn’t take him seriously.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m gonna go on a limb and assume it’s because Ian makes mistakes that cost my father and the other bosses millions of dollars.”

“What’s a couple of millions in this business?” she asked with a small laugh. “Nothing.”

You heaved a sigh. “It gives a message, auntie.”

She crossed her legs, sticking her nose in the air.

“Either way, talk to Bucky,” she said. “Everyone says he listens to what you say, so it might be a good idea to put in some good word for Ian before that meeting.”

You arched a brow, but before you could comment on it, your father’s assistant entered the room.

“Y/N, he says he can see you now.”

“Oh thank you,” you said and got up from the couch. “Auntie. Always a pleasure.”

She just shot you a smile and you shook your head slightly, then followed your father’s assistant to his study.

                                           *

When you got back home, Bucky still wasn’t back so you had enough time to put your plan into action. The set you had chosen for tonight was black; the lacy corset matching the garter belts holding your stockings. You were just done with fixing your hair when you heard Bucky opening the front door, so you threw yourself on the bed and grabbed the book on your nightstand to open it.

“Charm?”

“Upstairs!” you called out, turning on your stomach and swinging your legs back and forth lazily, trying to bite back your smirk as Bucky walked into the room, reading something on his phone.

“I have so much to tell you about the meeting today,” he said without taking his eyes off of the screen and went to place his gun on the small coffee table and you hummed.

“What?”

“Nat is furious, and she and Clint actually—” he stopped talking as soon as he raised his eyes from the phone and you looked over your shoulder to see him frozen in his spot.

“She and Clint?” you asked him as if there was nothing out of the ordinary and he blinked a couple of times in complete silence, staring at you.

“Bucky?” you said and he swallowed thickly.

“What the fuck—am I dreaming?”

“Why would you be dreaming?” you asked and rolled over to lean back on your palms, crossing your legs. “We should talk by the way.”

“Oh we’re not talking,” he said, pulling you by the ankle to the edge of the bed and you let out a squeal that turned into a giggle before you pushed at him and got up from the bed. He let out a groan.

“Charm…”

“What?”

“Is this a new way for you to torture me?”

“No, I just think we should talk.”

“I can’t contribute anything to the conversation because I don’t have any blood in my brain right now, it’s all rushing south.”

You rolled your eyes at him and leaned on your hip. “Can you focus?”

“No.”

“Bucky!”

“You’re in a corset and garter belts and you want me to focus?” he asked, taking a step towards you but you took a step back, smirking.

“Calm down.”

“Come here.”

“No because we need to talk first.”

“If this is about who breaks first,” he said. “I broke first, you won, now come here.”

“I’m glad you agree but that’s not it,” you said. “About the sit down, is there a date yet?”

“A lot of people would start with dirty talk—”

“Business talk is my dirty talk,” you stated. “So?”

“Next week,” he said, pulling at one of the ribbons on the corset and you swatted his hand away.

“Ian is going to be there so—”

“Take it off.”

“Good lingerie is wasted on men I swear to God…” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a happy flip. “So if Ian is there, I need to be there.”

“Done.”

“The only way—” you batted his hand away again. “The only way for me to be there is if others believe I’m your heir in case of an emergency, because—”

“Done.”

You let out a laugh. “That easily?”

“Sweetheart you could ask me for all my possessions including the company right now and the answer would still be yes,” he said, making you let out a laugh as he wrapped his vibrainum arm around you and easily lifted you up. He carried you to the bed to drop you there and got rid of his shirt, letting you see his muscular before he got on top of you, his lips finding yours. Your eyes fluttered close and a happy sigh left your lips when he pulled back to look down at you.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

You could feel the fire warming your cheeks and a giggle escaped from you before you pushed at him slightly so that you could straddle him. He quickly pulled at the ribbons holding the corset together and you tilted your head.

“So I win?” you asked again and he nodded, grinning.

“You win babe.”

You smirked, then let him pull the corset off of you to throw it somewhere in the room and leaned down to kiss him again.

Chapter 30

[brewed-pangolin]

Imagine what a menace Soap would be with these

Challenged Territory

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, P in V, Soap getting all territorial over silly bruises, cue the Scottish bear

Synopsis: You play a round of rapid fire which ends with a quick session. But those bruises forming ignite the primal side of Soap and he takes it upon himself to mark you as his own

Okay. Call me crazy but I'm for damn sure Soap MacTavish puts play dates down on the calendar.

Just like date nights, movie nights, and camping weekends. Play dates are a must to keep the relationship fresh and full of vigor, especially when he's gone for extended periods of time.

And these little blasters are right up his alley.

But he'd want a fair fight, so expect to be taken to the range a few times to perfect that aim and steady your hand.

Once he's satisfied with your skill level, all hell breaks lose and he ain't holding back.

Your only indication that he's put the game into play will be your blaster on your bedside table. With him already staking out his perfect sniping position as you mentally prepare for the fire fight about to ensue.

And it always ends the same way. Both naked, breathless, and entangled on the living room floor as you tally up who got the most shots to the ass.

And those circular bruises growing on your flesh are nothing compared to the reddened handprint plastered on your left butt cheek.

--

"You can't count-, those slaps-, as hits, Soap," you muttered. A groggy whimper echoing off your tongue.

"Haud yer wheesht, lass. Beat ya by a solid 20. Easily"

"Pfft. 20's pushing it, trigger man."

"Doubt it. Cannae miss hittin' tha sweet ass a'yers."

You shoved your elbow into the center of his chest with a boisterous laugh, forcing a rumbling groan from his throat as he turned you onto your back and caged you beneath his muscular and gel tattered form.

"Ya wanna go 'nother round?" He asked with an excited growl. Eyes brimming in cerulean conquest as a curling smile formed on his kiss ravaged lips.

"Why? You clearly already beat me."

"Wasn't talkin' bout the game, bonnie," he purred lowly. His Scottish brogue thick as molasses as he pressed the bulbous tip of his cock against your wet and silken entrance.

"Feelin' a bit outdone by yer bruises. Need ta add some a'me own. Gotta-," he halted with a groan. Voice catching in his throat as he pushed between your folds and gradually pumped his hardened length into the welcoming walls of your cunt.

You rolled your eyes with a muffled moan, arching your back off the floor to assist in his entry as he glacially thrusted himself until fully seated.

"Johnny," you whimpered. Mouth open with a silent moan as your greedy walls clenched around him.

"I know, bonnie. Yer always so fuckin' tight fer me, aren't ya?" He growled as he encapsulated his mouth over your lips.

Devouring your moans before pulling away. Grabbing tightly at the flesh of your hips as he flared his chest and moved to sit on his haunches.

"Gonnae fuckin' wreck ya, lass."

The bellow that echoed in his brogue sent a spiraling shiver down your spine. Causing you to pulse around him as he hoisted your legs up and rest over his shoulders.

Clawing your nails along the floor for purchase as he pistoned his hips against your ass in a primal and aggressive thrust.

"Johnny!" You wailed, followed by a breathless gasp. Chest heaving, breasts bouncing as your body undulated with the waves of inertia from his forceful drives.

"Tha's it. Gonnae mark ya. Make ya mine. Make ya scream fer me."

Your body went into overdrive as he continually pistoned his cock into your aching cunt. Mind going nearly blank except for one thought that rolled around behind your eyes.

Soap saw those circular marks as a challenge, even if they were done so by his own hand. His need to mark you, claim you as his own pushed him into his primal state as he gripped with measured force into the supple flesh of your thighs.

And you loved it. The growls emanating from the caverns of his chest. The crazed yet loving glare in his eyes as he marked his territory with every throbbing plunge of his cock.

You'd carry those bruises with pride the next morning as you gazed at your figure in the mirror. The only change you'd make is the location. The bruises you loved. The rug burn, not so much.

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @simpingoverquestionablemen @thetrashpossum @ghosts-goldendoodle @designateddeadend @foxface013 @queen-ilmaree @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @kkaaaagt

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Only thinking about jealous!gojo and how territorial he is over you even if he has claimed multiple times he doesn’t want a relationship or anything serious.

Gojo came up behind you as you were leaving the Tech campus, you didn’t even hear him coming as he whispered in your ear. “So, you busy later?” You squealed and pushed him away from you. “Gojo you ass. Don’t scare me like that!” He laughed and continued to follow you.

“But are you free?” Watching you all day in your cute little athletic attire was doing something to him and now he wanted to do something to you.

“Oh I’m going out for drinks later but we can tomorrow or something.” You smile at him and kept walking past the gate. He slowed a bit before shaking his head and keeping up with you. “A party for someone this evening? Is it someone’s birthday and no one told me? You know I don’t remember that stuff.” You rolled your eyes at him. “No Gojo not a birthday. Just going out with a friend. I haven’t seen him in a while so.” You checked your phone, smiling at something and then looked back up to him. “Anyway gotta go. Text me tomorrow.”

Satoru stopped dead in his tracks. Why did you already have plans? While it wasn’t an outright plan he always came over Friday evening. You guys would cook or bake, have sex obviously but he usually stayed the whole weekend. While it was a weekend of a lot of amazing sex, you two did partake in other non sexual activities at your house or his. This was an occurrence for months now, it was routine at this point for him and while he would never say it out loud he looked forward to the time you spent together.

So why were you bailing and why was he upset?

Later in the evening he texted you, why he didn’t know.

The other thing he couldn’t figure out is why it upset him even more when you didn’t respond immediately and then not a single response all weekend. You had even told him to text you.

The weekend went by terribly slow and painful. Gojo didn’t know what to do with himself all weekend. He even went as far as to go out of his way searching for curses because he needed to let out these feelings on something. He definitely was more aggressive than he usually was.

Monday came around and he showed up early to the school which was a telltale sign something was wrong with him because he was notoriously late everywhere he went. However, you were always early. He saw you coming through the building and pretended to sit and lounge on a couch as if he hadn’t been waiting for you. His sunglasses covering the wandering of his eyes as you walked into the building.

“Gojo! You’re here early. You feeling okay?” You joked at him and you walked past. He nodded unbothered. You eyed him for a moment but kept walking to put your stuff away. He was going to question you. Gojo had every intention of wringing you for every second of your day after he saw you last.

His plan unfortunately fell apart when Nanami entered. Nanami nodded to Gojo and Gojo nodded back. To Gojo's dismay he approached you. “Y/N. Good morning.” You smiled sweetly at Nanami. “Kento! Good morning. Did you try that bakery this weekend?”

Gojo’s blood boiled as you two talked. He didn’t even know you two were friendly. Using his first name when you only ever called him by his last name. Why did it matter to him anyway?

Nanami departed, not before patting you on the head and shooting a smile at you. Gojo got a nod.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. It felt like someone was suffocating him, his skin could set ablaze if someone brought a match too close. You bent over reaching into your bag. Gojo took this as a perfect time to come up behind you. “So you busy later?” He gave your ass a light smack and you gasped standing upright quickly. “Gojo! Why are you always such a perv!” You pushed on his shoulder and rolled your eyes.

Where was the cute flirty smile you gave Nanami? He wanted one aimed at him and you know what? He wanted them only aimed at him.

“Where’s that cute smile you gave Nanami hm? Why do you only roll your eyes at me? And you only ever call me by my last name.” Gojo loomed over you with an expression you might call jealousy.

You pursed your lips, looking up at him through your eyelashes. The look made Gojo's knees weak. He could take you right where you stood and he wanted to but he also felt.... he wasn't sure, like he wanted to attach you to his hip and take you everywhere so you could keep making faces at him.

"Is there something you want to say Gojo?" You tried to your best to hide the smirk that formed.

It was Gojo's turn to roll his eyes, he grabbed your hips pulling you in. "Stop calling me that. You call Nanami by his name but not me? Not anymore princess, it's Satoru to you, or whatever cute name you wanna call me but it's only gonna be for me now, got it?" He looked over his sunglasses at you. You felt your skin heat, the way he looked at you.

You hummed in thought but his grip and the way his eyes followed you didn't stop. "Are you jealous, Toru?"

His name on your tongue was music to his ears. There was no way you were ever saying another man's name ever. He didn't want to hear it. He hummed at you. "And what if I am hm?"

You bit your lip and fluttered your eyelashes at him. You had feelings for Satoru, you always had but he had never wanted to return them. However, you always wondered why he never saw anyone else. "I'd find that very interesting."

He stood to his full height for a moment. A playful smirk on his lips as he faked a stretch looking around and then back to you. Satoru tilted your chin up to him. "Well, let me keep it interesting for you. Only my name on your tongue, those cute little smiles are for me only, your time and your attention belongs to me. Sound good princess?" His eyes were ablaze.

"Only if you give me the same thing Satoru." You challeneged.

He laughed, "Oh baby, it's always been yours."

(also send requests! i appreciate them they help smmmm with writers block <3)

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Alien Hcs/Blurb

[Partially a crack post]

• Located right across the street and hiding away in your bathtub, Alien is your guide to the extraterrestrial - and the "raccoons" digging through your trash at three in the morning. Human name Allen - Alien is about as average as the beings they study; being some manner of said creatures themselves. They have no clue where they came from, nor what they truly are yet they swear up and down they're human just like you. He/they/it pronouns, just using they for ease.

-

"Baby, please don't rat me out me to the feds! I'm a normal human just like you! Flesh n bone - just a little guy. It's the rabies that killed that guy not my spit - you gotta believe me! I'll prove it to you. Grrrrr ehhhh Arf, Arf! Human sounds."

"That sounded more like a dog."

"Yea, well I ripped his throat out like one too!.... What next, you gonna tell me humans don't mark their territory too?"

"No."

Grumbling to themselves, they zip up their pants and fix their belt. "You're gonna want to throw out that toothbrush then.... and wash your blankets."

-

• The one thing greater than their passion for outer space is their interest in that one neighbor who never closed their blinds - that being you. Spending countless hours at their window - telescope pointed to the sky, it was only natural that their eyes began to wonder over time. The world below was boring and stale, but that one person pulled their head out of the clouds. Alien prays the day humanity is taken over they as a couple are spared as their new overlords deem the two worthy of monitoring what remains of the population. They have an ongoing 50k dedicated to these fantasies.

• Despite growing up in a happy human home, Alien fails to grasp the concept of personal space to this day. When you talk they have the urge to shove their fingers in your mouth not because they want you to stop talking (they'll explode if you do), but because they're entranced by the movement of your tongue and how warm your mouth must feel. While looking mostly human, they also just don't have the best grasp on human anatomy and try to work it to their favor somehow.

"Y/n! I failed Biology since elementary and now the government is after me! Strip right fucking now or they're gonna execute me!"

• An important note about their design is that yes they are humanoid, but you will likely never see their face as they wear a stereotypical green alien mask at all times. They claim to have picked it up at a fair as a child. It's their prized possession - outside of all the shirts they've nabbed on their adventures for their nest. The eyes even blink sometimes. How cool is that? Instead of kissing you, they just kinda softly headbutt you - unless your eyes are closed

• Flexible to the point it's almost uncanny, common places to find them are under your bed or in a large enough cabinet. Some mornings when you can't find the mouthwash they'll hand it to you from their spot on the ceiling or spit it directly into your mouth spiderman style. Walking is for losers as they can grip to nearly any surface. When they do decide to use their legs and it's not in a public setting - run.

[shekeepswriting]

A Little More Heart

[Syverson x Reader]

Word Count: 3977

Summary: On a night out with an old friend, Sy meets a woman who catches his interest.

Warnings: Just cursing and a little bit of alcohol

A/N: This could become a series? I’ve got little bits and pieces and some fun ideas. Let me know if you’d be interested in that. I’m new to this part of tumblr and very nervous...

Sullivan’s was pretty barren that night, not that anyone could expect much for this late on a Thursday night. A few regulars warming their usual barstools, making conversation and laying out their woes to a characteristically haggard Billy Sullivan as he filled the pretzel and peanut bowls. A duo of middle aged women talking gratuitous shit at a table near the middle of the room with frequent smoke breaks. A  group of four guys, barely on the right side of 21, trying to boost their cool kid points by getting good at pool. One woman sitting at the end of the bar with a notebook, leaning heavily on her forearms in a way that read more fatigue than alcohol consumption. Looked like she was drinking lemonade. 

Everyone who had been there when Syverson and Danny walked in two hours earlier was still holding steady.

They’d made their way through the stages of conversation people usually had drinking with old friends. The short term catch up, funny argument over something stupid, brief foray into more emotional territory, shared memories, hypotheticals. Their night, at least, was starting to wind down. 

When Sy came back from the bathroom, Danny was staring at the woman at the bar, finger tapping idly on his glass. Having known him since he was fifteen years old, Sy knew that face very well.

“Not gonna go your way,” Sy said mildly, with a hint of a smirk.

“No? How d’you figure?” 

“She’s sitting at the very end of the bar with a notebook and pen. She didn’t come here to make friends or get hit on.” 

“She could’ve stayed home to write,” Danny argued, but his face was thoughtful as he watched you.

“We could’ve stayed home to drink.”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Alright, take it easy. I’m not gonna harass the woman. Just gonna introduce myself. If she’s not interested, I’ll go. Not trying to be an ass.” 

“Nah, you don’t gotta try. You’re a natural.” 

Danny squinted, snatching at Sy’s glass and downing the rest of his drink in retaliation. 

“You go then. Looks like you’re running empty anyway.” 

“I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Oh, I know it. Old man Syverson ain’t known the touch of a woman in fifty years,” Danny said, exaggerating his accent and wiping away an imaginary tear. 

“That’s enough of that now.”

“Come on, man. Look at her. Frowning and drinking alone. She’s your soulmate.” 

Sy shot him a frown, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Not drinking alone though, am I?”

“You talk to her or I will.”  

Sy gave an unconvinced grumble, but the look on Danny’s face made it clear it was no idle bluff. Now, there was nothing wrong with Danny. He wasn’t aggressive or pushy; he knew how to take no for an answer. But he’d give it a solid effort, and he was the most extroverted person Sy had ever met. 

If you were uninterested in company, the way that he was almost certain you were, it would be easier to avoid the whole process entirely. And if Sy took up the bar stool two spaces to your right, Danny wouldn’t have a clear view to know whether or not the two of you actually spoke a word to each other.

He stood up from the table with a deep sigh, making sure his annoyance over the disruption of his night was fully documented.

“Happy hunting, Captain,” Danny said with a stupid grin and a sloppy salute that had Sy rolling his eyes as he turned towards the bar.

As you noticed his approach, your shoulders tensed up, lips slightly pursed but eyes still trained on your journal. Sy gave you space, careful to only observe you through his peripheral vision as he claimed a stool a fair distance from you, leaving a buffer seat between you.

Billy approached as he sat, brought him a beer with minimal conversation.

You fidgeted, clicking your pen three times in rapid succession. 

There wasn’t much more Sy could do to set you at ease without blowing the whole operation, but he set his phone on the bartop, scrolling absently through contacts and pictures to give himself something to do, something to help you feel less observed.

Your leg started bouncing and you glanced at him, quick as humanly possible. 

There was a silent standoff for a few minutes, one Sy was trying very hard to will out of existence. But you were still tense on your barstool, expectant.

You broke first.

“No pitch, huh?”

You were looking right at him this time, fully turned to face him, eyes intense but not unfriendly. 

“Pitch?”

“You left that cozy corner table to come drink by yourself on an uncomfortable bar stool. Usually the kind of move that’s followed by an introduction, maybe some pickup lines. A pitch of some kind.”

Sy turned his head just enough to see the table he’d been sitting at out of the corner of his eye. Danny turned his head away too fast, feigning interest in the record cover art hanging on the bar walls. Idiot. 

“Saw me over there, huh?”

“I’m a woman drinking alone in a dive bar, and you are literally the largest threat in the room. Of course I saw you.”

Sy frowned.

“Not a threat to nobody.”

You raised your eyebrow, reaching out with a speed that had Sy struggling not to tense up as you looped your pen under the chain barely peeking out of the neckline of his shirt. 

“You don’t strike me as the necklace type. Military, right?”

“Retired.”

You hummed, letting the chain drop back against his skin as you retreated from his personal space.  He reached up, patting the shape of his tags as they resettled against his chest beneath his shirt. It felt strange, wearing them again. He wasn’t used to it anymore. Normally they lived in the back of the top drawer in his desk, out of sight and as far out of mind as he could manage to keep them. But anniversaries were psychologically significant. He’d learned that in therapy. So he’d decided to honor this one, the anniversary of his initial enlistment, by putting them on again. Going out with a friend from before… everything. It was why he was here. 

“Military,” you repeated quietly, your eyes back on your notebook again, still tilted out of Syverson’s view as you flipped the page, stared at the blank expanse for a moment before giving your pen two thoughtful clicks. “Always a threat.”

Sy’s stomach lurched uncomfortably.

“Not to you. Not to anyone in this bar,” he said firmly, tilting his head to add as an afterthought, “Long as they mind their fuckin manners.” 

Your mouth curved up at the corner, just the hint of a smile, the first he’d seen from you all night. Not that he’d been watching. Much. It disappeared after only a few seconds, replaced by a focused frown that traced a crease between your brows as you put pen to paper.

His eyes flicked down towards the bartop, but the cover of the notebook still shielded the page from his view. He was tempted to drop it, leave you to your work, whatever that might be. But your body language gave him pause. You had shuffled around on your stool during your brief conversation and remained that way even now, shoulders and hips pivoted slightly in his direction rather than running parallel to the bar in a position more comfortable for writing. He fiddled with the label on the bottle of beer the bartender had brought him, the corner peeling back easy under his thumb before he smoothed it back into place. 

“What’re you doing?”

You glanced up at him, flashing that little smile again, though this time it looked a little sharper, caught somewhere between self-conscious and amused.

“Chasing the muse, I guess.”

Sy raised an eyebrow, gave a neutral hum.

“Not sure I know what that means.”

“Sure you do,” you said quietly, eyes tracing thoughtfully over his face before you turned your attention back to your notebook. “It’s a pretty universal concept, I think.”

“Maybe.” He took a sip of his beer. “Just figured most people don’t come this far south looking for it. More of a New York and LA kind of thing.”

“Just because those are the places most people look for inspiration, doesn’t mean those are the only places you can find it.”

You were some kind of artist then. Interesting. 

“Can I ask what you’re looking to inspire? Or is that too personal?”

That earned him another look, something quiet and appreciative. Two quick pen clicks. 

“You can ask. I kinda want to hear you guess though.”

He looked again at your notebook. It wasn’t the tiny kind, but it wasn’t full sized either. Leatherbound or something like it, not spiral. He couldn’t see the paper to know whether it was lined or not. Could be for writing small amounts. Drawing maybe. You could even be writing song lyrics in there. He hadn’t been around enough artsy people in his life to know a damn thing about it. 

But he was observant, good at cataloging behavior, pretty decent at reading people. When he had first approached, your hand had been gliding in straight lines across the page, but now it was moving more erratically. There was something different in your glances too. Slow, almost too intense to be polite, analyzing. Maybe you were drawing him on that page you kept so carefully hidden from his gaze. Or maybe you were still deciding whether or not he was a threat to you. Sy wasn’t totally comfortable with either option, but he’d prefer to think that the current turn of the conversation was proof of you softening just a little towards him. 

He hedged his bets a little, just in case.

“Don’t see any paint on ya. That’s about the best I can do,” he said mildly.

“That was an awful lot of thinking for ‘don’t see any paint on ya,’’' you said, tilting your head. A bit too gentle to be an accusation, but you still wanted a better answer.

“Alright…” Sy shifted on his bar stool, angling towards you. “Looked like you were writing before I got here. But now you’re either scribbling or drawing. Maybe even drawing me by the way you keep looking at me. Unless you’ve got another reason to be staring like that.”

Right answer. You were smiling again, a little freer than last time.

“I’m not staring.”

He shrugged. “Studying, then.”

“I’ll take studying,” you said with a slow nod. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“I’ll live.”

“Of course you will, but that’s not an answer.”

“Sure isn’t,” he said, taking another drink.

His own lips curved up into a smile, almost against his will, when you laughed. Bright and open. You were fully facing him now with the kind of smile that was impossible to ignore, genuine and joyful and inescapably contagious. 

“Let’s try this then…” you said, trailing off into soft humming sounds as you added a few last hurried lines to your notebook before setting your pen down.

You ripped the page out as cleanly as you could manage and set it on the scarred bar top, giving it a little push towards him.

And it was his face looking up at him from the paper, rendered in wild pen strokes of blue ink, but no less detailed for the messy style. The close cut of his hair, sharp furrow of his brows above focused eyes, the beard that had needed trimming for two days at least. Neither unflattering nor romanticized, just honest. The way you saw him. A little intense, a little rough around the edges, but not harsh. There was kindness there somewhere in the lines of his face, but he couldn’t pin down exactly where.

Sy hummed, gestured toward your pen.

“Borrow that for a minute?”

You slid it down the bar to him with a raised brow. 

He nodded in thanks as he took it, snagging an unused napkin as well. With an excessive slowness, he sketched out his very best stick figure, looking up at you with an evaluative stare when he heard a muffled laugh. You dropped your hand from your mouth, meeting his gaze with a playful smile, tolerating the long look with amusement dancing in your eyes.

He dutifully added two dot eyes, pausing for a moment before drawing eyelashes and eyebrows, trying not to tear through the napkin. A very geometric nose followed, and a wide open smile. After another long look he added your hair, actually bothering to get the shape right since it seemed much more attainable even with his limited art skills. 

You were still smiling as you watched him sign the corner. 

“Those your initials or is that your name?” you asked, tilting your head to read the tiny letters.

“My name,” he answered, sliding the napkin and pen back to the bar space between your two stools. 

“Sy,” you said slowly, as if testing the sound of it. He smiled too, just a little, not remembering when he’d last liked the sound of his own name so much. 

“You didn’t sign yours,” he reminded you, and you squinted your eyes at him, knowing full well what he was after. 

Still, you took up the pen and signed the loose sheet of notebook paper. Probably exactly as you signed everything else: mostly illegibly. He could decipher the initials, but not much else.

You let out a snort at the unimpressed look he leveled at you. 

“Now you’re just causin’ problems on purpose.”

“It’s not my fault that you write like a caps lock keyboard and I don’t.”

He sighed. 

“And here I drew you a real pretty picture,” Sy said slowly, tapping the napkin. 

“You did,” you said with a smile. “But I’m still holding out for the pitch.” 

“I still don’t have one.”

“Come on, now,” you said, a challenging spark in your eyes. “I’ve never met a man who didn’t have a pitch. A line. A move. You’ve got something.”

“Haven’t done none of that since I was a teenager,” he said. “I’ve got no use for that shit.”

“Sure you do. Because I’m asking. And don’t tell me you haven’t flirted since you were a teenager. I don’t believe that for a second.”

Sy shifted in his seat.

“Didn’t say I never flirted. Just said I don’t use lines.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at the distinction, resting your chin on your hand. 

“Come on now. You want to know my name, that’s the price. And I expect your best work, Sy.” 

He let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his forehead. This was about to be real fuckin embarrassing. 

“Alright. Not promising anything good, here. I only ever had two.”

“Efficient,” you said with an approving nod.

“They’re not good,” he repeated.

“But they worked?” 

“Mostly. God only knows why.”

“Stop stalling,” you said in a stage whisper.

“First one…”

“I’m ready.”

He cleared his throat, looked straight into your eyes. 

“Wanna make out later?”

Your mouth dropped open in surprise before stretching into a wide smile. 

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “I wasn’t ready.”

Sy shrugged, took a sip of his beer while you stared at him in awe.

“That worked for you?”

“Yep,” he said with a small smile. “What, you don’t appreciate honesty?”

“I… do,” you answered slowly. “Okay, I guess I see it. What’s the second one?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to bother you, but I can’t seem to find my phone number. Could I borrow yours?”

“You turned your accent up for that one,” you said with a delighted laugh. “Full force southern charm. My God, what a little heartbreaker you must have been!”

“Now you’re just bein’ mean,” he said, turning back away from you.

“No, I’m completely serious. I fully believe those worked for you, and now I kinda want to see pictures.”

“Now, you’ve gotten more than enough outta me for one night.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed. 

You picked your pen back up, wrote your first name in small block letters under your artsy scribble, your best approximation of his own handwriting.

“Bullyin me,” he muttered even as he committed your name to memory.

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you said breezily, laughing at the look he shot you in response.

“So, what, you’re some kind of artist then?” he asked, changing the subject. “Draw and paint and all that?”

You shook your head.

“Not really, no. That’s just for fun. I like drawing people.”

He looked at the paper again.

“Well you’re damn good at it. If that’s not the muse you’re chasin, what is?”

“Umm,” you sighed, like you were preparing to give an explanation that you’d given dozens of times before. “I write online for a magazine. It’s… kind of like a travel blog, but it’s less about the places and more about the people? Here…” 

You reached into your pocket for your phone, tapping around for a bit before handing it to him. There was a picture of you at the top, a profile view of you driving, but it was so strongly backlit by a late afternoon sun, that it left your features mostly indistinguishable. Smart. Probably safer that way. Below that, a US map covered in multicolor pins, a calendar view, with dots on days you’d posted, and finally a list of posts. Abbreviated views of each one showed a first name and city, a pen drawing like the one you’d done of him, and the first two sentences of your story. 

He nodded slowly.

“You gonna write a story about me, then?”

You fussed with your hair, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. 

“Probably not. Unless you want me to. I always ask permission first.”

“I’m sure you do. Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

You sighed again. Sy frowned.

“So what’s the problem then? Looks like there’s a lot here. Doesn’t seem like you need a lot of help.”

“I didn’t think so either,” you said with an unhappy smile. “But my editor has decided that I need to attract more dedicated readers. People who check the website every day, not just when they think to. Subscribers. And to do that, I apparently need to add a little more heart.” 

“What’s that mean?” Sy asked.

“Good fuckin question,” you said, lifting your glass as if in a toast. “I guess some sort of emotional buy-in. Something personal and specific so the readers get invested in me specifically, not just the people I talk to.”

“And that brought you down here?”

You shrugged.

“My grandma lives here. Seemed like as good a plan as any.”

“I’m sure she’s glad to see you, whether it helps with your writing or not.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your eyes softening. “She really is.”

“How long you think you’ll be staying?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got two weeks of posts queued up, so I bought myself at least that long before I have to figure out how to… do the emotion thing.” 

“That damn emotion thing,” Sy said, shaking his head, smiling a bit when it drew a soft laugh from you.

“Yeah…”

“Maybe I’ll see you around again then,” he ventured, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a tiny ass town,” you said with a smile. “So probably.” 

“You’d be okay with that?” he checked.

You laughed again, nudged his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think so. Long as you mind your fuckin manners,” you said, taking on an overplayed surly tone as you repeated his earlier comment back to him. 

“I always mind my manners,” he said matter-of-factly, glaring playfully at you when it elicited a snort from you. 

“Oh, sure you do,” you laughed, checking the time on your phone.

You took a deep breath in the companionable silence that followed, reaching down to drag your bag up from where it had been tucked safely between your feet. The napkin with Sy’s drawing curled your lips into another smile as you closed it between the pages of your notebook and stowed it in the main zipper pocket along with your pen. Your phone went back into your pocket. 

Looked like his time with you was almost up.

He leaned back on his barstool a little, glancing back at Danny who was now schooling the young guy at pool with a self-satisfied smile. 

When he returned his attention to you, you were giving him that searching look again. 

“About that time?” he asked.

“I think so, yeah,” you said. “It was nice meeting you, Sy. Sorry for giving you a hard time.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

You laughed, shrugged your shoulders.

“I’d like to think it did you some good. But seriously. I had fun talking to you. Thanks for the company.”

He nodded, gave you a smile.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Hope so.”

You took another breath and slid off your stool. Billy came to collect your glass, mostly melted ice now, and you gave him a polite smile. 

There was a moment of hesitation, like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure what. You settled for a little wave as you started to turn towards the door. Then it was Sy’s turn to feel it, the suddenly urgent need to say something, to drag the moment out just a little longer.

He called out your name, a plan forming in his head when you turned quickly back to him.

“Yeah?”

“Well, ‘fore you go, I figure I should ask you...”

“Ask me what?” 

If you had any idea what he was about to say, you were hiding it extremely well, just staring at him curiously, head slightly tilted and smiling softly. Almost made him change his mind. Almost.

“You wanna make out later?”

Your eyes lit up, a laugh barely kept in check, locked behind a widening smile. 

“Oh, I see. I get it now,” you said, taking a step closer. 

Sy raised his eyebrows.

“It’s the eyes that do it. You weren’t doing the eyes before.” 

“I’m not doing nothing with my eyes,” he argued, but a smile slipped free when you took another step closer. 

“Yes you are,” you laughed. “You’re smoldering.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t smolder.” 

“It’s more lighthearted than most,” you admitted. “Dare I say even playful. But it’s still a smolder.” 

He shrugged easily, eyes scanning over your face.

“Still ain’t answered my question.”

“Did you mean it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows in challenge.

“Said it, didn’t I?”

You looked him over, humming thoughtfully. He didn’t move, kept right on looking until your eyes returned to his.

“I’ll think about it and let you know,” you answered with an unreadable expression.

“And how are you gonna manage that?” he asked, spinning on the bar stool to keep his eyes on you as you moved towards the door.

You clicked your tongue, patting at your pockets with increasing concern until you finally met his eyes with a despairing frown.

“Oh God, you’re right! I totally lost my phone number. Any chance that I could borrow yours?”

Sy shook his head with a sigh, holding his hand out for your phone as you approached him again, an inescapably smug smile on your lips.

“Think you’re real cute, don’t you?” he muttered, biting at the corner of his lip to keep a smile in check.

“You certainly think so, or it wouldn’t have worked.”

He handed your phone back to you, watched you send him a wink emoji before you turned to leave again with a parting flutter of your fingers.

He shook his head again when the door closed behind you and saved your number as “Trouble.”

-----------------------------------

A/N: I’m very nervous. Please let me know what you think and if you wanna read more! Thanks for sticking with me this far

[euniexenoblade]

genuine question, no hostile intent

what's the logic behind not wanting to vote for kamala when every flaw that she has as a political candidate is shared with trump, while he has much more hostile intentions? if one of them has to enter office wouldnt it be better if it was her?

(also im not american so maybe that has something to do with me not understanding)

1) I've never said don't vote 2) I live in solid blue territory, my vote ultimately wouldn't matter what direction I go so I can use my vote to potentially help a third party get funding 3) I think we deserve a candidate that's actually useful and not essentially a celebrity (yes, Harris is essentially a celebrity politician at this point. So was Biden. So is Hilary.) 4) not voting is a method of protest, if the Dems want to win so bad then they should appeal to their voter base. It should be "what can we do to represent the people" and not "vote for us or it's your fault you lose human rights." 5) Kamala Harris is a cop. She has held a place in society that specialized in incarcerating people. I am a prison abolitionist. Through her job she enacted systematic bigotry. "It was her job" yeah, she chose that job. 6) Kamala Harris wields no notable differences to the world at large than her predecessor, or his predecessor, or his predecessor, the rest of the world will continue to exist as the plaything of the United States Military and its politicians and corporations, so long as Kamala has her way. 7) You cannot "push her left" without actually doing some form of protest or retaliation. 8) my main gripe is people need to stop comparing their candidates to Hitler every election. "Hitler vs. Super Hitler" is stupid, ignorant, insensitive, self centered, belittles the Holocaust and its victims, and overall doesn't make your candidate look good. If the election is truly "Hitler vs Super Hitler" then it's time we all start being these brave revolutionaries we claim we'd have been in the 40s and fucking kill the Nazis. 9) I will reiterate that in no post have I ever said "don't vote." I think voting is fine, but I think a lot of the "you gotta vote Kamala or I will suffer!!" People are self centered shit lords who don't actually do anything else but vote. Go actually work with your community, feed the unhoused, go fist fight a fucking neo Nazi, literally anything else. Don't just make voting and harassing commies and anarchists online the only thing you do.

[mrabubu]

*comes skidding into your inbox with an excited gleam in my eye*

Okokokokokok. Ok. Sooooo KrangifiedAU right?

I was having some thunks and wanted to shoot my shot in the dark here.

So Y/N basically had the Kraang hive mind defeated by the power of love right? It literally was so strong that she broke free and was able to more or less be herself again.

Do you ever wonder what would happen if she was put back into a situation where she had to face the Kraang again? I wonder if Leo purposefully leaves Y/N behind on missions because A: he can't loose her again and B: worse He looses her to the Kraang again. And this little stubborn miss is like “Aw Hell Naw. You're mine. Wherever thou goest I goest” so she of course follows him. Like. Everywhere.

So imagine a situation where Leo gets in trouble with the Kraang, like he's outnumbered and taking hits left and right. He's stubborn too because he's gotta protect his little lady, get her back safe and whatever. So he's not expecting when Y/N becomes absolutely tRiGgErED by the other Kraang. But not in the way you'd expect

She gets triggered because the hivemind is telling her to share Leo, share and split the spoils. But the human mind is like, “Uh excuse meh, that's mah man thank you very much.” So you basically have the possessiveness that only comes from a territorial mammal paired with the agility and strength of a parasitical alien.

Basically, Y/N freaking massacres the other Kraang without hesitation because Leo is HERS, kraang mind basically claiming him as her mate and no one, especially no other Kraang can have him.

Leo is over here watching with wide eyes and open mouth, both shocked at the ferocity of his Y/N and slightly turned on because

oh. Huh. Hm pretty girl is fighting. Fighting for me.

I could see Leo being surprised because he's always the one fighting and protecting other people, and to see Y/N literally jump to his defense for once because she just loves him so much would do something for him.

I just wanna see Y/N get protective of Leo the way he's protective of her.

I understand these are just the ramblings of an insane person, and you are free to do with them as you will, no strings attached. Thank you for your time and listening. You and your mind are brilliant 🙏🏼🧡✨

ANON

ARE YOU A WITCH OR SOMETHING???

BECAUSE I LITERALLY SKETCHED THIS LIKE COUPLE OF HOURS AGO

But, yeah, your thoughts are TOTALLY something I had in mind, and maybe even better. I really like the idea of them being so possessive over Leo they wouldn't share him with anyone, especially the Kraang and being protective, like, beast level. Tearing the Kraang hounds and throwing them like some rag dolls fueled purely by rage...

/dreamy sigh/

These are amazing thoughts~ Thank you, anon.

[mychlapci]

Ok imagine smol medic first aid who works at the research center getting to fuck all the big scary wrecker merformers to knock them up. (This gonna be a bit long sorry :<)

I kinda just imagine the wreckers being a pod of different whale like merformers and maybe springer being a hybrid of land dweller tarantulas and merformer prowl (or other way around). First Aid has been studying this specific pod for ages. All of them seem to be outcasts of their species so they formed their own lil group.

Their nickname „wreckers“ is because they tend to wreck ships that enter their territory.

They had to be captured due to being too aggressive and were put into the research center.

Aid notices that they were all pretty sexually frustrated cause no one will mate with them, since they all have either some slight deformation (for example impactor‘s missing arm, springer already being a hybrid) or are socially inept (or both) and that kinda causes other mers to stay away from them. So Aid wants to help them and tries to pair them up with other inhabitants from the center, which does not end well for most of them, especially impactor and megatron, who despite being the same species are trying their very best to kill each other (their salty exes).

So first aid was like: if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself

and starts performing mating rituals on them.

At first they were all confused and but slowly got charmed by first aid‘s surprisingly accurate attempts at courting them (he do be doing his homework on mating rituals). Eventually they all let Aid spike them and all of them get knocked up but now first aid is stuck with a whole pod of giant merformers who are desperate for his transfluid and are also very much needy and attached to him but only him and they won’t let any other staff members near them or the shit ton of sparkling they produced.

oOoho this is good food. 

The “wreckers” are really just a mismatched pod - whereas most pods are made of reproducing mers and their offspring, the wreckers seem to be “rejects” from the mating pool… First Aid is the researcher watching them and he feels pity on them, especially when he sees some of them sneaking off periodically to try and rub their slit against any solid surface, unable to relieve the frustration…. The thought of claiming them all for himself pops into First Aid’s mind immediately, but he stalls it for a while by trying to pair them up with recently released mers… but he’s absolutely thinking about pounding those fat, swollen slits the entire time. He’s secretly glad when the breeding program fails and he can take things into his own hands. 

I can absolutely imagine First Aid turning all those giant, strong mers into squirming sluts, big claws clinging to the little land-mech as those poor, neglected valves are filled with so much transfluid that they’re all just lounging around at the end, no longer aggressive. They’re happy little swollen carriers, first and foremost <3

oh, they push out so many pups. They go from a small, aggressive pod of antisocial mers to a big, big pod of (semi)docile carriers and their little stud...

[karmarox]

Kallamar the Coward

Thinking about Kallamar in Cult of the Lamb, with how the lore and even his own siblings taunt him for being a coward and he even tries to bargain and sway you away from getting your revenge and killing him, even ready to throw Shamura under the bus to save himself, but then when you finally push him into a corner and he's forced to fight he not only busts out a bunch of weapons and starts quad-wielding them but he was once regarded by the fandom as being among the hardest bosses of the base game.

It got me thinking, was he always like this? Narinder certainly thinks so, but there's bias there. It's easy to just write him off as always being a mess like this...

But there's no denying he's the second in power after Shamura, Anchordeep is known for its beauty, he takes personal pride in the way he took care of his cult/area, and when in Purgatory out of all the bishops he's notably the most lucid/aware of where he is.

So I present this: After Narinder's sealing, Shamura was in no state to lead or give orders. The Bishops all had massive injuries that refused to heal. Who out of the 4 would immediately be assumed to be the one to take a leadership role? Who had comparatively more "manageable" injuries to take care of the other 3? And who would you assume is most likely to have medical experience to at least try to lessen the impact of all of their wounds?

Kallamar, Pestilence and Cure.

Early on after The One Who Waits was sealed away, Kallamar would have had to effectively take over the Old Faith while also caring for a broken beyond repair older sibling, who had always been the "Wise" one that the others blindly followed, yet was now barely even there at the best of times, and two younger siblings, one who was now permanently blind (and young/weak enough that they couldn't even muster a single Curse towards the Lamb before being crushed within days of their resurrection even years after the sealing, so just imagine how new to godhood they were back when this all started), and another who had had her throat torn out, all while downplaying his own wounds.

What if, then, at some point, he simply broke?

He resents Shamura, even potentially sincerely blames them for causing the entire thing (which Shamura confesses to), both leading them to turn on Narinder and also for leading everyone to killing the Lambs. He's still fond of Leshy, but from how quick to take charge Heket is, it's clear that after he proved unable to take the stress of it all, she was next in line as the "leader" of The Old Faith. There's gotta be some resentment there on both ends because of that, particularly with how quick he is to criticize how she took care of her territory.

And then compare how he is as a bishop to how he is as a follower. I think it's very very interesting that he goes from a dirty coward and absolute pathetic mess of anxiety and fear, to pleading directly to his own executioner for help, to being almost perfectly happy and content to simply be a Follower of the Lamb's cult. The others (minus Shamura, due to their condition) are resentful and quick to give sharp words to the Lamb, but Kallamar? It's like all his anxiety is gone with his godhood. He has nothing to fear anymore, and is almost ridiculously quick to be friendly to the Lamb and share his tastes in decor and pride in appearances with them. Not even in the "kissing up" way, he talks like they're equals. Is this what Kallamar was like, before everything? Is he actually HAPPIER as a Mortal now that all of the responsibility and fear of death is gone? Even secretly grateful?

There's no denying his cowardice. There's no denying it crossed a line when he was ready to betray Shamura when his nerves reached their limit. There's no denying that as much as he'd like to believe that he is absolved of guilt for The Old Faith's sins simply because he was just doing what Shamura told him to even if he claims he thought it was a bad idea.

But you also have to wonder what caused that cowardice to form, and what other feelings motivate his actions besides fear.

(tldr: sad squid was not ready to become the responsible one, especially not after going deaf and being traumatized. Has a mental breakdown halfway through raising the others due to not being able to actually deal with going deaf or being traumatized because it turns out being the god of physical health is different from mental health. Little sister ends up having to step up and be the mom now. Their relationship never recovered because of it, and he now blames the eldest for failing them and also for his own failures to cope. As a bonus developed an attachment to his own killer out of some weird warped perception of them "rescuing" him from his stress and then from death itself.)

[autistic-ben-tennyson]

A rant about Jedi Stans from an ex-Jedi fangirl

After some time I've had to reflect on my own behavior as well as my time in the pro Jedi fandom, I decided it's time to call this shit out. Some people take it really personal if someone criticized your favorite characters or their beliefs. Ironically, you all act more like the Sith than the Jedi with how obsessive you can be and insisting any criticism is equal to wanting genocide.

I'm going to start by saying I was in the pro jedi fandom for a few months. Truth be told, I was using it as an outlet for some of my anger issues with my hate towards Anakin, seeing him as similar to a lot of people I've had to deal with. Some of it was wanting more followers and fear of being disliked by the majority. I would pick fights with Anakin fans and was a bit of an asshole and I apologize for that. I still don't like him but no longer HATE him. Seeing how fandoms treat abuse victims who aren't perfect angels like Shinji Ikari or Lapis Lazuli has caused me to loosen up a bit. Many Jedi stans would probably hate those characters for not being “perfect” victims. In retrospect, this wasn't a good community for me. It was very puritanical and I often felt like I was wrong for enjoying media that went against the beliefs Jedi Stans put on a pedestal. Three of my favorite ships (Madohomu, Reishin and Hodaka x Hina) involve "burning the world for one person" and I felt like I couldn't talk about them without being a hypocrite. That and me agreeing less and less with Luca's beliefs pushed me to leave.

It's fine to enjoy a fictional character and defend them if you feel that they're being unfairly criticized. I've done it myself and have written essays defending my faves. The problem is that Jedi stans don't know when to stop. So many are quick to compare the Jedi to minority religions or marginalized groups as a shield against criticism, not recognizing how insulting that can be. Jewish, asian and aroace people are the ones normally used due to the Jedi beliefs being based off Eastern religions as well as Judaism as well as some aroace people identifying with the Jedi.

One thing I noticed about Jedi stans is their similarities to Jumblr which is full of religious chauvinism reworded to sound progressive. Many of them talk about how the Jedi shouldn't have to change their traditions with the times or to accommodate a few individuals like Anakin or Ahsoka. This can be similar to how a lot of people are quick to defend minority religions from outside criticism based on how they were treated by Christian colonists or missionaries. The problem is that this can veer right into ableist or queerphobic territory. You know who else believe that their religion shouldn't have to change with the times to accommodate people? Conservative Christians who hate being told to be affirming of LGBTQ people. Also, schools and parents/guardians do have a responsibility to accommodate kids with disabilities, mental health issues or trauma, even if it may be inconvenient or force you to bend the rules. Claiming they need to just suck it up is honestly disgusting.

This was all a big reason for why I left this garbage pit of a fandom. While there are some who hate the Jedi because they stan the empire or think people need 50s nuclear families to live fulfilling lives, not everyone does that. Believe it or not, some people have faced abuse and bigotry under Judaism and Buddhism. People can also criticize how Lucas presented their beliefs as some Buddhists think he didn't do a good job. Libsoftiktok is a vile transphobe, an Orthodox Jew and her beliefs are said to be fairly common in her community. Many people of color identify with the clones and dislike how even the nicer Jedi treated them. When Obi Wan told Anakin, "It's okay to have romantic feelings, but you must let them pass," that hits different for queer people who have been told similar things from "polite" homophobes. Some queer people do choose celibacy like Side B christians which is fine as long as they don't treat it as a moral failure to want a relationship. There are many neurodivergent people who don't like the Jedi beliefs as they hit close to home. Lucas may have not intended to come off as ableist but the Jedi did with their beliefs about negative emotions. To some people, platitudes like "just let go" aren't helpful and treating it as bad for not living up to those principles is gross.

I deleted the post, but a while back I made a post asking a popular pro jedi blogger their views on adoption since they claimed Anakin not viewing the Jedi as his "found family" was a moral failure. I found their response to be tone deaf and insulting. I responded in a decent way of course, but felt a bit judged and unhappy for wanting to know my birth mother. Adoptees are another set of people this fandom is insensitive and gross to. The Kenobi series I find insulting for that reason too, having Leia be a foil for Anakin and Obi Wan romanticize his recruitment as a child.

Jedi fans are also shitty to those with religious trauma and who faced abuse. Accusing anyone who criticizes the Jedi of projecting their issues with Christianity while simultaneously talking like conservatives as shown above. Tumblr in general has a weird habit of treating religion as if it’s either conservative evangelicalism, liberal reform Judaism and some vague pagan or eastern spirituality with little nuance. Some Jedi stans really come from a place of privilege. Claiming "they can just leave" is insulting to real religious abuse survivors who were raised with harmful beliefs like creationism or homophobia. I'm no antitheist but treating non christian religion as inherently progressive dismisses a lot of people's experiences.

Let's be real, the writing in this franchise was always a bit sloppy. Lucas's issue was wanting to simultaneously create both a black-and-white morality tale for kids based on the fairy tales and serials he grew up and a deep socio-political commentary about the Vietnam and Iraq wars which required some morally grey themes. Thus, along with his terrible dialogue that made the characters seem unlikable, is why the fandom is so divided over whether he intended people to agree with the prequel Jedi.

To wrap this up, I found the pro jedi fandom to be a terrible experience. It was a mix of faux progressivism mixed with fear of judgement for disagreeing. I ended up editing a post I made, and eventually deleted, comparing Yoda with Garnet from SU because I included a tiny bit of criticism and didn't want to get backlash. As long as it’s not gross or bigoted criticism of your favorite characters isn't the end of the world. People don't have to like George Lucas or his beliefs and put them on a pedestal. I feel like the fandom's worship of George comes in response to OT purists who claimed he "raped their childhoods" but there's fair criticism to be made. Just like how not everyone who criticizes Disney SW or any Disney media in general is an "anti woke" grifter. To the pro jedi fans reading this, here's a suggestion. Just block and ignore people, write an essay if you feel it's important, but don't act like an entitled bully if a blog or even a SW writer disagrees with the Jedi, interprets the story differently or criticizes your favorite characters.