#plot armor of the rich

[myspacebrat]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𐙚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: omg omg i have a perfect idea for a smut! okay imagine this. it’s christmas and youre celebrating with eddie at a cute little cozy cabin all too yourselves. and after you guys are done opening presents and showering each other in love reader tells him he has one more gift. next thing he knows reader is spread out on the bed in a cute little sexy santa lingerie set but the best part is, the thong she’s wearing has eddie’s name on it on the back in gold! 😫😫

𐙚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, fluff, its implied that reader is rich but doesn’t touch on it too much, porn with no plot, lingerie, sir dom eddie, anal play, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, squirting, breeding kink, cream pie, dirty talk, more fluff.

𐙚 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: instead of a Santa lingerie set I went with bow lingerie, but other than that, hope you like nonnie <3 merry christmas and happy holidays!

𐙚 𝐰𝐜: 2.7k

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the cozy, warm air of the cabin as the snow blankets the earth outside; the fireplace burns brightly, ceasing the inevitable nip to your fingers and toes as you pass your boyfriend his last wrapped present. You had done all the wrapping and bows yourself this year, quite proud of the red matte paper, wrapped up in velvet red bows.

You wanted this christmas– the first of many to come, to be as perfect as you could possibly make it. You knew Eddie hadn’t had the best Christmases and of course you didn't want to overdo it and scare him off– so you suggested a small exchange of three presents each, nothing too much or too extravagant; just things you knew the other would love and appreciate.

Coming to him with plans to spend Christmas at one of your family's many cabins already seemed like too much; being that Eddie normally spent the holidays in his trailer, alone with absolutely no tree or decorations, more importantly no love and laughter. It just wouldn't do. For that reason, you felt it was your mission to make this one to remember, not because it was spent in this big cabin among your mother’s lavish, rustic furniture and bougie decor– no, but because you were here, together.

“Here, lastish one.” You say with a conspiratorial tip of your chin, causing your boyfriend’s eyebrows to shoot up into his sleep tousled fringe. The gathered bun sitting messily atop his head made the heat between your legs incinerate to new fiery levels. And no, surprisingly enough it was not due to the close proximity of the fireplace you were sitting just inches away from. Eddie always had that affect on you, from the way he wore his hair, down to the black polish on his nails or abundance of silver, gaudy rings he wore like armor or the leather, buckles and violent band tees you were guaranteed to see him in. The contrast of that Eddie that everyone sees, everyone knows; compared to the one sitting in front of you, shaking a present close to his ear in an attempt to guess before he dives into obliterating the beautiful wrapping you spent way too much time on, in his red plaid christmas pajamas and round wire rim glasses he was commanded to wear by you and an optometrist, completely against his will.

This Eddie was all for you.

“Baby, what the fuck? Where’d you find this?” He asks, eyes filled with incredulous excitement as he holds the shirt you spent many months looking for, up to his chest. A band shirt from a band that was probably too underground to even have shirts, especially one you’d find in a store. No, this one was a tour shirt you scoured for, and with just your luck eventually found in Chicago.

“I won't give up my secret, but…just know it was not easy to find.” The playful scrunch of your nose makes his smile beam brighter. He loves your little ‘bunny nose scrunch’ as he calls it, and says he has to kiss it every time; which is exactly what he does after folding and setting his shirt gently back into the clothes box you had wrapped it in, then cupping your warm cheeks into the palms of his hands and planting a copious amount of kisses to your nose, forehead and lips. His ability to come off as mean and scary to everyone but be the biggest teddy bear with you, has you swooning and hungry for more of him.

“Okay, I have one more.” You confess with a demure smile, as you get up from off the hardwood floor and onto your fuzzy sock clad feet; shuffling to the room you and Eddie are sharing during your stay.

“Wait, I thought we were only doing three each. C’mon woman!” He groans as he shakes his head in disbelief, causing the bun on his head to flop around. You couldn't help but giggle because of it, well that and this “gift” you’ve been so excited to surprise him with.

“Let’s just say it's not one you have to unwrap, well not technically.” The wink you throw at him before turning around and making a beeline for your bedroom, surely gave away what kind of present this was; if Eddie’s blown out, lust filled eyes were anything to go by.

After calling Eddie’s name and instructing him to stay behind the closed door, before you call him in to see his last and final gift of the day. You frantically get into position, spread out on the made up bed in red lingerie made to look like one giant bow, the back was completely open aside from the very small g string that sat perfectly between your ass; the fabric just over your left pert bum cheek had Eddie’s name in gold sewed into the red threads. Red lace thigh highs sit perfectly on the meaty parts of your upper legs. God, I really hope he likes this, you thought to yourself as your heart hammered out of your chest.

“Okay, come in.” You purr seductively. The pine wooden door opens slightly, before it’s being swung open, stopping just before it hits the wall and leaves a mark you’d have to explain later to your uptight mother.

“Holy shit.” Eddie huffs as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest. “Baby, you look–” He truly couldn’t form the words, not with his cock kicking up in excitement behind the confines of his red plaid pajama pants.

“Are you my present?” His voice is low and scratchy, almost like a growl; the voice he uses when he’s trying to turn you on, or when he’s talking you threw an intense orgasm he so selflessly gives to you like no one else ever has.

“Mhm, do you like it?” You ask as you look up at him between your lashes, the antithesis of the innocent girl you were trying to give off. No, you were a vixen, a minx. He’d really ruined that once good girl image you had going on, the one that went to church and was saving herself for marriage. Yeah, he had way too much pride in that fact, although he was going to marry you someday, but ya’ know, semantics.

“Oh baby, I fucking love it!” He smirks down at you as he nestles himself snuggly between your spread thighs, “Can I open it?” His fingers rub against the big bow sitting over your breasts before they're moving further down to the small bit of fabric that is not so fully concealing your mound and tuft of wet curls to him. “Please, princess?” He begs as his thumb begins rubbing light circles just over your weeping clit.

You nod your head before you’re able to find the words; “Y-yes, please.”

His hands move fast and with precision as he gently unwraps you. Once the delicate fabric has bunched up at your sides and your bare chest is revealed, Eddie takes a deep breath as his glass framed eyes take you in.

“So goddamn beautiful.” He whispers to himself, making your cheeks heat up.

“Can I see the back of this little getup?” His puppy dog eyes plead, making your heart flutter before you remember you haven't even shown him the best part.

“Oh my god yes, the best part.” You murmur in excitement, turning around and jutting your ass up into the air for Eddie to see the inscribed fabric.

“Fuck.” he growls under his breath, his thumb rubbing over his name as if he has to feel it to believe it. “Okay, yeah, you're never taking this off. I’m fucking you with it on, just like this.” His big palm comes down harshly on the sensitive meat of your ass, making you squeal with delight.

“I could just get it tattooed on.” You tease as you sway your bottom from side to side.

“You’d do that?” Eddie asks in aw, like he’d marry you right here right now, if you say yes.

“Mmm, I might have an idea for your next birthday gift.” You continue your teasing, but you knew deep down you’d do anything for him in a heartbeat, even marking your own skin with his name.

“I’d make you show it to me every night and kiss it twenty times before we went to bed.” He says in such a serious tone, you had to bite your lip in order not to laugh at such a silly request.

“Oh yeah? I’ll make you kiss my ass every night without a tattoo on it.” You look back at him with a mischievous smirk as your lust filled eyes meet his.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it with that smart ass mouth.” He grits before grabbing a handful of your hair and gently yanking you back, a moan falls from your lips as he stares down at you with hunger. “You gonna be a good girl, or a brat?” His fingers still held tight in your hair as his free hand grabs your chin, in order to stop you from shyly looking away.

“I’m going to be a good girl, sir.” You whine, as your eyes fill with tears of eager anticipation.

“Aw poor baby. You need it so bad, don’t you?” Eddie mocks before his nose brushes against yours, his dark eyes full of devilry.

“Yes, sir. I need you so bad, please.” You respond as Eddie’s grip on your hair tightens, before he’s pushing your head into the fluffy white duvet.

“Keep that ass up for me, princess. Just. Like. That.” You can hear the predatory smile on his face as he rubs you up from the tops of your thighs to the globes of your ass. 

“She wants to get stuffed, Huh? this little cunt?” His fingers rub through your dripping folds but he misses where you need him most. 

“Yes, she wants to get stuffed so bad, sir.” The tears have returned from his teasing, and you’re ready to beg and plead and tell him he can do whatever he wants to you if he just touches your clit, but before you get the chance to— he’s already rubbing his callus thumb on your bundle of nerves making you wail out into the covers as your legs shake from your gratitude. 

“Oh thank you, thank you sir.” The tears are now streaming down your cheeks as the circles get rougher and two fingers slip into your soaked center. 

“Greedy cunt.” Eddie spits, crooking his fingers to hit that special spot inside of you and coaxing your first orgasm out. 

“That’s it— already squeezing my fingers so tight. You gonna cum, pretty girl?” His thumb stops but you continue to hiss out from the way his fingers hit your spot dead on. 

Eddie’s free hand comes up and grabs your ass cheek, pulling them apart before spitting on your second hole; he rubs it in with his free thumb and lets it sink into you, causing your orgasm to wash over you with a scream of his name, toes curled in your red thigh highs. 

“Mmm, such a good little kitten.” Eddie purrs before removing his fingers and pulling down his plaid pajama pants; giving his rock hard cock a few tugs before it’s prodding at your cunt. His thrusts are shallow, only teasing you with the head before he surprises you and lets it sink in, all the way to the hilt. You love not knowing when you’re going to feel that stretch, a delicious surprise every time. 

“Uh!” Your eyes roll back and the only words that leave your lips are Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! 

“Just sucks me right in every. fuckin’. time.” He chuckles to himself in disbelief. “Always so wet and tight for me, baby.” He’s already whining as your cunt throbs around him from his filthy words. “You love that shit, don’t you?” He asks as he slaps your ass hard. 

“Yes! I fucking love it!” You mewl, as your mouth falls open and your body begins to tense and tighten. 

Eddie’s too close to cumming and he needs to wait as long as he can, enough for you to get yours first, so he pulls his cock out without warning and ducks his head between the backs of your thighs and licks you from clit to slit, all the way up to your puckered hole. He does this a couple more times before sucking your clit in between his lips, giving it a few suckles. Before you know it, he’s slamming his eager cock back where it belongs and pounding into you as his fingers dig into the meat of your ass. 

“Fuck, I can feel you, baby. You’re so close, give it to me!” He begs as the white, hot fire in your lower body wins out and consumes you whole, stars ignite behind your eyelids and your mouth falls open into a perfect “o” of pleasure. Your whole form shakes as spurts of wetness squirt out of you and onto your boyfriend's throbbing cock. 

“Mmm, such a dirty girl. Now come clean your mess.” He demands as he gently pulls you up from your all fours position; without another word you fall to your knees, taking his cock that’s now drenched with your cum into your mouth and cleaning him up like a fucking wonder mop. 

“Jesus fuck, that’s my fucking girl!” He groans as his head tips back in satisfaction. 

“Alright, on your back, princess.” He orders with a point of his finger. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t need to be told twice, quickly standing up on your feet and then falling back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. 

“Fucking perfect.” He whispers, moving in closer as he jerks himself off while overlooking your spent body. “You ready? Just a little bit more, baby.” His tone is so sweet and loving no matter how much you play the dom/sub role, he absolutely never forgets to check in with you before continuing, it still makes you swoon every time. 

“I’m ready.” You smirk up at him, with a rise of your eyebrows as if to challenge him. 

Without another word he’s slamming back into you and pushing your legs up to your chest, skin slapping as he builds up a steady rhythm. 

Loud squelching can be heard throughout the room but you’re too far gone to care at this point, plus you know those sounds make him crazy.

“Oh my fuck—” he growls as his rhythm begins to falter and his cock throbs inside of you. “You want my cum?” He asks as he pants into your mouth, giving you occasional tongue filled kisses. 

“Mhm, want you to fill me up.” You moan before licking a line up his parted lips. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah I’m gonna fill you up. Have you drippin’ with it.” He growls as his eyes roll back. The bun on his head is getting looser with every thrust as tendrils fall and frame his handsome face. “You want me to fill you up good? Put a baby in you?” His eyes never leave yours as he asks, and even though he can read the surprise on your face, he never falters.  

“Yes, want your baby, Eddie! Please, fill me up nice and deep. I need it!” Your pleads take him over to the edge and push him right off, as his hands grip your thighs with so much force, you're sure there will be little oval size bruises in their place, tomorrow. 

“Fuck! Baby. Fuck!” His thrusts stop abruptly as he releases his warm spend inside of you, just as you asked; nice and deep. 

He kisses your lips before slowly easing himself out of you, little dribbles of come fall out in the wake of your emptiness. Eddie takes two fingers and pushes every last drop right back inside of you, making you cry out from the overstimulated. 

“I’m sorry my love. We want it to take, right?” He asks with a goofy grin on his face before laying down and burrowing his face into your side, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach as he hums in contentment. 

“Did you like your present?” You ask with a bashful smile, as if you both weren’t just talking filthy to each other five minutes ago. 

“Best present ever!” 

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this. if you notice any mistakes in this post, please tell me.

Character Creation

All armor and clothing options will scale and mesh to any body type [source]

The character creator has lots of sliders for body parts and overall shape, none of which are tied to the voice or pronouns (she/her, he/him, or they/them) that you choose [source]

"Epler took special care to show off the extensive curly and textured hair options in the game, including several versions of braids and locs, noting that increasing these options in particular was very important to the team" [source]

You can change your character’s physical appearance at any time during the game, but not their class or backstory [source]

"Each individual class has some variability, too; even the mage class has some up-close-and-personal attacks, since a mage player character could still conceivably have an assassin backstory and would therefore need to have some attacks to accommodate that sort of career path" [source]

" "We’ve spent a lot of time thinking about skin tone,” Corinne said. The character we made, a Black elf, seemed to glow in the bluish light of a nighttime scene, and under bright sunlight, I could see the richness of his color. Corinne: "We want to make sure that skin tone is reflected authentically" " [source]

" “We have dozens and dozens of hair types,” she said. “And they’re fully affected by physics.” The quality and variety of choices I saw delighted me. The rows of bouncy, luxurious-looking hair of all curl types and textures (and yes, the annoyingly ubiquitous “Killmonger cut” was among the options, what can you do?) brought the biggest smile to my face in the hour I spent with Busche and The Veilguard." [source]

Story and lore

NPCs will remember when you chuck a shopkeeper through a plate-glass window [source]

" The game’s story sees Solas intact a plot that will result in the deaths of thousands. When his justification that “people die, it’s what they do,” falls on deaf ears, you and your merry band of misfits have to stop him " [source]

" “Early in the demo and in the trailer, you’re in a part of the world you’ve never been in – Tevinter,” Epler tells me. “Tevinter is known for being a place of high magic; visually, it’s different. Obviously in Origins you’re in Ferelden, which was grubby, muddy, and very visually different and distinct. That said, it’s the first hour of the game, so we’re only seeing the prologue. As you go deeper, you’ll find that the game can be just as bloody and just as grim as Dragon Age Origins, 2, and Inquisition. For us, it’s that feeling of contrast. You get moments of higher fantasy magic coming back to the world through Solas’ ritual, but also things get pretty grim, and things get pretty dark in some spaces for sure.” " [source]

"Snappy dialogue" [source]

The game is really about each of the companions [source]

Narrative narrative narrative! [source]

The Shadow Dragons are an underground resistance that engages in guerrilla warfare against the corrupt mage rulers of the Tevinter Imperium [source]

"Varric has created the group called the Veilguards, recruiting a veritable group of weirdos to pursue Solas, who’s carved a path through the magical empire of Tevinter" [source]

"There’s intrigue to the game’s tale already, with Varric hoping he can convince Solas to stop his plan of tearing open the Veil: a wish by the dwarf to save a dear friend. There’s a fascinating relationship that's already being set up, Varric and Solas as opposing narrative forces, with your character, Rook, pulled between them" [source]

"There’s extra context to flesh out dialogue, with short descriptions that help give a vague idea of how things play out. The example we were shown was Rook trying to take down a gang leader inside a bar. We could choose to defuse the situation with either words or weapons, but the catch is you don’t know how effective those approaches will be" [source]

" Busche explained that the team wanted to give players a game where locations were imbued with just as much personality as the characters. “That meant making contrast from the areas that are dark and decaying to the areas that are illuminated with magic,” Busche said " [source]

" “This is a part of the world where magic has been embraced,” Busche said. “It is a society of mages and magic in this world is inherently colorful. So whether we’re seeing them use magic for everyday purposes like signage or using them as spells, that color really comes through.” " [source]

We will visit the Necropolis of Nevarra [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

There are dozens of abilities and spells [source]

The game has an easy mode [source]

There is a setting where your character can't die in battle [source]

"The Rogue class in our demo had a bow with recharging arrows for ranged attacks, and dual blades that could unleash a furious flurry of instantaneous blows" [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

[koszmarnybudyn]

Sooo this was just suppose to be some sketches/ideas for an au i had thought of a while back but then it turned into this.

Also a rant about design choices:

John as a dragon has been on my mind for ages now, and today i thought of the masks as armor/scales idea, plus the deer mask because i do love me a creepy dear mask. He also has freakish human hands because i really enjoy that in my designs for him. And of course the colors are the artist that made the kiss inspired. He's a bit more cute i think, than how i usually draw him because the tendrils look more fluffy.

Arthur's a knight, in rusty armor, because he still needs to look scrappy, yes this was an excuse to give him longer hair and a beard. The creast is all messed up because well i think he used to work for a Saltzman's maybe (i think he was just a normal guy but then he married Bella and she was a noble/rich and he was kinda forced to become a knight, he was a bard before maybe, so after she died this armor's been basiclly just rotting somewhere). Theres Yorick because i enjoy him a lot. And i gave him a copper colored sword in a yellow sheath (because of course). I think he's still blind here.

Idk the plot honestly, this is mostly the rule of cool and my love of au making so hope you guys enjoy.

[hunnyy-bunnyyy]

The dissonance between era inspiration in ACoTaR is one of the more brushed over flaws in the book series. Looking at the Inner Circle's fashion alone, we jump between "literal scraps of fabric" (Under the Mountain, Court of Nightmares) to "orientalist painter's imaginings of the Ottoman Harem" (clothing described during Feyre's first few visits to the Night Court) to "modern 'corset' dress" (Feyre's Starfall dress, majority of Mor's clothing, most of the clothes drawn in fan art) to "modern -- almost sci-fi style -- skin-tight leather armor" to "sweater and leggings combo".

Then, between courts, we have Helion wearing Spirit Halloween's take on the ancient Grecian tunic; Feyre's Spring Court wedding dress looking like an 1830s fashion plate; and Dawn heavily implied to have traditional East Asain clothing (e.g. kimono, hanfu, hanbok).

On top of all of that, some of the Dawn Court's small cities ". . . specialized in tinkering and clockwork and clever things. . ." which -- combined with Lucien's metal eye and Nuan's mechanical hand -- implies a sort of post-industrial revolution time period. However, a decent chunk of the fandom says that ACoTaR is medieval; which, yeah, it's medieval themed in the first book -- sans the "dress" Rhysand forces Feyre to wear UTM.

The wild inconsistencies in ACoTaR's inspiration leads, not to a rich and diverse world, but a world that seems ramshackle and haphazard -- like it's creator simply threw together a board on Pinterest and called it a day. This is a major part of why the world building is so abysmal, it relies on convenience to the plot and whatever pleases the aesthetic whims of the author. Cultures deemed "pretty" or "badass" are thrown together, irregardless of how far apart they actually are. This is not only disrespectful to the narrative, but to the readers and the cultures used as inspiration.

All of this to say: Sarah J Maas is a bad author, not just because of the way she handles serious topics like power dynamics and abuse, but also because she cannot put together a world that is even the slightest bit cohesive.

[empress-simps]

A Gryffindor's Grief

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Slytherin! Reader

CW: Reader's family and language

Genre: Angst

Masterlist

Note: My first ever marauders fic! Kinda nervous to post this ngl… I'm still thinking if I should make a second part. I want to hear what you guys think about this! Requests are open! Photos used are from Pinterest! Credits to the owner!

It was forbidden love, really.

Those little moments of not-so-accidental touches, stealing glances, and discreet smiles sent each other's way were your means of communicating with each other.

James Fleamont Potter, a Gryffindor boy that was absolutely smitten with You; Slytherin's Princess.

An odd combination that would only lead to chaos.

Being one of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding families meant that you command power and respect from everyone you meet— intentionally or unintentionally. The idea about blood purity, power, and influence was already in your mind as soon as you were able to grasp things your toddler brain could handle.

You were taught to only mingle with pure-blood families, people who could be useful and loyal to you, and those with power, influence, and wealth. Your family’s distaste for muggles and muggleborns were also ingrained into your mind, as if they programmed you to believe what they believed in. It wasn’t that hard, after all you were surrounded by rich witches and wizards who are blood supremacists.

For someone who grew up with those ideals and values, you thought it was right. Although, your belief came tumbling down the longer you spend time at Hogwarts and got to know James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.

James, he made you feel alive.

It felt as if he was the breath of fresh air that you never knew you needed. Away from that suffocating Malfoy Manor, the scrutinizing gazes of your family, and away from rich pure blood problems. Being with him felt exhilarating, he was the buzz in your life. James brought so much joy into your dark, lavish, and empty lifestyle.

It was quite funny, picturing him as your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from your pretty, gold cage.

"Malfoy!" Evan Rosier, a pure-blooded Slytherin raised his hand in your direction, motioning you to come over and sit beside him during breakfast in the great hall. Cold eyes like Lucius Malfoy's travelled in his direction, a questioning brow raised.

"Rosier, you are being too loud." She commented, walking, and sitting next to him before greeting the person beside him, Regulus Black.

"Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning, Y/n."

Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his meal and snickered at the both of you. "Good morning, Mum and Dad." He teased, greeting you both as Evan laughed along with the other Slytherins near them. Heck even Severus has a small smirk planted on his face. "If you wish to make your family line extinct, then please feel free to continue with your remarks, Crouch."

He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender "Just kidding, Y/n. Geez. Rough summer, I suppose?"

You felt your lips press into a thin line, an obvious answer to the question; It was horrendous.

Evan’s laughter slowly dies, he shakes his head, “Give her a break mate, she just got the biggest news of her life during summer. Isn’t that right Y/n-“

“Shut your mouth Rosier if you do not want to be hexed into next month.” Her empty threat really doesn’t do damage to Evan, he just shrugged, taking it as a warning that you’re not in the mood for jokes.

Your father, Abraxas Malfoy and older brother, Lucius Malfoy made a huge decision for your future. Hearing rumors here and there about their Slytherin Princess being romantically involved with a blood traitor in Gryffindor enraged your father, Abraxas. That will certainly not do, they will not sit idly and watch as the Malfoy name be... tainted with those rumors.

You remember how you felt dread entering your system, fighting the urge to run and throw up as you mustered up a façade, “Those are just baseless rumors, a plot to ruin my image in school." You held your head high, praying they do not see the truth.

Abraxas stared at you, his daughter, with a monotone expression. "Your brother and I do not care whether those ridiculous rumors are true or not." Lucius nods, agreeing. What a lie. You know your family well enough to not believe what comes out of their mouths in situations like this.

"We do not care if you had relations with the boy, even though it is rumored that he is a blood traitor, you knew well enough not to fool around with mudbloods. Well done, Y/n. Perhaps you could change his views, get him to join our cause.” Lucius looked at you. You could press your lips into a thin line, trying to find an answer.

 “That tactless boy's role is to only be a bed warmer for you, remember that Y/n." Your father stood from the chair he sat in the drawing room. Slowly walking towards you. “Although, I suppose it ends now. I heard Lady Walburga Black is looking for a potential bride to their heir, Regulus Black.”

After a week, it was official; You are to be wedded to Regulus Black, your friend, Sirius’ brother.

You could not do anything about the arrangement, what fight would you have put up? A young girl like you, who does not have any power, influence, and wealth could only suck it up and accept.

How you wish it was James you were betrothed to.

“James, you came.” You breathed out, seeing him take off the invisibility cloak. The moonlight in the astronomy tower complimented his features, he offered a small smile sitting beside you.

The stakes were high, you were sure underlings of your brother (and possibly father) in the school have their eyes trained to you as you enter another year in Hogwarts. You would need to find new ways to meet up with your lover. Regulus’ eyes discreetly looked towards James, who is undeniably looking at you.

“Wouldn’t want for my girl to be alone, you know?”

He joked, intertwining his finger with you, a second nature to the both of you. Squeezing his hand, you softly looked at him. “I missed you, pothead.” He leaned towards your face, kissing you on the forehead. One of the things he does that never fails to make you feel flustered. “I missed you too, love.” You rolled her eyes, slightly shoving him playfully, “Stop being sappy, Pothead.”

“You secretly like it, love. You can’t lie to me.” He grinned, although the last sentence made you tense up. James shot you a concerned look, noticing your body language. “Something wrong, love?” You were torn, deciding on whether you tell him about the engagement rather than keeping quiet and leaving him in the dark about your current situation.

“I got engaged.” Before you could even stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth. Shit. It wasn’t how she planned to tell him. The light atmosphere suddenly became dark and heavy. You can feel James turn rigid, freezing up as he muttered. “So, it was true, huh?” He scoffed bitterly, hurt overtaking his features. “James…” You gently called, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning his body away from you.

She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, pushing it down as she understood why James was acting this way.  “Sirius told me.” He choked out, still not looking at you. James really does know you well, answering the question you haven’t even voiced out yet. The slight tremble in his voice made your heart crack. You bit your lip, of course Sirius found out; he was still a Black after all.

“I love you, James. I really do.”

You spoke to him, you raised your hand, about to put a hand on his back that was still facing you but deciding against it before it touched him. Your hands faltering before dropping down to your sides. He shakes his head violently, his curly locks getting messier than they already were.

“Don’t… Don’t say it like that, love.” He pleaded, slowly turning to face you again, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t say it like you’re about to leave me. This. Us.” He croaked; you felt his large hands placed on top of yours. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“James…” You managed to utter out, voice getting caught at the throat.

James knew he was acting like a child, but damn- he never thought it could hurt this much. He pictured both of you marrying each other, living in a large house with a big backyard because he insisted it will be great for when you have kids. Merlin, he even imagined about 3 or 4 kids looking like the perfect mix of you both, running out and about with their names already carefully thought out.

out. He daydreamed that the both of you grow old, watching you tell stories to your grandkids about their grandfather’s mischief during your years at Hogwarts.

“I have to, James.” She chokes out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Those four little words made James’ little bubble of happiness burst with just a bat of an eye.

“Don’t… don’t do this to me, love.” He pleaded; he even went down onto his knees as he saw you standing up from your place beside him. Poor James, luckily it was only you, the moon, and the walls of the Astronomy Tower watched him become a wreck.

“I love you, please remember that you will always have my heart, James. I wish you find happiness.” The part ‘without me’ was unsaid but was heard. It took a lot of courage, strength, and self-control not to fall apart. Deep down, you wanted James to say the same to you, proclaiming his love again for the last time you’ll be together.

“I love you Y/n, so much. No one will ever make me feel the way you did. I’ll find a way; a way for us to be happy together. I swear on my life.” He promised, looking at you straight in the eye. You could only close your eyes before smiling at him, trying to blink the tears away. Stars, you hoped James really does find a way.

“Goodbye, Potter.” She turns, walking away.

Maybe Slytherins and Gryffindors really aren’t meant to be together.

[whyareyouhere66]

Omg cool I have an angsty request 😈(if you’re comfortable writing it<3)

Kind of Tom!Peter Parker x Male!Stark!reader x Tony Stark(platonic obviously) ??

Reader has a rocky relationship with his dad Tony, just wants his attention, to be seen by Tony etc. but once Peter joins and takes Tonys full attention reader just automatically hates him for ‘stealing his dad from him’. As time goes on reader just gets more hateful and jealous of Peter, maybe getting into fights with Peter on purpose. Suddenly there’s a new villain/anti-hero (??) that’s been interfering with there plans or just wrecking havoc to go after Peter. Plot twist when they finally catch them/they’re too hurt to keep fighting, it’s revealed as reader. You can make it as angsty as u want!

(A.K.A. Reader is Loki, Peter is Thor and Tony is Odin lol)

 AHH THIS

I love this trope-

So glad you requested this, (and thank you for checking stuff first) and enjoy

Also note that I’m not too fresh on the marvel timeline, if you notice anything that doesn’t exactly align with the movie than I’m sorry just brush past it- this also might be the longest fic I’ve ever written so 

Implied to be set around the start of Peter’s Spider-Man stuff. 

x

Look What You Made Me Do

Male Stark Reader x Avengers

“If I loved you, was a promise….

Would you break it, if you’re honest?” 

[idontwannabeyouanymore, Billie Eillish, 2017]

Cw: violence/fighting, Tony being a bad dad, slightest mentions of drinking, angst Kind of jumping straight into it too- 

I’ll fix a few things later I’m tired I want this one to be out and about

Named after a Taylor song, starting with a Billie lyric 💪💪 

If you were to ask anyone about the wealthiest men in modern day New York, it’s inevitable for Tony Stark to appear somewhere on that list.

He’s rich, handsome, a superhero. New  York’s knight in shining armor. 

Most believe his life is a dream, somehow oblivious to the fact that maybe a superhero doesn’t live life in the dream house. But when he’s made his brand through money, fancy houses, big parties, and shiny military weapons it’s easy for people to see no further than surface level.

That isn’t the case for his son, though. 

From a wealth aspect of it- the young Stark knows how grateful he is, how grateful he should be, for his father.

If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be currently sitting in this large bedroom, with a view most would pay a couple grand for, wouldn’t be surrounded by the various expensive objects linked to his little interests. It doesn’t even matter how much Y/n would insist on paying- he never seems to think much of it. Maybe it’s his way of showing affection.

That’s what Y/n hopes, at least. 

Because if not- there’s not much there. Tony Stark has never been much of an affectionate person, some may blame it on his own father. Others would blame it on the business- no time for distractions on a long days work.

But neither of those reasons matter- for all his son ever wanted is for Tony to love him the way he wants him to.

-

Static crackles through Y/n’s small speaker, and quickly the boy perks up. A short glance  over and he finds the old Queen record spinning aimlessly, with the tone arm at the end of its songs.

Pushing himself off the bed, he walks over to the stand where Tony’s old record player sits. Taking the arm off- he flips the record over to side b, before returning it to its place. 

The intro of Queen’s “Hammer to Fall” begins ringing from the speaker, and a small, satisfied smile grows on Y/n’s face.

He hums the beat, nodding his head with it while turning back to his bed- but something catches his eye.

Outside, there’s two figures standing out front. One eyebrow raises, Y/n slowly steps closer to the window. 

“Who-?”

Recognizing his dad, dressed in his best suit, Y/n leans closer. The other figure isn’t quite as tall as Tony, and looks quite obviously nervous. 

Y/n furrows his eyebrows. 

….That’s Peter Parker.

What the hell is he doing at Stark’s house?

***

The sound of a backpack falling to the ground echoes through the foyer- and immediately it’s a sigh of relief. The sweet, sweet air conditioning here is heavenly in contrast to the one at school.

Y/n faintly feels a vibration in his pocket- grabbing it only to see multiple notifications coming from a group chat. 

‘What are they on…’ he wonders, scrolling through countless messages worth of nonsense. He goes to reply, when-

“Y/n!”

His head snaps up at the voice, echoing out from the couch.

‘didn’t realize he was home…’ he looks back at the window, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway. 

“Oh.” 

Deciding the group chat can wait, the teen wanders to where his father sits. 

“What’s up?” Immediately Y/n sees the  scattered papers piling on top of one another on the coffee table, the short crystal glass filled halfway with rum. You’d think he’d wait until at least five, but that’s not the Stark way.

“I found a uh, form on the coffee table,” his voice sounds bored, tired, “something about textbooks for school?”

Y/n notices the forms sitting at the edge farthest from Tony, as if they’d been pushed away as far as they could go. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He says awkwardly, looking at the dirty laces of his shoes, “it’s fine, I got it.” 

“Well I can pay for them, if that’s what you’d like.” The eldest Stark shrugs, finally looking at his son from over the rim of his glasses.

Y/n almost feels embarrassed- when had he asked for that? He shakes his head, though it doesn’t hide the surprised look on his face.

“No, no you don’t have to-“

“Oh please, I got it, education is our future or something, right?” Tony shrugs, taking off his glasses and beginning to stand up from his chair, headed for the black leather wallet he’d left on the dining table. 

Y/n isn’t quite sure why he’s now rushing to step in front of his dad- there isn’t much harm in the gesture after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want the weight of depending on his father for everything to lay on his shoulders. Either way, excuses are already falling from his mouth.

“You really don’t have to, dad-“

“You’re acting like I’m handing you the presidents treasury,” Tony deadpans, “besides, you don’t have a job.”

Y/n pauses. 

“Wha- yes, I do-“ does his dad really not know about his job?

“Look, it doesn’t matter, I can get them used anyways-“

Before he can take one step closer, a nervous voice quips up from the doorway and ends the race for the wallet.

“Um, Mr. Stark?”

Curiously, Y/n and his dad snap their heads to see who has just joined them.

“Peter-?”

Peter Parker stands in the large door way, curled into himself with his backpack strap folded between his fist. His eyes are wide and questioning, looking between his classmate and his idol as if he had walked into the wrong room. 

Suddenly, Tony’s shoulders drop- and he’s no longer interested in any textbook or wallet. 

“Ah, Parker, didn’t think you’d make it.” He says bluntly, strutting away from his son and towards the obviously nervous boy. 

“Here, sit down kid.”

With the man’s hand pressed into his shoulder blade, Peter has no choice but to follow him towards the various seats lining the dining table. And from the side- Y/n watches, absolutely lost.

After he had seen his father and Peter talking, he kept it to himself. Knowing the boy, he had simply assumed Peter was asking for an autograph or a picture, just like half of the city. 

But now, he is in his house. At his table. 

What the hell is this?

“Um,” Y/n’s voice sounds blunt, almost too similar to his father- who’s already sitting down across from Peter with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, as if this was a press conference. 

Peter looks at him first, while his father throws a glance over his shoulder. 

“What’s this?” Y/n asks, pointing to the strange teenage boy sitting down in his seat. Tony tiredly leans back in the chair, twisting to the side just slightly so he could look at Y/n head on. 

“Y/n, this is Peter, Peter, this is Y/n.” 

“Uh, yeah, we know each other.” Peter pipes up, giving Y/n the shortest, most awkward smile it seems he could muster. Y/n’s face stays blank.

“Yeah, I meant what is he doing here?”

Tony doesn’t seem at all phased by the rude undertones of Y/n’s question.

“Peter is gonna work as my intern for a little while, I’m training him.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow. 

“For what-“

“Hey, quit interrupting, will you?” Tony dismisses him with the wave of his hand, turning around so he’s fully facing Peter. And Y/n lingers there, processing. He doesn’t like feeling like a shadow, not in his own home especially, but that’s the feeling that begins to overtake him.

Intern…? 

He tries understanding what that means- there’s many possibilities. Assistant, maybe. But when he looks between his dad and his classmate one last time, seeing that he’s been nearly forgotten in the room (aside from the short glances from Peter’s end) he turns around to retreat, fists clenched. 

His dad has had interns before, Peter likely won’t be much different. Possibly.

***

It’s been 5 weeks.

And multiple times, for each of those weeks, Peter has been somewhere mixed into the tangle of Tony Stark’s extensive schedule, far more entangled than Y/n has been for the past few years.

He shows up to dinner, trains at the Avenger’s tower. He comes knocking on the door randomly asking for life advice, or something- he’s everywhere.

It wasn’t even until week 4 that Y/n discovered the truth behind his sudden presence, when he saw the suit for the first time.

He has his own suit, god can you believe it?

Y/n watches on as Tony seems to easily bring Peter under his wing- hating how he has to avoid the burning green envy that burns his ears. How has Tony managed to take on the father figure role to Peter, when he barely manages that role with his own son?

‘It shouldn’t hurt this bad,’ y/n will think to himself, ‘you’re independent, relying on him will only make it harder in the long run.’

But he couldn’t help the hardened glare that arose every time he saw his dad, his own dad, bonding with someone else the way he had been wanting for what- 16 years?

Even now, sitting at the table, while the teen stares into the bowl of cereal in front of him, it’s just so irking to think about. 

His spoon scrapes the edges of the bowl, gathering the now soggy cheerios into a cluster in its silver dip. Then, they get lost in his mouth. Rinse and repeat- he does it over and over while staring a blazing hole into the wall. 

What is Peter doing that he can’t?

“Mr. Stark-“ 

Speak of the devil. 

Y/n’s grip on the spoon tightens.

Peter comes stumbling into the room, out of breathe as if he sprinted all the way here. He doesn’t even knock anymore, Y/n thinks, he’s made himself at home.

“Kid? What’re you doing here?” 

The nickname sends a shivering twitch through Y/n’s already sore muscles, tugging his face so he can’t control the annoyed look that comes through. 

They’re talking to each other now, Peter trying to tell a story far too quickly for either of them to follow. Y/n blocks their voices out.

His chair scrapes against the floor, and he grabs his bag to leave. 

“I’m going to school.” He says loudly, cutting off their conversation. 

“Oh, I guess I gotta go too-“ 

“No,” Peter freezes, looking at Y/n curiously, “no, no stay here longer why don’t you? Practically your house.” Venom leaks from his words, the sarcasm so loud it makes Peter flinch. 

“Y/n,” Tony groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Y/n’s stare only hardens.

“What?” He snaps, now looking at his father. 

“Really?” Is all that Tony manages, before Y/n is rolling his eyes and spinning on his heel.

“(F/n) is waiting for me.” He grumbles, snatching his phone and stomping out of the room. 

How does his dad not get it? Is he so blind he can’t even see his own blatant favoritism? 

The look of exhaustion displayed on his face would make you think hes working day and night having to put up with Y/n’s attitude- yet he’s unaware he’s exactly what’s causing it. 

Y/n doesn’t want to blame Peter, in the back of his mind he knows that it’s his dad’s fault. But it feels like his father is being stolen.

But can it really be theft if there wasn’t much of him in the first place?

Y/n knows that he’s picking all the fights, starting all the arguments just so that twisted part of his head gets some satisfaction. 

It shouldn’t be working so well.

.

The young Stark doesn’t return home until it’s just about dark outside, his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulders. 

He walks the long halls of his home, past the doors that could either be a guest bathroom or a weapon closet. Even if there’s more entryways than doors, his father opting for large empty frames, he walks the length of it with no specific destination in mind. 

He isn’t too sure where he’s headed anyways, considering he’s passed the way to his bedroom already.

Through half lidded eyes he guides himself through this maze of a house, bitter jealousy bubbling in his lungs. It’s such a haunting thought, a looming presence, and he wishes he could push it down the drain but it seems that he can’t. 

“Stupid, stupid Peter…” he mumbles, hand grazing the wall beside him. 

Ned’s voice still rings in his ears, breathy from how he had been exercising for most of the class.

“You don’t know what he looks like- what if he’s like seriously burnt?”

“I wouldn’t care, I would still love him for the person he is on the inside.”

Of course it caught their attention- Peter’s little crush on Liz wasn’t hard for most to notice. 

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

How horrible. 

Across the room, Y/n’s head snapped to where the pair was on the gym floor- Peter’s jaw slacked. It didn’t matter how much he tried to quickly say otherwise- Flash already had slid down the climbing rope with another remark slick on the edge of his tongue.

And Y/n watched on, eye twitching, feeling how his  friends slapped his arm in amusement. 

“I can’t tell if he’s for real or not-“ F/n mumbled from next to him. Y/n’s eyes never tore away from the scene playing out ahead, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah,” and his eyes squeezed shut, “me neither.”

Y/n’s fists curl together, knuckles scraping the wall for a moment before he’s pulling away.

It’s so frustrating. 

He’s walking further down the corridor, eyes sliding open just in time to catch a door left slightly ajar- and he pauses.

He’s passed the door many times, no doubt, but this time it’s different. There’s something pulling him inside, an unknown source that’s too intriguing to walk past.

Slowly, he pushes open the door. And there it is.

Old bins and cabinets with junk gadgets shoved inside- worn blueprints from his fathers old work. One eyebrow raises, cogs turning and grinding in his head.

There’s some things still in tact, some that have been broken apart and scattered about. Y/n kneels down to observe closer. 

He feels the smooth surface of a metal clasp against his fingertips, grazing the jumbled objects. 

This is his answer.

The backpack slides off his shoulders, thumping on the ground beside him. This room is one that his father doesn’t visit much anymore, now much more caught up in other things such as the Avengers, Peter, the scattered piles of paperwork that seem to constantly consume him.

And in the corner, there’s a bend in the wall partially hidden by a cabinet- if you were to tuck something inside, no one could see from the door frame.

Y/n already feels his mind blooming with ideas as he skims over the various parts and pieces in front of him.

If he can’t live up to his fathers standards, his fathers name, 

then he’ll make his own.

***

Multiple nights pass, weeks go by and Y/n finds himself spending the time after dinner until midnight cooped up in Tony’s old gear room. 

He likes to think it’s a family trait, something tying him to the Stark name, also known as his skill for parts. He can take a few glances at both his own notes as well as the old blueprints and suddenly have the necessary concept for a retractable weapon, built to strike out of an arm piece. And when he’s done, he simply drags it all into his tucked in corner- hidden until night falls again the next day. 

Time not spent at school, occasionally in his room, or in his new lab- is now spent taking full advantage of the gym on the higher floors. 

The Avengers don’t question it, barely even using it at the same time as him anyways. He’s planned it so no one is around to see the training he does, the work put in to not only muscle- but also skill.

He doesn’t have a vigilante name just yet- but perhaps that’s the fun in it. He’s totally anonymous.

And as the firm punching bag jerks beneath his incoming fist, he feels the creeping joy of power.

Y/n puts lots of thought into the first strike against the city- building an elaborate yet somewhat reckless attack plan, a formula. 

No citizen will get hurt- it’s only the churning, growing need for revenge he wants so badly to be satisfied. Among the jumbled emotions, and new discoveries, he knows what he wants, and he knows just who he wants to be.

Y/n Stark may never be the millionaire superhero his father is- but he will be something. Something that no one will ever expect.

***

“A new vigilante seems to be on the loose, unidentified. They’ve struck many times already, but police have noticed that, interestingly enough, among the pattern of crime scenes none of the main public areas or citizens have been hit. Could this be the work of an Anti-hero, perhaps? Down at the Avengers Tow-“ 

The anchorman’s voice is cut off, mid sentence, and Tony holds the remote firmly. 

Around him, on the expensive couches sit the Avengers themselves, but their faces are dulled by distress, their knuckles tense from a firm grip. 

“We gotta find this guy,” Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Beside him, Natasha agrees.

“If we don’t catch them soon, people will start doubting us.” She says it like it’s so simple, lips pressed into a thin line. Steve groans.

“They aren’t gonna start doubting us-“ he tries, but no one seems to believe him. 

“Oh really? Sounds like you’ve got some superstar solution then, huh?” Tony, always packed full of sarcasm, looks absolutely exasperated. He’s been looking tirelessly for this new ‘vigilante’ of the sorts - they don’t even seem to have a name. They work quickly and precisely, yet go at it with a powerful vengeance. Their skill- it’s almost something he wants to respect. 

The group begins to speak again, switching between civil turn taking and overlapping words. They don’t even notice the figure standing by the door. 

Y/n peaks his head around the door frame, watching these strong, powerful superheroes stressing over him. Oh, they just have no clue.

As they’re still talking, planning unknowingly within earshot of their own enemy- Y/n takes his notes. He listens, until finally he slips past the door and walks quietly down the hall as the sick, strong feeling of triumph sinks into his stomach. 

He’s got them.

***

The rumbling fill of chaos echoes from all around- machines jittering, codes breaking, and a light flickers down the hall.

Y/n stands at the center of the room, looking around at one of his father’s many warehouses from all around- this one being stationed north of his own home state- Maine, USA.

His dad brought him here only a few times as a kid, once or twice perhaps. He always hated it- still does, actually, hence the small bombs scattered across the place. 

It would be funny, to think that not even the Avengers have caught on to his pattern- but that may be jinxing it. Plus, he knows the common traits of each area he’s hit so far, the places holding the unjust power. This stop, though, he’s been waiting to finally hit.

“Stark Enterprises” - a sign once strung together in big letters, now laying at Y/n’s feet broken into pieces. The boy crouches down, picking up a chunk from the “E” and crushes it in his hands. 

Under his mask, he grins. 

His suit, not quite as advanced as those made by his father, fits him well. The sleeves are tighter, snugly wrapped around his biceps with streaks of purple running through the black material. Padding, like thin layers of armor, protect his torso and the pants are the most loose- cargo, with big pockets.

A mask is what pulls the whole thing together, though, concealing the entirety of his head underneath its black and purple coloring. 

Littering his hands, and even weaved into the material all across, are the gadgets he’s spent so many hours on. Rings sealed into the gloves have enough sharp metal twisted together inside that when activated, spread into blades. In the pocket around his waist band- is a button, the button, that with one push turns this warehouse into a cloud of orange and yellow. 

Y/n is still watching the crumbling sign fall from his palm, like grains of sand, when the door caves in behind him. 

“Put your hands up, tough guy, we caught you.”

Captain America, confident as ever, bursts in at the front of the group with his shield held high. Behind him, Tony, Peter, Natasha and even Bruce waltz right in after him. For a second- a glimmer of pride washes through Y/n’s body, they brought 5 to a fight against 1- he must be special.

“Yeah, times up buddy.”

Seeing his father, dressed in the famous Ironman suit, reminds Y/n of the whole reason this started- and another twisted feeling knots itself in his stomach.

The moment he’s been waiting for.

They can’t see him as he smirks underneath the mask, deciding to toy with them just a bit. He doesn’t speak- no one’s heard his voice when spoken through the filtered material yet. It seems they’ll be the first.

Y/n’s head cocks to the side, and raises an eyebrow- something the Avengers can see through the imprint of his mask. A challenge. 

Bruce’s battle cry cuts through the air- and suddenly the Hulk is charging. It startles Y/n for a moment, but quickly he steps to the side and lets the green giant crush the ground beside him. As Hulk gets back up, snarling and growling, Y/n is already grabbing a long beam, bent from where it fell with the rest of the Stark Enterprise’s sign, and strikes Hulk right in the gut.

The giant man stumbles slightly, yet still stomps forward. But Y/n isn’t in front of him.

“Hulk!” Natasha yells out, watching from across the room as Y/n comes from behind, mid air, wielding the same beam from before. Hulk is barely able to tilt his head an inch before the metal is crashing down into the area just below his head, and bruising his neck. 

He’s out within a few seconds, stumbling around clumsily while black dots tease his vision. Then, he falls to the floor.

“Well shit.” Steve mutters, bending his knees like a bull preparing to charge. He should’ve known sending in Hulk with no preparations would be a bad an idea.

“Sending the big one in first, huh?” Y/n looks at them cockily, “do you see me as a threat, Ironman?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, “oh look at that, he can talk.”  He doesn’t even skip a beat as his suit begins to whir, the arm unfolding so a mini blaster pokes out from the forearm. 

The vigilante barely has time to react as strings of energy are thrown his way, jumping and dodging each of them narrowly. Tony doesn’t wait for him to regain his footing though, flying straight towards his figure.

Steve eyes Natasha, gesturing for her to move. The woman obliges, creeping around the fight so Y/n’s back is in front of her. 

Ironman grabs Y/n by the shoulders, pushing down with such strong force that the latter is forced back a few steps. He holds the metal sleeves with a firm grip, and at first Tony doesn’t notice as the boy’s rings begin to scrape against the surface. Sparks fly like the touch of a welding torch, grazing the edges of Tony’s mask just in time for him to realize mini blades are beginning to prod at his suit. Y/n doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity and shove the man away from him. 

Natasha watches closely, seeing how Y/n stumbles from the impact. She jumps at him.

Y/n extends his arm in her direction, not even turning all the way around, and his rings grow from small blades to a sharp spiral of metal pointing right at Black Widow’s chest.

She freezes, he smirks.

Of course, it’s not his intention for someone to die. That’s not what he does. This, well, is simply defense.

“How about we get right to the point.” He says, slipping his free hand into one of the pouches around his waist band. Out with it comes a cylinder- black and sleek with some sort of dial built in, a bright red button on top. 

Steve feels his stomach drop. 

“Pick a number.”

Tony, seemingly unaware of the detonator to have just been introduced, rolls his eyes, he’s growing impatient. 

“Alright, fine, 5- you wanna quit it with the games now?”

Big mistake.

Without skipping a step, Y/n is scrolling through digits on the small screen built into the detonator. It’s almost too quick for any of the Avengers to realize what he’s doing- and it’s far too late by the time they do. 

“Alright, then.” Y/n presses the button.

Steve goes to lunge forward, tries to make a grab for the device, but he waited too long. The whole room rattles, and the section just to the left of them suddenly bursts. Bombs. 

Y/n watches with a special glint in his covered eyes as everyone stumbles, yet his feet stay firmly planted in the ground. They’re startled, bits of the wall flying around and clattering against the floor. Peter snaps his head towards Y/n in shock.

“Who’s next?”

“Oh my god.” Peter mumbles, wide eyed. It’s the sound of his voice, his first time saying a word, that catches Y/n’s attention right away.

His teeth grind together, thumb smoothing over the button’s smooth surface. His mind mumbles, Do it again.

Staring into the large white panels of Peter’s mask, his guard is left fallen for just a moment too long. Tony sends one more blast his way. 

A jolt of pain seers through Y/n’s thigh. The energy was strong enough to surpass the material of his pants, leaving a heavy ache in the area. Y/n glares.

“You asshole,” he grunts, spinning the dial with his thumb before slamming down the button.

Above them, part of the ceiling crumbles.

Bits of concrete come tumbling down, Peter and Natasha diving for cover. But Y/n is no where near finished.

“How many bombs are there-“ Peter asks to no one in particular. His question is soon to be answered.

“Let’s not wait to find out,” Steve grunts, sprinting to where his opponent stands at the opposite side of the room. Y/n feels the previous feeling of confidence, the smooth and cocky facade, slipping away. He wants to win.

Each of Captain America’s hits clang against metal couplets clasped to Y/n’s wrist- chaos ensues around them. Tony firing shots, Peter surrounding the fight, Natasha running for a hit at close combat- and hulk just starting to stir from his little nap. 

But Y/n doesn’t let up- not until it’s too late.

A fiery blaze heads straight for him, straight for his face. It’s beginning to sizzle against his ears, he can feel it coming. But he doesn’t react in time, trying to defend himself from too many things at once. 

The blast, coming from his own father’s hand, hits him.

His mask begins to spark, edges curling into themselves as slowly, Y/n feels the right side of his face being revealed. 

His hand meets the wall, holding him up as he recovers from the impact. They haven’t seen him yet. 

He hears Steve’s heavy breathing from behind him, something so familiar it almost tricks his mind. Then, Tony’s voice.

“It only takes a few hits, huh? If I knew that’s all it took I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”

More sarcasm, Y/n almost laughs.

“Who are you.” Natasha doesn’t even make it sound like a question, her voice strong and firm. 

Silence ensues, just for a moment, Y/n’s head is swimming. 

Yet, over all the thoughts and noise, one thing screams loudest over the rest. 

“Do. It.”

“Don’t you recognize me?” Y/n’s voice, no longer protected by a filter, is raspy and hoarse. He slowly turns around, head peaking out of the shadows.

“You know me already…”

.

.

Holy shit.

A loud clang echoes through the now dead silent room, the red white and silver shield rolling across the floor. 

“…Y/n?” 

Tony’s helmet folds into itself, revealing a sweaty face with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

A bitter smile is what he receives.

“Dad.”

Tony looks around, dumbfounded. 

“I-“ he stutters, nearly speechless, “what- what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Y/n steps forward, voice dry yet dripping with venom. 

Tony chokes, “being an absolute moron, that’s what-“

Y/n barks out a rough, quick laugh. “Ooh, rough.” He rasps. Steve steps forward, putting a hand onto Tony’s shoulder and pulling him back. It’s like a warning, silent communication because next, he’s the one to step forward.

“Y/n…” the words die on the tip of his tongue, throat running dry, but he still tries, “what- I mean, why?”

Y/n has begun to pace slightly, taking slow steps around the shocked group. He peels the mask away from his face.

“Yknow, most people tend to turn to the worst of their options when in a dark time,” he says smoothly, feeling each and every set of eyes watching while he walks. Hulk watches through blurred vision, completely disoriented. 

“I mean, hate to give you the classic origin story and everything, but…” 

“Hold on,” the thoughts are almost visible, loud and heavy in Tony’s head, “is this about something I did?”

So he’s finally getting it.

“What could Tony have possibly done?” Asks Natasha, and Y/n looks at his father directly.

“You don’t care, ok, that’s what-“ his voice is breathy, and he scowls, “You can’t even talk to your own kid, Stark. It’s like you don’t realize what I am, to you- what you are to me!” Anger rises with each word that shoots like poison from Y/n’s mouth. 

Tony gets defensive, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true, I know damn well you’re my kid-“

“Oh really? Cause you seem to have it a bit mixed up.” Y/n’s eyes flicker to Peter’s frame, and everyone tenses.

“Is…is this about Peter?”

At the mention of his name, Peter tears off his mask, a concerned, heavy look on his face. 

“I, Y/n it’s not like that-“ he tries, only to be interrupted.

“Yknow,” Y/n’s voice sounds so pained, “I always thought maybe you aren’t too upfront with your affection. For years, ok, I would wake up, go to school, come back, and go to bed all without saying more than a few words to you. Years, dad.” A lump is forming in his throat, but it’s too late to turn back now. “But then, out of nowhere, someone else comes into the picture and suddenly you’re taking him to lunch, you’re picking him up from school, basically spending way more time with him, than with me.”

Bold, bitter, and wavering- Y/n doesn’t stop. Even as his father, his classmate, the people he’d grown up with thinking were like family, just watch with feeling burning in their eyes. 

“Y/n,”

“You made it look so easy with him.”

“Hey, kid, c’mon-“

“Are you serious?!” Y/n yells in disbelief. “Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong? Is that it? I’m just exaggerating, or what-“

Tony straightens his posture, swallowing hard. 

Y/n’s face almost crumbles from the way his fathers face wavers. But he just doesn’t stop. 

“You can be the greatest hero in the world,” Y/n breathes, sweat sparkling around the frame of his face, “you can put on a face for the interviews, and train Peter to perfection,” a step closer, “but don’t forget that I’ve always been here too.” 

Y/n’s voice sounds so dark, unfamiliar and breaking, it’s gone raspy from the pounding drum of his heart beat. 

Ringing silence once more. 6 melting souls standing in the waste of their own troubles. 

Y/n feels budding tears threatening to spill.

“And now look what we’ve done.” 

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

n addition to not being that much more impressive than many in 1A, I never understood why “Explosion” was thought to be “perfect for heroics” in the first place. First of all, it’s a destructive quirk, and despite the prevalence of fire-quirked heroes, I’d expect the first reaction of most adults to a destructive quirk is to think “future-villain” - especially when wielded by a kid with no respect for property damage. Secondly, a lot of what makes it “good for heroics” is down to Bk’s intensive training - using it fly, etc - not things that would have been immediately obvious in elementary school.

Separately, I agree with what a few others have said that what makes Bk’s quirk seem so strong is his intensive training of it and his endless aggression. (Honestly, half of the kids should have found it psychologically hard to to actually attack someone with their quirk in their first class.) When other kids are actually worried about maiming someone, they’re not going to be using the constant 150% aggression like Bk.

Explosion is a 1 trick pony quirk at the end of the day. Or at least it should be but Hori gives Katsuki insane plot armor. Seriously, his stun grenade, ability to attack from a range, and his smokescreen clearing strike are BS.

This is why I always say there are two school of thoughts on Explosion Quirks: villain or hero.

For me, I think people praising him really focused on the combat aspect of his Quirk because heroism had become about fighting rather then saving people. I think a bright kid, with rich parents because they're a model and fashion designer the guy has money, Bakugou was placated by others even more. His willingness to train and work with his Quirk led to him being praised more.

Its a headcanon kids like Bakugou get specialized training for his Quirk because of how dangerous it can be. I imagine the trainer was shocked by how dedicated Bakugou was and praised him. It got around and everyone knew this kid was strong, wanted to be a hero, and had a combative Quirk.

So that can be why its him being praised so much, by a bunch of people focusing on combat not anything else.

Not sure about ‘kids finding it hard to attack others’ cause kids are nasty. I remember being like six and punching another kid in the face. Plus I had a brother two years older then me, and a cousin a week younger.

The three of us were nightmares and I ain't gonna lie if I was Bakugou I’d be using it on them one time. Of course I'd be horrified by them being hurt and would have been grounded so hard.

Little kids dont really have the ability to know right from wrong and empathy is very low but Bakugou… I've pointed out how malicious the Deku name is (and I will yell it still it occurred before Izuku was diagnosis and it was never a kind nickname) for a freaking toddler and while yeah Hori did it, whole thing is still disturbing.

His attacks are a bit BS and I think Hori was having to come up with a reason he's around because he is just that guy with an explosion Quirk. Mind I personally think Hori didn't like Bakugou but when he got super popular had to keep him around.

Everyone knows my thoughts on how Bakugou's arch should have gone. He's honestly such a boring character now to me, because I had that upswing of anger at him and now it's 'and here is Bakugou with a loud Quirk who somehow despite the logical assumptions is the best above everyone'. He's so boring.

The more I really think about it, the more I wanna really have Bakugou just be there. Have Izuku move past him without realizing it, and have Todoroki take the place as rival. I am not going to lie: the idea of Todoroki staying a rival for longer then canon (and actually presenting himself as a rival early on) is attractive as hell. He's RIGHT THERE. The son of the number two hero raised to surpass All Might constantly fighting against the protoge of All Might! The drama, the action.

I'd honestly only have the reveal of Todoroki's past be when the summer camp happens, and that's when Todoroki turns from rival to friend. Not the weird ass thing Hori did with Bakugou.

But yeah, you're not wrong.

[hellowoolf]

electra heart

pairing: din jarin x prostitute fem!reader

summary: with the softness of your body you have bought your piece of luxury, clawed your way to opulence, and wait now on the lustful whims of the rich and powerful. what havoc is wreaked when the only client you've ever loved, your mandalorian, finds you in the golden smoke of a gala on canto bight?

warnings: mention of alcohol, prostitution, reader is literally a prostitute, reader goes by alias "edie", din calls her “edee”, angst, quick mention of killing (bounty hunting), porn with plot, SMUT, soft!dom din, unprotected piv, beskar humping (sue me), tiiiny bit of degradation if you squint your eyes and pat your head and rub your tummy, little bit of begging, fucking in a literal suit of armor, creampie (if i left out any, let me know <3)

word count: 4.7k

authors note: first din fic alert !!! hand on heart i meant to keep this light hearted. and that’s what counts…right ??!!!!

woolfie’s masterlist

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you had been small, once. a young thing born into the streets of tatooine, conjured by them, slipping dirty like a curse through the city with a beggar's cup. in the day, the sand heated to glass and fire, and you trailed in the shadowed coattails of men the passers by could think your father, but with nightfall came the slow, syrupy suck of warmth from land, and even pressed up against building corners and doorways you shivered in the starlight. and what a cruel thing it was to know—to be, even then, so certain of your own poorness. you stuck little fingers through the holes of your clothes to cork the heat of your skin, and reconciled, in the meanwhile, with your birth as a nomad with no place to journey.

oh, but you loved the ships. with festivals held on the plains came warships and single-seat fighters, great discs of silver settling the baking sand, and you circled the throngs of people to let the gleam of sunlit metal blind you, if only for a moment. with scrap metal and a child’s palms you laid your plans there in the tatooine sand, to seek out whatever precious lavishness was left out there for you. beads of sweat jeweling down your wrists you thought yes, you were fit for that sort of life.

it became clear to you, when you came of age, that your body was your only currency for purchasing such plans. kicking stones while you wound through the cityscape, you supposed the home you could make in a brothel, and the money, too, made for an even exchange, and besides, you’d absorbed worse than man. you tap a manicured nail down your glass and hum with the bellish chime. where had all those girls gone? where were they now? you wonder if they’ve caught wind of you from here, if your perfume has traveled that far. you hope so.

“my edie, how are you honey?”

kel talbot is even blonder than you remember him. with his chest to your back in the sprawling porcelain of his bathtub he’d admitted, along the skin of your shoulder, that it wasn’t real, the color. he dyed it when he went home to naboo, he said. still damp and soapy he’d tipped you an extra 5,000 credits, for your discretion and your loveliness. 

“i’m well, kelly. it’s always so wonderful to see you,” you lilt back to him. and because you can’t help yourself, so prone to indulgence now, you add, “have you been off home? i haven’t seen much of you here.”

he’s lovely, really, and delighted that you would ask. “as a matter of fact, i have. my mother’s been remarried a sixth time, if you can believe it. a great big ceremony and all, and i really couldn’t miss it.”

you smooth your free hand down the lapel of his jacket, black silk gleaming between the pillars of your fingers as you drag them. you wouldn’t mind him, for the night. “i really miss you so much when you’re gone.”

he steps closer, flattered little smile, and you look up at him through your lashes. “don’t stroke my ego, edie, it’s unbecoming,” he whispers, so thoroughly pleased with your attention on him, and you tug on the bunch of his coat in your palm.

“do you want me to stroke something else for you, kelly?”

he lets out a shuddered breath across your face. heir to an agricultural fortune on naboo, he is all tradition, brought up on pomp and circumstance and a set of shoulders shaped for the head of a long dining table. your innuendos fall heavy on him, always. he doubles over with them, sinks into you to realign himself upright. edie, edie, someone called you edee once, it means jaws, teeth, he’d told you. when it came time to shed your first name, your real name, it’d come naturally. edie, edie. kel is ripe for biting now.

“i–i have somewhere to be, honey, i can’t.” you pout at him a little. he tips generously. “don’t look at me like that.”

you set him back by your hold on his suit and he brushes himself with his palms, dusting the fabric from whatever coital indecency you’ve smeared on him.

“i’ll let you know when i’m in town again, okay?” and he offers it like a favor, and you suppose he hopes it to be one, so you nod with a gentle sigh.

“go enjoy your night, kelly. i’ll be here if you change your mind,” you promise, and with a tender smile his platinum hair filters back through the ballroom. 

if you’re honest, you don’t really know the purpose of this event to begin with. canto bight shines bloated with galas and gamblers, and you dance, ephemeral, through the lot of them in search of clientele. scanning the dancing gold and satin of this crowd, collected on the bottom floor of the hotel you work from, you find mostly elderly men, married and elderly. you certainly aren’t above servicing either, though you went out tonight for the delights of it more than anything else. draping yourself in the inordinately expensive wrappings gifted by your previous clients, arms and collarbones dripping over with fine jewelry and precious gems, you enjoy the ritual of it, now. you enjoy the rest of it, too, with the right sort of client. you drag a red gemstone, set in gold, to and fro along its chain, your first little opulence left with the credits on the windowsill. edee, edee. a passing, devastating thought: like the girls from that first whore house you hope he smells you, hope through the filter of his helmet he’s struck with the scent like a sharp ache that sweetens in the middle. and—

you should’ve missed it, really. an inconsequential glimmer in the face of all the light you’ve gulped down these past years, but still you seem to find it, the little silver spotlight convexing through the curve of your glass. it points right on you, the beam, and you tilt the glass back and forth to watch the light twitch along your sternum. your body tenses with the stretch of a memory, of you in the sand on your back with the sterling starships jumping into hyperspace above you. but surely there’s no ship here, you reason, and when you look up, he’s right there. they all wear the same getup, creed driven and plated, but you are certain it’s him. with a cock of his hip and a shoulder leaned up against the wall you are certain, so certain, and he is right fucking there. it’s all coming back to you now, his beskar in the rotting wood of your doorway, little words in mando’a, your name, the first one, in his mouth. your mandalorian.

gliding through the dancing bodies of the ballroom—they part for you, now—you shiver with the breeze of your dress, a great sweeping curtain of red silk. you don’t remember, really, when he stopped coming to see you, only that you were wholly and inappropriately devastated. you missed the stick of him between your thighs, the way he loved you. you were so sure he did, back then, and you find that still, as this diamond sea of people carves a path for you to him, you are still sure. you can feel your own wetness collecting at your seam; you cannot unlearn this want for him.

he doesn’t notice you until you’re inches from his side, and still he won’t turn his head. from his peripheral you are unrecognizable, you suspect.

“which one?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move the way he does as your voice echoes behind his visor. it’s a startled jump, a straightening, a tip of his helmet to the side. you think he’s frightened, at first, a heavy terror that collects through the tendons of his hands, but the fear leaves easy, sugars into wonderment. he says your name, arced in question and through the rasp of his modulator.

you shake your head, look out at the ballroom. “i don’t use that name anymore.”

“i–you…” he shakes his head, knocks something loose, “...what are you doing here?”

you snort. “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i have someone i’m looking for.” and it should be ominous—i have someone to kill here—but his voice is still soft, airy with the sight of you. you turn back to him and nod to the crowd.

“yes, i ask again, which one?”

“you know i can’t tell you that.” and he says it like a memory, like the sweet juice of nostalgia on his lips, he says it like i remember you.

you shrug. “i hoped maybe the rules had changed.”

“mm,” he hums, “century old creeds don’t seem to, i’m afraid.”

you giggle with the youth he brings you back to. it’s so easy, falling back here with him. the tilt of his helmet leans to his other shoulder, dark visor tipping down your dress, and your skin fizzles. 

“what’s brought you here, then?”

you mirror the angle of his neck. you know, you know. he grunts around something thick in his throat, your name, the first one, you think. he remembers what you said.

“what do i call you? now?”

the delight that twists through you is a sacred one. “edie.”

this does him in. his head tips back against the wall behind him, steadying breath filtering out. “edee?”

“not quite. e-d-i-e.” he lifts, with what seems a great effort, his head back up to look at you. you continue, softer, “but almost.”

and because you know your mandalorian, you see in the shift of his boots on the ground that he’s as ecstatic as his metal plating will allow. his hands twitch, and you want them to touch you, need him to touch you.

“come dance with me, mando.”

he does his best to hesitate, really, but then you’re out among the swaying people, one gloved hand at your back and the other clasped between your fingers, closer now than you’ve been since he last came inside you some years ago in whorish darkness. you squeeze him thinking of it, the stick and the smell, and he presses you further against the gleam of his chest, yes, i remember, i remember. it’s only here, molded around him, that you feel how much bigger he is, the broad width of his shoulders cemented out past the lines of him you used to tend to.

“you look…sort of different.”

“is that so?”

maker, you love the sound of him like this, so close in, so insistent on whispering, so incapable of doing so. “mhm.”

“doesn’t hold a candle to the changes you’ve made, cyar’ika.”

“mm,” you hum, “you know, it’s funny, i feel much of the same.”

he bunches his hand a moment in the silk of your dress. “the glamor hasn’t pulled you under?”

your laugh reverberates against his chestplate. “oh no, i’m sure it has. i just mean i’ve always liked shiny things.”

he groans, quiet and tight. “and why’s that? you like your reflection in them?”

he unlatches you from his chest to spin you around before fastening you back to him, and your scoff whips an arched path around you. “please, the vain one between us has always been you, mando.”

he lowers his head, great secret on his lips. “i haven’t shown my face in decades, edee.”

you can hear his tongue on the word, and you know he hasn’t said your new name, similar as it may sound. the lapping scoop of mando’a washes you over again with the memories of him. and laughing, again you are laughing. you love this bit. “yes, i do remember that part. though i find it awfully excessive that you prance about the galaxy in this welded jewel of a thing.” you knock against the beskar with a knuckle.

“welded jewel. you’ve gotten metaphorical while i’ve been gone.”

“this crowd enjoys it.”

he glances over and around your shoulder. “and you enjoy them?...this crowd?”

you suck on your front teeth to think on it. “you know, most of them don’t ask for it. not all of it, anyway. it’s mainly a lot of talking, now.” and it’s true. even above the lust, this powerful lot is lonely, irrevocably lonely. he nods, and as your heart hammers and wails you tilt your head up to his helmet to whisper against his visor, “you never wanted to talk, did you mando?”

the band of his arm around your back constricts again, a gruff admission, “no, i didn’t.”

he never did take anyone else in that little brothel, it was only ever you. the other girls liked to watch him pass by through the hallway, luster of his armor glinting in the low light, but he walked a tight line to your door, knocked twice, soft as anything. even in that wooden box, a bed and a window and an empty dresser, you remember the metal of him grating at the joins as he tried to make you feel something. you remember, too, that so green, so newly wrung out as you were, your limbs went limp before his credits ran dry, but he defected to your will, watched your body and worshiped at its altar. when your spine loosened and your hips unwound, still with time paid for, he stepped back into the sanded stench of tatooine, hand-cupped pile of credits on the windowsill. yes, the windowsill and the i’ll come back for you and the creak of the floorboards, you remember it so well.

“how much do you charge these days?”

you’re tightening your thighs together as you sway with him. “don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not.”

a ribbon of air releases from your nose, be steady. “20,000 credits.”

and he doesn’t flinch, only lets the hand around your back slip along the gloss of your dress, drawing a line above your ass with his thumb, the line he won’t cross without purchase. “i’d pay it.”

you can’t help this now. “will you?”

whatever mark he’s come to kill tonight is slipping through his fingers, but you fill that space just fine. his helmet tilts, and you feel a leather paw come up to retrieve that little red necklace from the hollow of your collarbone. the pad of his glove passes over the gem once, twice, body tightening and buzzing in metal. “this is mine,” he chokes.

yes, it is. you nod. and he’s decided, it seems. with a modulated groan and let’s go in your ear, he’s shepherding you from the ballroom, hand tight at your waist as you find your way to the elevator. and what with the ceremony of your mandalorian, the tediousness of his armor coming off, you fill the elevator shaft with the smell of your drooling pussy and the air thickens with the buzzing glow of you both together again, but you do not move. the tickle of his eyes through tempered glass rubs behind your ears, still a killer, always a killer, you think, just as you are forever what you have always been. the two of you, frozen in blood and sex, the only warmth you’ve ever known. this reality pulls behind your tongue and you gag on it. 

ding. the doors slide open. 

you press a thumb to the screen on your doorknob and your mandalorian crowds up behind you, lets you feel the cool touch of his body, the heat that peeks out at the corners. with thick fingers squeezing at your waist and the hard curve of his helmet at your hairline, your knees buckle with the thought that you might have loved him, too, perhaps fatally, but as the lock clicks open and he pulls you inside you suppose it doesn’t matter much now. 

you’ve worked this room for nearly a year. a window expands from one wall to the other, beams the morning light and warms the bed sheets, and in the drab of afternoon, twinkle of the city just barely cresting over the sunshine, you watch the people below. drunkards and lovers and princes, you scratch their heads with the cliff of your nail, nose against the glass and breath fogging there, drawing up their mythology and smudging it with the skin of your palm. now, though, with the constructed starlight of clubs and casinos shouldering its way through the night’s darkness, the room bathes in polluted light and the faint sound of wealthy indulgence. there is no windowsill for your mandalorian to balance his payment.

“come here, edee.” 

he’s sat himself on the edge of the bed, hand running up and down the metal expanse of his thigh. you stalk your way to him, ruck the hem of your dress up passed your knees to straddle his leg, and slowly, so slowly, through honey and slick and years of parted wanting, he brings his hands to your sides. you splay your fingers on his helmet.

“been a long time, mandalorian.”

he hums in agreement, tips of his thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts over the silk of your dress before running down again, relearning the ends of you. “my cyar’ika,” he whispers. 

your cunt clenches, sobs with his sounds and the pressure of his thigh. breath shuddered and indignant you drag your pussy along the plate of armor. throat tight with a whine you ask him, “how do you like it now, cyare?”

his body takes to the slice of mando’a in your mouth like water to sand, something dark and heavy, and his hips tilt up to you as you undulate your cunt along him again. the coil of you both is raveling taut and knotting at the edges, perhaps permanently now, twisting back into the shapes you used to make together. and it was always this way between you, this dancing walk to madness; with the head of his cock he fucked a shard of beskar into you, you think, that first time, and in every meeting since he’s rut his hips to claw the thing back out, but your body has absorbed the alloy of it. 

“i want you to fuck me like you missed me.” a shuddered breath, a secret thought, and then: “did you miss me?”

and that question doesn’t come from the metal. no, with your palms warming his helmet you know he’s asking from the fleshy lines between the silver pieces. this is a bloody question. the drag of your cunt against his leg continues still, toes curling beneath you with the cold sting through the fabric of your panties, and perched here atop him you suppose your honesty costs you little in the face of all the rest you’ll give up.

“yes, i did.”

his hands collect your dress like water, silk spilling out between the fingers of his gloves, as he bares you to him, and his visor tips with the sight of you, a feat of topology he memorized so long ago. with a brush of red fabric against your ears you cling to him in only the little scrap of lace that licks along his leg with the wet kiss of your cunt.

“this pussy get wet for me like it used to?”

fuck. 

“yes, yeah,” you breathe out, little bites of ecstasy weaving their way from your clit to the nape of your neck. 

“oh, my edee, look at you,” and he grips a hand in your hair, pushing your eyeline down to watch the gleaming strip of want brushed and rewritten over on his armor. “you like drenching me like that? fuck cyar’ika i’ll leave this hotel like this and everyone will know i’ve fucked a fucking whore.” fuckfuckfuck. you remember the vein along the underside of his cock, want him to hurt you with it now. 

“so fuck your whore, mando, you’ve paid for her,” you plead, but he drops his helmet to your forehead, the both of you still awe struck at the starlit gash of slick you’re dripping on him as your hips gyrate. 

“you’re no more patient than you used to be,” he chuckles, but the wobbled rasp of his voice strips him all but naked to you. his hands grind you harder on his body and you wail, neck open as your head falls back. the pleasure sinks its teeth in you now, all hot bloodlust and bubbling open like seafoam.

“fuck, mando, i–i’m gonna come.”

“yeah, that’s it, right here, make that pussy gush for me and then i’ll fuck her open.”

ecstasy knocks through your arteries as your body pulls tight against him, and with desperate hands he grabs at you, around your asscheeks and between your shoulder blades, to feel you jerk with it. he’s groaning something deep and unforgivable watching you move, but already you’re looking for the weight of his cock.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you heave into his shoulder as you slump over, and he’s nodding silently with you, yes, i remember, i remember. the preamble of fingers and tongues is being leapt over, but neither of you seem to mind. he pulls the leather of his gloves off to maneuver you onto all fours on the bed, and after working his pants open with the bared warmth of his fingers the pads are back on you, running down your back and up your thighs. the heft of him pokes at you and you’re clenching with the feeling, the memory, again the memory. from between your open legs you drop your head to watch him pump his length, fingers tan and thick and a little tattoo between them. 

his head catches at your opening and a whine spills from between your teeth. 

“louder, cyare,” he grounds out. another inch in and you keen.

“fuck.”

his palms find purchase on your side and he anchors himself there, partway within you. you both whistle out whispered breaths listening to the sound of you joined together, him pulling out a centimeter before sinking it back in, fucking you with the head of his cock. 

“oh, it’s just the fucking tip and i’m stretching you already, cyar’ika,” he moans.

“more,” you mewl, “i want more.” and really that’s always been your problem, you suppose. 

his hips are speeding up now, wretched little humps into the tight clutch of your cunt, but he abstains from the whole of it. “fucking beg me for it, edee, i’ve waited this fucking long.”

into the sheets, bunched by your fingers and your jostling knees on the bed, you moan, “please, please, please, fuck me on your cock, cyare, i need it, please.”

the piece of himself, the metal and his creed’s tongue, that he rutted into you all those years ago comes roaring at him now, is cracked open in the air of your voice, and he stutters with it. he fucks you like retribution, hips slapping against your ass with a wet crackle, and you’re screaming, suddenly.

“that’s it, edee, that’s it.”

the walls of your cunt pulse velvet around him as he punches in and out of you, cock reaching up like he’s trying to touch your tongue with it, run through the length of you with his steel and grunting. your body blooms for him, petals open like it always did. when was the last time fucking him felt like your job? it’s all coming back to you now, crying at the foot of your bed, missing him dearly. you have always been a professional despite the intimacy of what you do, but you feel wholly unprofessional here.

“fuck, you’re so fucking tight, it’s like you’re sucking me back in,” and you can’t help your clenching now, “yes, edee, again for me, again.”

and you do, pulsing and clamping on his shaft, and he nearly wails with the feeling. the hum of his voice through the helmet protects him some, but maker you know him well, years worth of your mandalorian, and so you hear it all clearly, him melting behind the metal and fusing at the edges. you push away the thought that he’ll pay you for this.

“maker your pussy feels so fucking good, i’ve never stopped—ah—never stopped fucking thinking about it.”

the jut of his chestplate bites your skin as he pulls your hips up but you barely feel it. “no?”

“never, never,” he repeats, and his own babbling eggs him on, you think, as he thrusts impossibly faster. he fucks you like he needs it, has always needed it, and you’re reminded again that you loved him before, that you love him again, now, perhaps, but it’s all so hard to see clearly with the tight chain of pleasure running up your spine. 

slick seeping from your hole around him you moan, “feel so f–fucking full of it, fuck.”

a frantic hand comes around to your front, pulls the red gem from your chest to lay along your back, and watching the glint of red and gold that he left you bounce on your skin makes him growl and choke. “fuck, fuck, i’m so close, cyar’ika.”

he bends to meet your back and drops the weight of his helmet on the wing of your shoulder and you might not survive the angle of his cock in you now. you’d clasp your hands in penitence if they didn’t hold the both of you up, because this luxury, him greeting your body like it’s his final gutted conquest, is the last you’ll ever beg for. 

with both of you sputtering your souls out on the duvet he groans, “i miss your old name, edee, give it to me again.”

the begging makes you pulse, but you shake your head. your name is your first and only born inheritance, and when you grew old enough to realize it you’d had to shed the thing, or rather hide it, stashed away, untouched. 

“please cyar’ika, just one more like this, just like this, your real name.”

your moans screech with the tragedy of him pleading with you this way, and bellow because you want to let him. yes, you love him now, and you wheeze, “i don’t know your real name, mandalorian.”

this knocks the wind from him and it blows out along the back of your neck but the piston of his cock in you continues, heightens further, and you’re both on the precipice of something devastating. he groans out breathless “din, din, it’s din,” and then, “maker please let me use it.”

as deep and jagged as the naming cuts you, you have never felt this hallowed a thing. him inside, and knowing what to call him, is unlike any bliss you’ve ever known. “din,” you wail.

he nods at your back. “yes, yes, din. let me use it.”

at last you’re nodding, crown of your head bobbing back on his body, and a torrential downpour of your name spits from his mouth, slides down his helmet and onto your spine. and the coming is unlike all the rest, a slow climb, a painful clawing that rips your flesh from the bone, but suddenly you’re both heaving with it, his warmth pumping through you and your gushing slick sliding out. for a moment you panic, worry for the windowsill, for the way it always ends. but your din. the panic catches on din and smokes away.

your limbs give out and you meet the mattress with your eyes closed, aching and a little empty, but mostly as satisfied as a desperate creature like yourself is capable. you’re reminded of the clank of his armor as he rights himself behind you. it’s so easy to forget it, what with how human he feels.

“din.”

the rattle of beskar stills. he returns your name, the real one again.

i love you, i loved you then, and you loved me. no. no, you think, it’s far too true to say. so instead: “will you come find me again?”

the bed dips as he sits on it and a gentle glove strokes through your hair. “always, cyar’ika. i’ll come back for you.”

and because you believe him, din, you do not lift your head to watch him place the credits and dissolve away. you’ll save the shine of him, you vow, for the next time he arrives for you. your mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[l1tw1ck]

Adventurers have always been known far and wide as a group willing to do things no same person would do, including exploring an area known as the wilds, a dense forest that surrounded all the kingdoms in the area containing all matter of dangerous mythical beasts. Beyond that was a mountain range not even the bravest dared go near in fear of the dreaded dragons.

This however didn't stop lux, a war mage, from deciding to explore it anyway. After all, one could only imagine what riches could be hiding in those mountains.

After weeks of travel and either hiding from or defeating various monsters lux begins his ascent on the mountain, making good progress until sunset when he finds a cave, deciding to stay for the night.

The cave was deep and dark, with no end in sight from the entrance. Lux summoned a fireball to light his way, delving deeper and deeper into darkness until he stepped on something, and lighting the area a bit more revealed a massive wealth of gold, completely unguarded, or so it seemed.

Mere minutes after his discovery lux can feel something behind him, the eyes of a predator boring into the back of his skull, a deep growl echoing from something dangerous.

He can barely turn to look at the massive beast before the dragon pins him, readying a mouth full of lightning. Lux squeaks in terror, struggling in an attempt to escape as he attempts to use his magic which stops the dragon from killing him, at least for a moment. Instead the beast seems to smile, or at least the best it could as it lets out a pleased growl, sniffing at the little human before huffing.

What our little war mage wasn't expecting to happen next was the ripping of his armor, followed by the descent of two absolutely massive cocks covered in bumps and ridges. The cocks practically dropped on top of him, the precum sending small electric shocks on the areas they touched. And those were going to be inside him.

Once he was well and truly terrified, the dragon began to slowly push inside both holes, seemingly uncaring of how he could so easily break. He can't do anything but twitch once the cocks completely stuff him, as he's so full.

He can't help but cry out as it rocks its hips, spearing him on twin cocks over and over again until he can't help but clench around them, squirting through rough thrusts.

It feels like hours before the dragon shows any change in pace, although by that point lux is too out of it to notice, poth ends having produced a puddle of drool that he lies in. But the dragon doesn't seem to notice (or care) when it rams itself in one last time and released torrents of hot, sparking cum, both holes being pushed well past full.

Hours later upon regaining consciousness lux is surprised to see that despite his soreness there's a pair of arms wrapped around his waist as well as a scaly tail around his thighs. looks like he's in for a long long few weeks at the least.

I might do a part two do this at some point. It would just be a lot more plot and world building. Also, could I be 🪻annon pretty please?

delicious 🤤 🙏🏾

and yes u can

[writingforatwistedworld]

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, imprisonment, stalking, unhealthy relationship

Entering their world

So Ramshackle is once more a place people (or rather an individual) live in, right?

Kalim in typical Kalim Al-Asim fashion of course wanted to celebrate this joyous event, especially since the world had been so glum since the Overseer hadn’t graced them with their all-knowing gaze for two entire days

Two entire days, I tell you! Two entire days in which no riches of the world could buy him something to make this time less bleak

So fifty five flamingos and exactly seven elephants later there he is, knocking on the door of Ramshackle to invite you to the festivities

Only for you, his beloved Overseer to open

Mhm, he isnt inviting you

For the first time in the history of “character is always sunshiny”-plot armor Kalim is lost for words, gawking at your figure in the doorframe who is worriedly asking him if he is alright

So, sunny boy over here is at the brink of passing out, probably because his adrenaline levels have breached the realms of possibility, making his heart miss a few heartbeats too much but this is a world with magic so let's not question too many things

Jamil actually had to get the not-so-made-out-of-stone petrified Kalim, nearly getting a heart attack himself by seeing that it was you

Yeah... that planned celebration also didn't happen

This led to fifty four flamingos and exactly seven elephants being sent back home, one of the flamingos seeing that one of their cousins was used to play cricket, deciding to stay after reuniting after five years of separation

But before we get sidetracked by Heartslabyul students tearing up after witnessing the reunion of two pink birds we have to talk about our most favorite future sultan, then we can talk about tearing up Heartslabyul students

So Kalim was a cause of concern for Jamil, and not in the usual way

No, whilst Jamil wanted to bow to you as well Kalim was too silent. So silent in fact that Jamil got so worried that he put his plans of betrayal on the back burner for a while and looked after his childhood... friend? Employer? Friemployer!

Also, whilst it was usually a bit hard to get Kalim into his calm enough self to sleep, Kalm (ok this one is bad, I know), it was creepily easy to get the young man to relax now, almost as if he wanted to be in his room all alone without anyone at his back and call

“Why?” the confused reader said. “Why should this be important to the story?” They continued

Well because soon there also turns up a photo album filled with pictures of you sleeping, eating and much, much more

I think you finally know what our equivalent to a sunflower in the human version has done during the time he wasn't supervised

Give him a week as well and he returns to normal... more or less

I just hope you don't mind company that won't leave you 24/7 because you will spend a lot of time with your new stalker friend

No matter where you go, no matter where you hide, there is no escape

Soon items disappear as well, replaced with a much more expensive version of it

And whilst I have never seen a rubber costing more than a few bucks I am sure that Kalim over there can find and give you one that costs so much that it could cover the renovation of Ramshackle

Jewelry. The Al-Asim heir might not be a Fae but that doesn't mean seeing you wearing something he gifted you won't make him feel good, no, downright euphoric

It's almost like you favor him

And thank goodness for the plot armor of a “sunny side” character because you are only wearing them because that dead look in his eyes scares you whenever he sees you without something of his, him not even noticing that

Kalim has imagined a future with you, of course, he did, we are talking about a yandere setting after all and what would be a yandere setting without the classical trope of the Yandere having imagined their future with the unfortunate soul who is adored by them

He can see you two having a family, adopted or not does not matter, you living in his palace, you being always by his side, smiling...

Oh the outside world? Ha! No

There is no outside world. Only you two and if he has to shackle you to him then so be it!

[starvels]

starvels’ Smut Recs for @cap-ironman Steve/Tony Fic Rec Week 2024

For Smut Recs, enjoy these resplendent, juicy berries. May they burst rich upon thy tongue. Please remember to leave a hollering comment, add a busty, blushing kudos, or hit a reblog on a fic post in order to show your gleeful appreciation of such delicious goods.

Check out all of starvels’ Cap-IM 2024 Rec Lists [here].

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(touch me) at the seams by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Established Relationship, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), BDSM, Bondage, Impact Play, Smut, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Gags, Mild Angst, Painplay, Tony Stark's General Control Issues, Dom Steve Rogers, Sub Tony Stark, with a hint of switching, Solid B+ BDSM etiquette, Enthusiastic Consent, Mild Breathplay, Subspace Summary: Tony wants more out of his relationship with Steve and gets it. Notes: A bruise-beautiful exploration of BDSM realism and messy love in-between Steve and Tony, interwoven in the context of their superhero lives.

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down the rabbit hole by starvels

Tags: Iron Man Armor/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Plot What Plot, Implied Consent, Armor Kink, Sparring, Superpower Sex, Heavy BDSM, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Masochism, Dom/sub, Sub Steve Rogers, Dom Iron Man, Dom Tony Stark, Anal Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Ass to Mouth, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Leashes, Collars, Bondage, deep penetration, Large insertions, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Blood Kink, Spanking, Slapping, Nipple Torture, Humiliation, Technological Kink, Power Dynamics, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Open Relationships, Somnophilia (Referenced), Come as Lube Summary: Steve spends an entire afternoon at the mercy of the Iron Man armor. He gets exactly what he asks for, and then some. Notes: 25k of intense RACK Iron Man armor kink. You already know if this is your meal ticket. Punch it in, bud.

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Whole Lotta Love by lomku @oluka

Tags: Bodyswap, Sparring, Established Relationship, Porn with a little bit of Plot, BDSM, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Sub Tony Stark, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Tenderness, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Iron Man Vol. 6 (2020), Rough Sex, Topping from the Bottom Summary: Tony and Steve get hit by a spell that makes them switch bodies. They decide to make use of the opportunity to play out one of Steve's kinks. Notes: THIS! is! the body swapping power dynamics exploration you have been looking for. Beautiful hot steam, thoughtfully sculpted into a one interchangeable form.

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Wishing You'd Dreamt Me by Kiyaar @kiyaar

Tags: hickmanvengers, Mindwipe, PWP, Angst, Secrets, BDSM, Gags, Guilt, incursions, Bondage, Messy Power Dynamics, Established Relationship, Betrayal Summary: Steve keeps enforcing his own silence, keeps parcelling himself up to give to Tony, for Tony's enjoyment at Steve’s expense. Keeps writing blank emotional checks. Notes: Slide yourself riiiight into this mess and immerse yourself in Steve and Tony and the heaving guilt and sweltering heat between them like a happy lil gator going to swamp town.

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Deep In the Woods by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Sexual Fantasy, Oral Sex, Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Face-Fucking, Facials, Begging, Choking, Tony talks about Civil War but don't expect a conversation between two people meeting each other as equals lol, Not A Fix-It, Not A Happy Ending, Avengers: Prime (2010), Avengers Vol. 4 (2010) Summary: In the aftermath of an argument that ended with Steve yelling that Tony was off the Avengers, Tony comes to find out if Steve still means it. What can Steve say? There’s a war between them, one Tony erased from his memory. Tony’s still a traitor and a liar. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. And Steve needs to stop fantasizing about how he saw Tony violated in Jotunheim. Notes: Raise your glass to toast this Messy Possessive Visceral Consent-Fucky SteveTony Banger Of A Jam with me, altogether now.

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make the most of my own surrender by fuckofdaedalus @the-faultofdaedalus

Tags: Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Impact Play, Whipping, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Extremis, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Safety Goggles Summary: They both had a thing for it, both ways round, being marked up by eachother, but before now, it was mostly just fantasy, when it came to Steve. He healed too quickly for that, for any marks Tony put on him to last longer than an hour or two. After Extremis, Steve had thought I’d be the same for Tony, and had both mourned the lost of being able to mark him up and had felt privately relieved that they would be on more equal ground, now. And then Tony had revealed that he could actually control how fast he healed. And that had been. Well. That’d done a lot for Steve. That he could mark Tony up with a crop or a switch or just his bare hand, and that not only would he keep those marks, but that if he did, he was choosing to, actively, keep them. Because it also did it for him, and because he knew how much it did it for Steve. And then Tony had suggested that he could give other people Extremis. And that he could probably whip up a version that could control Steve’s healing. And. Well. Here they were. Notes: This fic shouts SWITCH RIGHTS loud and clear and we must all tune in to hear the gorgeous bill of those rights! Some transhumanism w your kink?? Yessir !

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give you everything by tinystark616 @tinystark616

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Bottom Steve Rogers, Top Tony Stark, Anal Fingering, Riding, Armor Kink Summary: Steve really likes how Tony looks in the Iron Man armor. Notes: Author says, "I may have been looking for an excuse to write Tony fingering Steve while wearing the gauntlet," and honestly we all have been looking for an excuse to READ this, as well.

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to pleat light by starvels

Tags: Established Relationship, Sparring, Semi-Public Sex, BDSM, Trans Tony Stark, Sub Tony Stark, Dom Steve Rogers, Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Fingering, Exhibitionism, Mirror Sex, Sex Positions, Self-Bondage, Slapping, genital slapping, Spanking, Biting, Painplay, Scent Kink, Spit As Lube, Come as Lube, Wet & Messy, Barebacking, Puppy Play, Breathplay, Choking, Blood Kink, Overstimulation, Objectification, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Bruises Summary: “Be sure, Tony. I won’t stop once I start,” Steve says. “Oh yeah?” Tony cranes his neck around to follow Steve. Blond hair is tickling Steve’s brow and his body is tensed up, muscles bulging against his shirt. Anticipation whets Tony’s tongue; his body as impatient as his mind for Steve, always for whatever Steve has planned for them. It mixes with the sumptuous shame of potentially being discovered out here in the gym. “That a promise, tough guy? Gonna give it to me so good that I won’t be able to get away? Won’t even want to —” like he ever does, “won’t think to tap out?” “Sure,” Steve says. Notes: Sparring turned into kinky horizontal athletic barebacking -- what's more of a classic than this? Tune in for the next episode of Tony's face meets the mat, here.

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Black or White? by goresmores

Tags: Cunnilingus, Frottage, Tiddy Suckin, First Time, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes Summary: Tony needs help getting ready for an event and sensual dress zipping leads to a whole lot more when Stevie comes to help. Notes: Everyone has a tit-spectacularly good time here for sure and so should you!

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For your eyes only by S_Horne @s-horne

Tags: Female Steve Rogers, Female Tony Stark, Period Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Genderswap, Blood, Period Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff Summary: Toni was laid back on the bed, hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her and already tangled in messy knots. Her legs were spread wide, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stared at Steph through half-lidded eyes. That would have been gorgeous in itself, but what was making Steph’s mouth water was the way that Toni’s pussy was positively shining. Toni was soaking already, juices slowly dripping out of her and pooling in a wet spot on the towel they’d laid out. Steph licked her lips and squeezed her thighs together when a bubble of blood slid out of Toni’s hole. Because that’s what the towel was for. That’s why Toni was laid out bare. Bright red blood was slipping out of Toni steadily, labia already coated with the thinner liquid that would have caught in her panties. Notes: IF we are truly to unravel the sticky, iridescent, blood-filled center of superheroes lives, we MUST also lean our lips into the blood in their sex lives. This is thus.

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Slick Moves by Loran_Arameri @loraneldin

Tags: Tony's armor goo, Pre-Slash, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Misuse of SHIELD supplies, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary: Steve has developed a fascination for the Iron Man Armor, especially for the flight-gel that covers Tony whenever he pilots the suit. In an attempt to satisfy his curiosity, he steals a bucket of it with no plans for what to do with it. After bringing it home, one thing leads to another. Notes: We should and in fact MUST support Steve's nasty fascination with all things regarding the Iron Man Armor, particularly Ultimates' IM's armor flight gel. It is categorically Essential and you are Legally Obligated.

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slow fire by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, Hopeful Ending, Slice of Life, Mentions of Cancer, very boring established relationship sex, cannot overstate the extent to which these people are lazy about fucking, Holidays, Feelings Realization Summary: Steve spends Christmas at Tony's. Notes: Set this in your gums and suck on it like a nice ginger snack, let it melt over your tongue so good.

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forecheck by starvels

Tags: Avengers Team, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sports, Rivals With Benefits, Queer Themes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Smoking, Flirting, Banter, Getting Together, Switching, Rough Sex, Biting, Oral Sex, Face-Fucking, Dirty Talk, Scent Kink, Bruises, Frottage, Anal Sex, Spit As Lube, Nipple Play, Nipple Piercings, Come Shot, Casual Sex, Trans Tony Stark, Power Dynamics, Partial Nudity, Deepthroating, Roughhousing Summary: On the first day of the All Star Games, Steve loses the shooting skill challenge, chain-smokes three cigarettes as a reward for doing a half-naked photoshoot, and sleeps with Natasha Stark. All in all, it’s not a bad start to the weekend. Notes: Muscular bodies dealing with the spectre of publicity, the serious slickness of sweat against sweat, and intricate, nasty power dynamics; it's not 3490 canon but it's not not 3490 canon.

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bear my soul and breathe by fuckofdaedalus @the-faultofdaedalus

Tags: Breathplay, Hand Jobs, Established Relationship, Kink Discovery, Under-negotiated Kink, Fluff and Smut Summary: practicing pins in the avengers gym gets a little rowdy. just some simple s/t breathplay. Notes: A juicy slice of domestic life that tastes really classically trope baked and deliciously endearment sweet.

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Something fell from the sky. by jayjayverse @jayjayverse

Tags: Fanart, Tentacles, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: When Tony is missing in action. Steve starts looking for him right away and when he finally finds him, it's nothing like he thought it would be. Notes: Steve, too, longs for those comic tentacles to finally have their way with Tony and we are so lucky to be able to see it in such detail here.

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Time, Space, Flesh by veryvincible @cassabi

Tags: Getting Together, lots and lots of banter, wistfulness, Bittersweet Ending, Happy Ending, It's BOTH it depends on how you look at it… but it's both, Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, Gentle Sex, handjobs, Steve Rogers is a Little Shit (affectionate), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers Summary: “I’ve got a hotel room,” Tony said. “And if we’re seen?” Tony’s response came quick, too confident. He’d given the same spiel many times before. “Oh, you know. Good friends. Had a bit to drink. Maybe we’re French— you know how it is. Besides, we’ve been here for how long, now? If anyone was going to notice you, you’d think they’d have done it by now.” Notes: Bullet Points of this Bullet Points fic: - compelling concept - affectionate articulation - great pacing and tone - a tart lil cherry of longing for the road to finish it off.

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Game Over by swtalmnd @amysnotdeadyet

Tags: 8-bit art, Digital Art, using my skills for evil Summary: I learned pixel art yesterday, and today I am using it for evil. Notes: Clue into this screen to see these adorable and fun pixels that will definitely makes you wonder what 616 in-universe fanart and erotic games would take the form of.

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[RBB Art] All Dolled Up and Nowhere To Be by isomer (isozyme) and phoenixmetaphor @isozyme @phoenixmetaphor

Tags: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crossdressing Summary: Tony cleans up nice. Notes: So many lovely pieces in this, with great details on the lingerie and expressions and makeup. Time to admire them all!

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stars glued to our thighs by starvels

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Tony Stark's Red Thong of Justice, Body Worship, Light Masochism, Nipple Play, Trans Character, Trans Steve Rogers, Trans Tony Stark, Domestic Fluff, Banter, Tony Stark's Workshop Summary: Steve’s been out of town for a few weeks, doing the superhero thing. To welcome Steve back home properly, Tony clears some space for Steve to slide right into. Notes: Blares those Trans4Trans Tit4Tit Tat4Tat and Wink4Wonk HonkHonks in this cozey, bantering established relationship piece.

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how he got here by Areiton @areiton

Tags: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Soft Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, POV Steve Rogers, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff Summary: Tony had said, “Do you know how pretty you look, when you’re stuffed full of my cock, Steven?” Notes: A sumptuous scene of Ults S/T lingering in each other, craving more and more from each other and actually allowing themselves to have it.

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Bruised Fruit Bleeds Sweeter by ghosthan @ghosthan

Tags: Civil War, Mildly Dubious Consent, Under-negotiated Kink, Light BDSM, Extremis, Avengers Disassembled, Canon Compliant, Civil War: Casualties of War, Implied/Referenced, Child Abuse, Not A Fix-It, Angst, Bittersweet Summary: Steve and Tony meet privately to talk. It would figure that Steve’s idea of compromise amounts to Steve giving nothing, and Tony losing everything. (Or, talking turns into fighting, and fighting turns into fucking.) Notes: Gritty and grimy under your nails, rucking up desire and regret and all the things that should have been, right in the remains of the things that were.

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fine as cream gravy by starvels

Tags: Marvel 1872, Established Relationship, Casual Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Original Male Character(s), Sexual Experimentation, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Cock Worship, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Open Relationships, Multiple Partners, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bisexual Steve Rogers, the complexity and simplicity of being gay in the marvel wild west, an illustrious cocksucker steve rogers agenda, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summary: Tony’s an old hat at sucking cock. Steve himself ain’t nowhere near as talented. But luckily, Tony seems to enjoy both giving Steve tips on how to suck proper, and bringing amenable fellers home to give Steve plenty of opportunities to practice honing his craft. Steve likes to think of it as a solid goshdarn win for everyone involved. Notes: A dirty little ditty about the depth and breadth of Steve Rogers' love for deepthroating and his continuing efforts to explore strange new cocks, which we obvs all support whole-throatedly.

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Laid Low [the Fall Backwards Remix] by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) @hollyandvice

Tags: Original Male Character(s), Gangbang, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Anal Sex, Spanking, Face-Sitting, Gags, Miscommunication, Getting Together Summary: Steve doesn't expect Tony's enthusiastic support when he offers up the idea. Not that he was expecting ridicule, but this is much more than he could have anticipated. Notes: An alt POV remix piece that lays out sensation and motivation neatly like spice shakers laid out in a tasty, tasty row. Gobble one smackerel after another.

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That’s all folks!

Thanks for reading and make sure to kudos and comments the fics you explore! Fandom is a circle and we are all passing it forward. 😜

[mswyrr]

"ready or not" - grace/daniel ship meta

It's a delightful Horror/dark comedy film about how rich people suck. Scary but not too scary (I am a 'fraidy cat about Horror movies) and just a romp really. It's paced well and has a great Final Girl and I'd recommend it.

But now I want to talk about my ship lol

SPOILERS TO FOLLOW

Hm, so, are they "in love" exactly? No. There's chemistry and ultimately they appreciate each other (as the only two people in that house "who [have] a soul" - Daniel is able to recognize and appreciate that Grace has one because he's still got one too, albeit tattered and buried deep). But the more important thing, for me, is the structural shift between the two brothers and how that strongly implies things would have turned out happier if Grace had fallen in love with Daniel.

Namely, Alex has a heel turn arc and Daniel has a face turn arc. And, the one who face turns acts on the promises the one who heel turns broke.

The film is a wedding night gone wrong, specifically a new spouse who proves untrue. Grace says her problem was "in-laws," but it's actually Alex breaking the vows he just made to her that comes closest to killing her. The in-laws themselves are not the most efficient threat ever. They're pretty bumbling. Alex keeps Grace in the dark and Alex turns on her, that is what brings her close to death. As well as a funny political satire, it's a satire of the tensions marriage brings into a family, over who your new spouse will be loyal to - you above all others, as they've promised, or the family that raised them, even if it's shitty.

Grace marries one man who promises to be good to her, care for and love and protect her. To be her family, when she is a foster kid who has no family. And then Alex proves false and the other brother, the "weak" one, poisons his family and puts himself between her and a bullet.

Daniel does what Alex promised to do.

Now, he largely thought he was doing this for Alex (not realizing Alex would have a heel turn), so it's not primarily about Grace - HOWEVER, Daniel independently recognizes and values Grace as a person as well as doing it for Alex. Loving his little brother and trying to protect him is how Daniel kept his soul; he's that kind of person at heart. And the structure lends itself to asking how well he and Grace would get along in other circumstances. If this is how he is when they barely know each other, what would he be like if he was the one who'd met and fallen in love with her? Or what if he survived?

The writing includes other elements that strength this as well: they both recognize each other. Early on, Daniel keeps saying "You don't belong in this family - I mean that as a compliment" and saying she "has a soul" so she'll never fit in. And Grace recognizes his soul too. She keeps reaching out to him and believed Daniel would help her before he knew it himself. ("I knew you'd help me." / "I didn't.")

A YouTube review was like talking about how Grace doesn't survive by her own wits because she trusts Alex and he turns on her, it's only "good luck" that saves her. That she has “plot armor.” And I was like wuuut lol Good luck is part of it, but not beyond belief - and Grace does keep herself alive with her grit and wits and then she reaches out to someone and that person poisons his family and takes a bullet for her.

Another point is that, despite it clearly not being a love match, Daniel warned his wife, Charity, about the family cult before their marriage and let her decide whether she wanted to take the risk. Alex hid the information from Grace because "If I told you, you would've left."

That's the key choice where Alex doesn't put Grace first. He puts what he wants (to keep her with him) first. And that foreshadows him putting what his family wants first. Subconsciously, Alex was always ready to betray Grace if she pulled the wrong card. He betrayed her by not warning her.

I think the final thing that makes it work for me is that Daniel and Alex were both children the last time someone pulled the Hide and Seek card. As much as the movie tries to make us not feel bad about the kids today, they're not to blame for the shitty way they've been raised, and Alex and Daniel weren’t to blame for what happened 30 years ago.They were kids.

It's *this* time that they're both adults and making decisions as full moral agents. It's this time that they both find out who they really are. And the decision Daniel makes is to put a stop to all the ritual murder bullshit.

It's also about the heroine's victory. What does Grace *want* from the very beginning of the story? A permanent family, people who will stick by her and love her.

In the canon movie ending, Grace survives, but she's still a foster kid with no family. Though she's legally filthy rich now, it's not the same. She doesn't actually get what she told us she wanted from the beginning of the movie. In fact, she loses the one person she was certain would be family to her, along with the hope her in-laws would be there for her. So there's that sadness to it, which makes the ship meaningful on her side. In this terrible circumstance, she found someone who has a good heart too and would prove true.

The story both provides us with a lack (Grace, the heroine, not getting her heart's desire) and someone who the story shows us could be that for her. Someone who has a soul, despite everything, and wants to do the right thing, to protect and love.

There's a reason why there's timeloop stories where Grace keeps playing the game until she can have a "complete victory" by saving Daniel and winning the family she wanted as well as getting away with her life and the money. The heroine's victory in the film itself is compromised.

The reason why there's a lovely bunch of gems of fanfic about Grace and Daniel on Ao3 is that the story itself provides that bitterness to the sweetness of Grace's survival, that she's still so alone, and a strong foundation for ways they could have been happier or worked out if they'd fallen in love instead of Grace and Alex or if Daniel had survived.

[ddwcaph-game]

New MC-centered Sidequests!

All the sidequests so far are about helping the other characters, but what about a sidequest tailored to your MC's goals, motivations, and character development?

Yup, I'll be adding new sidequests depending on your MC's birthday wish (enneagram type)! I always felt the Enneagram Traits weren't doing much, but I didn't wanna include Personality Bonuses since that might not necessarily fit your character.

Below are the quest objectives for each type, but keep in mind that the requirements might change if I think of something better, and the values will most likely be adjusted later:

Type 1 (Role Model: "I want to fight bad guys and make the world a better place!")

Finish Main Quest without spending more than 5,000 Narrativium Points

Defeat at least 3 enemy bosses

Acquire a combined 9,000 Discipline, Honest, and Altruist Personality Points

Acquire a combined 3,000 Warm and Silly Personality Points

Type 2 (Caregiver: "I want to help and support everyone I can!")

Complete 15 Sidequests from other people

Acquire a total of at least 200 Relationship Hearts from everyone

Acquire a combined 3,000 Independent and Headstrong Personality Points

Type 3 (Achiever: "I want to be rich, famous, successful, and to make my mother proud!")

Reach Level 13 before my 13th birthday

Complete 30 Quests and Achievements

Acquire 1,500 Altruist Personality Points

Type 4 (Individualist: "I want to be the chosen one—and make my own special, unique mark on the world!")

Finish Main Quest and spend at least 10,000 Narrativium Points

Reach 10 Relationship Hearts with a Bestfriend OR Reach 500% Chemistry with a Mutual Crush

Acquire a combined 3,000 Warm and Sensible Personality Points

Type 5 (Investigator: "I want to discover, learn, and understand everything in the world!")

Succeed in 100 Stat Checks

Acquire 100 Knowledge Codex Entries OR Reach 100 Base Knowledge Stat

Acquire a combined 3,000 Outgoing and Reliant Personality Points

Type 6 (Guardian: "I want to feel safe and secure with my loyal friends and supportive family!")

Finish Main Quest without triggering my Plot Armor

Reach at least 8 Relationship Hearts with everyone in F6E (including Brandon/Beatrice)

Acquire at least 50,000 EXP from Overcoming Phobias OR Fully Discover 50 Secrets

Acquire 1,500 Warm Personality Points

Type 7 (Adventurer: "I want to have fun and go on adventures around the world!")

Collect 50 Trinkets & Collectibles

Acquire at least 150,000 EXP from Food & Exploration OR Spend 7,500 Narrativium Points

Acquire a combined 3,000 Sensible and Disciplined Personality Points

Type 8 (Champion: "I want to prove I'm the strongest and be the ruler of my own kingdom!")

Finish Main Quest, and defeat at least 100 enemies OR succeed in 20 Intimidation Checks

Become the leader of F6E

Spend 5,000 Narrativium Points OR Acquire 3,000 Headstrong Personality Points

Reach 1,500 Disciplined Personality Points

Type 9 (Mediator: "I want to have a quiet and peaceful happily ever after!")

Finish Main Quest with at least 9 Relationship Hearts with Twin

Resolve all family conflicts within F6E

Reach Close Friends OR Mutual Crush Status with Brandon/Beatrice

Acquire 1,500 Headstrong Personality Points

***

I want most of them to be achievable without going out of your way too much, but they're designed to not be completed until Volume 6. I also specifically made the last requirement sort of opposite of what you might expect to signify some sort of "character development".

For example, a Type 2 MC always wants to help people, so they might need to take more time for themself, hence the Independent/Headstrong Personality requirement.

Let me know what you think! 😊

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack! ✨essential information✨

⭐️❄️⭐️

FIRST off, in honor of the book and its movie release, TBOSAS on Crack is solely (just) created as a JOKE!Alternative Universe that focuses more on the 24 OG Mentors of the 10th Hunger Games. This includes the funny/romantic misunderstandings of Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth that gave everyone the impression that they were actually “secretly” dating, and are indeed boyfriends (until they honestly were).

In addition, this Crack!AU will tell you the compelling story of how a bunch of delinquents “accidentally” stopped the Hunger Games from continuing, just because of a certain Mentor’s ✨nepotism✨.

MORE or less, most of the characters in the book are the same when it comes to their personalities and backstories. Well, except for our Mentors. They’re a bunch of crackhead Capitol kids with too much fun and stress on their hands. They even almost made Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul quit their respective jobs.

ALSO, these young walking disasters are not “all there” in the head. Heck! Half of them went crazy years ago because of the infamous 2 year Capitol Siege by the rebels that almost starved them all to death. Just ask Coryo Snow and Persephone. But as for the other half, let’s just say that all they want to do is eat, drink, party, and ✨graduate✨.

Here is a quick character info: [Read Me]

Here are their visuals: [Read Me]

Here’s the Hunger Games Origin: [Read Me]

Here’s their playlist: [Read Me]

Here are their ✨Code Names✨: [Read Me]

And here’s Dean Highbottom’s take: [Read Me]

Here’s that Epic The Musical Post: [Read Me]

Here’s the fate of District 13: [Read Me]

PS: For sanity’s sake, no Mentor or Tribute will be dying in this Crack!AU. No one gets killed! Bombs will still explode inside the Capitol Arena, but our crazy kids will wear the thickest plot armor EVER, just because I’m their only sponsor!🤣

Read the Cracks here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78,

The cracks are not in chronological order, but someday they will. . .

MOREOVER, this Crack!AU includes the following:

The accidental birth of ✨Snowjanus✨!😘

Also known as Corjanus, SnowPlinth, CabbageBread, The Grandma’am golden ticket to a rich life, and Strabo’s not so secret plan to rule all of Panem through his only son’s marriage to Crassus Snow’s boy.

Coryo Snow malfunctioning for the hundredth time because of how forward and shamelessly romantic Sejanus Plinth is.

“Fine! I’ll marry into money! I’m sick of eating cabbages anyway!”

“Stop throwing bread to the dead, Sejanus Plinth! Throw it to the living!”

The Mentors (intentionally) delaying the Hunger Games from officially starting because of their nonstop shenanigans with their Tributes (much to Dr. Gaul and her Gamemaker’s frustration).🤣

The Tributes slowly accepting (and sometimes rejecting) the fact that their Mentors are just a bunch of “dramatic nepotistic crazy clowns” who refuse to learn basic social cues.

The 10th Hunger Games being officially postponed (over and over again) because of Felix Ravinstill’s ✨nepotism✨ working overtime.😌💅

In truth, the Gamemakers were “forced” to stop the countdown (over and over again) because half of the Mentors illegally barged into the control room without Dr. Gaul’s permission. Afterwards, Felix just used the excuse of “My granduncle is the President of Panem, I can do whatever I want” card to postpone the games.

Lucy Gray ignoring the personal space of her fellow annoyed Tributes (and everyone she meets), just because she’s “Covey” and quirky.

The poor underpaid Capitol Peacekeepers wanting a salary increase, vacation, and promotion because they have been dealing with the Mentors’ extra curricular criminal activities for far too long.

All the Mentors (excluding Livia and Arachne) being genuine ✨Besties✨ to each other since their grade school days.

Livia Cardew only calls her classmates either witches or idiots.

Festus Creed being the real ✨Dumpster Diving Capitol Rat King✨ and the best free cheesecake coupon hoarder of the century.

“Dumpster Diving for free food coupons is a common school activity, officer!”

The Academy? More like ✨The Academy of Arts✨💅.

Everyone wanting to secretly major in ✨Theatre & Drama✨.

Crazy but rich AF Sejanus Plinth and his unhealthy obsession of being Coryo Snow’s beloved boyfriend, fiancé, sugar daddy, baby daddy, and future husband.

Ma Plinth slowly becoming the food benefactor of the Mentors. #feedmeMa

Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray being the best of friends who love to sh*t talk about their boyfriends every time they meet.

Seriously, Coryo and Lucy Gray are just friends here. Everyone knows that crazy Sejanus Plinth will strangle anyone who tries to flirt with his gorgeous Snow Bae sugar baby fiancé.

Lucy Gray genuinely liking the Mentors for their chaotic ✨dramatic✨ personalities.

Sejanus Plinth shamelessly calling his darling Coryo “Babe, My love, Snow Angel, Snow Bae, Snowy, Snow Baby, Sweetheart” in front of everyone and their dogs.

The Mentors randomly coming up to Lucy Gray and asking her to sing banned songs from the early 2000s.

Strabo Plinth’s unhealthy obsession with the Snow family. Apparently, he and the ever gorgeous Crassus Snow were very close “friends” and the best “roommates” back in their military days. They were busy “stargazing” and playing with their rifles all night if you know what I mean.😏

The Grandma’am and Strabo Plinth being the true evil geniuses of the Capitol.😈

Strabo Plinth insisting Coryo to marry into his family and change their surnames to ✨The Great Plinth-Snow Dynasty✨, just because it sounds more powerful.

Coryo Snow accidentally convincing his beloved sugar daddy boyfriend (Crazy Sejanus Plinth) to become the future ✨President of Panem✨ (after Felix).

Tigris and The Grandma’am selling Coryo’s hand in marriage to the Plinth family. They genuinely believe that old man Strabo Plinth will lower the food prices if Sejanus marries Coryo for the sake of Panem.

Tigris Snow finally quitting her job (she got fired for being a weird cheese addict) and happy dancing for a whole week when she heard that her sweet little Coryo will marry into the Plinth family fortune.

Tigris, the Grandma’am, and Ma Plinth planning the ultimate ✨Snowjanus Royal Wedding of The Century✨.

The Grandma’am and evil Strabo Plinth scheming together to rule Panem and its people through ✨The Great SnowPlinth Union✨.

Ma Plinth wanting at least 5 beautiful grandchildren out of The Great SnowPlinth Union, while Strabo and the Grandma’am demanded 2 dozen (and more). #24&More

Lysistrata Vickers being the founder and President of the Capitol’s SnowPlinth/Snowjanus Official Fan Club.

Lucy Gray supporting and promising Coryo Snow that she and her Covey will sing the best banned love songs at his wedding.

Reaper Ash being labeled as the “weird one” by his fellow crazy Tributes.

Treech and Vipsania Sickle being the best gym bros for some unknown reason.

Marcus trying (and failing) to ignore the annoying existence of Sejanus Plinth.

Lysistrata Vickers having dibs as Coryo’s official ✨Maid of Honor✨. Apparently, poor cheese addict Tigris Snow was tragically outvoted by the very influential and powerful SnowPlinth/Snowjanus Fan Club members out of jealousy.🥲

Festus Creed and Tigris Snow fighting for the position of ✨Best Man✨ through an epic ✨Dance-off Battle✨💃🕺.

Apollo Ring being forced to be Coryo’s ring bearer because of his surname. Honestly, Gaius Breen and Androcles Anderson just peer pressured him for fun.

Livia Cardew planning to crash Coryo’s wedding for the expensive wine.

The Mentors and Tributes avoiding the “Arena Bomb Explosion Incident” because of Palmyra Monty’s dangerous existence.

Androcles Anderson being a proud professional kleptomaniac.

Lucky Flickerman wanting to quit his job. Apparently, the self proclaimed magic man was extremely unprepared to face and deal with the Mentors’ collective stupidity.😭

The Gamemakers forgetting to edit out Sejanus Plinth’s little arena stunt.

“Marcus was just sleeping, Sejanus! He’s still alive, you idiot Plinth! We freaking postponed the games!”

“For the last time! Don’t kiss Coriolanus Xanthos Snow on LIVE TV! There are freaking kids and dogs watching!”

Coryo and Sejanus shamelessly kissing, hugging, and being dramatic AF inside the Capitol Arena, while poor Marcus and the others are left sitting on the stands annoyed and confused AF.

Dean Casca Highbottom intentionally calling poor Coryo “Crassus Xanthos Snow” out of spite and out of regret (and because he’s still madly and deeply in love with the ever gorgeous Crassus Snow).

Drunk Highbottom living and swimming in denial since the infamous ✨#Crasca4Ever! University Breakup✨.😔

Coryo Snow successfully convincing a drunk Highbottom not to expel him by pretending to be Crassus Snow. He later regrets doing it.

Drunk!Casca not being able to correctly pronounce half all of his students’ names.

Festus Creed and Androcles Anderson receiving a lot of demerits and expulsion letters from the Dean. However, they still go to school and join their class discussions like nothing happened.

Casca Highbottom banning the Mentors from attending ✨The Academy’s Annual Students Teachers Meeting✨ (forever) because of the infamous Heavensbee Hall Flooding Incident.

Coryo Snow secretly trading his cabbages for banned music albums at the Capitol Black Market.

The banned song “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” accidentally playing on repeat inside the Capitol Arena because Felix Ravinstill forgot to detach his phone from Dr. Gaul’s master speaker.

“Snow On The Beach” stealing the top spot on the Capitol Billboard Hot 100 because of Coryo Snow and Lucy Gray’s final performance inside the Capitol Arena.

The Mentors trolling Lucky Flickerman and Lepidus Malmsey for the hundredth time.

Hilarius Heavensbee secretly collects movie records from the early 2000s. His favorite banned film is ✨Legally Blonde✨.

Io Jasper and Urban Canville being a bunch of shameless nerds who can’t properly communicate with each other.

Professor Sickle trying to convince Drunk!Casca Highbottom to give her a raise and promotion for tolerating the Mentors’ shenanigans and stupidity.

Crazy Palmyra Monty forever mentally and emotionally scarring her classmates (especially Florus Friend) with her homemade poisonous snacks.

Florus Friend fearing and avoiding Palmyra Monty’s accursed deadly bread rolls and expired sandwiches.

Felix Ravinstill being a genuine good friend and great Class President to everyone.

Dennis Fling asking poor sensitive Felix to beg for some illegal ✨Miracle Pills✨ from Lysistrata to cure Hy and Dill’s respiratory related illnesses.

Everyone knows that Persephone Price willingly ate that infamous “Maid Stew” that her father made for them to survive.

Festus Creed’s ✨PerseFest✨ agenda.

Dairy Heiress Domitia Whimsiwick fawning over Tanner’s skills and biceps.

Coral perfecting her somersault to impress the Capitol crowd and her idiot Mentor.

The Mentors pretending to be stupid whenever they attend Dr. Gaul’s class.

Dr. Gaul giving up on grooming poor Coryo Snow to become her successor because she realized that his brain doesn’t work properly whenever he’s with Sejanus.

Poor homeless Hilarius Heavensbee getting disowned and kicked out of the ✨Queen Bee Mansion✨ by his evil weirdo parents for being a loser nuisance towards his smarter and perfect younger brother.

Livia and Arachne convincing themselves that Casca Highbottom is actually Coryo Snow’s true sugar daddy.

Meanwhile, Florus Friend thinks Strabo Plinth is the real sugar daddy of poor Coryo Snow and homeless Hilarius Heavensbee.

Dr. Gaul openly wanting to strangle the Mentors for acting being stupid.

Urban Canville’s secret mission to strangle Lucky Flickerman and his annoying bird.

Felix Ravinstill being the favorite darling grandnephew son of President Gran Gran.

Festus winning the position of ✨Class Representative✨. Apparently, Creed only won because Sejanus “accidentally” locked Urban Canville inside a bathroom stall.

Persephone Price and Mizzen being the best pizza partners in crime. Somebody, these two idiots will rule all of Panem with their ruthless ✨Pizza Palace Empire✨.

Drunk!Coryo genuinely believes that Felix Ravinstill is the current President of Panem.

Drunk!Sejanus, Drunk!Coryo, Drunk!Festus, and Drunk!Lysistrata acting like shameless fools in front of their Tributes. The poor and underpaid Peacekeepers were not amused.

Festus Creed and Sejanus Plinth stripping on broad daylight because of the summer heat.

Reaper Ash praying for some normalcy and mental peace every day.

Jessup and Sheaf talking and singing with the Capitol’s “sacred” rabid raccoons and wild squirrels in order to stay sane.

Mizzen being a terrible little gremlin.

The Mentors trying to recreate The Hunger Games until ✨Panemvision✨ was born.

Livia’s own version of The Hungers Games is basically ✨Love Island✨ on crack and steroids.

Because of the awful “Love Island” idea, the rest of the Mentors had to write a serious 20 page essay on why the Hunger Games should be recreated/revamped into a true reality TV show with a “no killing, no gore, no cannibalism” policy.

The Mentors trying to convince the School Board Members, the Government Officials, and crazy President Ravinstill to change the 10th Hunger Games into a non-deadly talent show to increase viewership and sponsors.

Moreover, Coryo strongly defended the proposal by having Lucy Gray successfully sing in front of a live audience (again) on TV. Billy Taupe was the only one who got offended (again).

Meanwhile, the rest of the Mentors also convinced their Tributes to show off their talents that same day. That was Reaper’s 2nd worst day of the week.😂

Dean Highbottom only supported the proposal because it reminded him of his wild karaoke clubbing days with his drop dead gorgeous lover. You know who it was.😏 #Crasca4Ever #crassusmylove #SnowBottom

Clemensia Dovecote also backs their weird essays by simply stating that killing children will only make the Districts hate the Capitol more. However, if they provide “real entertainment” without the violence, then the Districts might warm up to them.

In addition, Sejanus proposed that the winner of the contest will be made a ✨STAR of PANEM✨! 🤩

And as the ✨Star of Panem✨, he/she will be given monetary support and a lifetime supply of cabbages and lima beans by the Capitol.

Meanwhile, the losers will only get 10 boxes of pizza, 2 gallons of orange soda, one body bag of sandwiches (made by Ma Plinth) as a reward for “willingly” participating.

Juno Phipps then added a “rule” stating that no Tribute shall be punished (or killed) because the losers must live and remember their humiliation on television for the rest of their lives.😈

Coryo and Clemmie also proposed that each Tribute must have a Prep Team and Stylist to make them presentable for Lucky Flickerman’s Late Night Show with Jubilee.

Finally, Felix Ravinstill and Dennis Fling closed their arguments by stating: “That being forced to sing and perform ON STAGE and on LIVE TV, which could be replayed over and over again, even after death, especially for Tributes who couldn’t save their own pride and dignity for all of Panem to remember, is the worst punishment one could freely give to one’s enemy. They won’t even be allowed to forget how they had wronged you.”

After hearing the Mentors’ closing argument, Dr. Gaul was ready to end it all and commit bloody murder in front of everyone.😡🔪

But after some deliberation, President Ravinstill (and his puppies) approved the Mentors’ proposal and changed the Hungers Games into the ✨HGASC✨ (Hunger Games: Annual Singing Contest).

However, the Grandma’am and Strabo Plinth insisted that they should just officially call it ✨PANEMVISION✨.

Meanwhile, Dr. Gaul tried to persuade President Ravinstill (again) to reconsider the Mentors’ stupid proposals.

However, she was outvoted by both the School Board Committee and the Capitol’s highest ranking government officials, just because everyone (but her) wanted to see what “true entertainment” really looks like on screen.

Livia Cardew even defended everyone’s ideas nonstop because, according to her, there was a lack of spicy entertainment in the Capitol. Damn the rules! This is the Capitol! We want ✨Love Island✨ type of dramas! Where are the ✨Real Housewives of Corso✨?! F*ck the Hunger Games! Give us the 90 Day Fiancé from the Districts!

And that’s how the Mentors “accidentally” ended the Hunger Games and gave birth to the most popular and craziest reality TV show in the weird history of Panem.

As for every Quarter Quell, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a true ✨SHOW STOPPER✨!

The first ✨HGASC/PANEMVISION✨ Quarter Quell will have the Mentors reap kids from both Capitol and District. Afterwards, one District Tribute will be paired with one Capitol Tribute to perform a special duet act (whether they like it or not).

[the-mandawhor1an]

Returning to you || Din Djarin x 2 f!OC

Synopsis: As much as Din hates leaving for a hunt, his return is something he always looks forward to. 

Words: 2.3k 

THIS IS ACTUAL, EXPLICIT SMUT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

Tags: explicit language; MFF; A lil girl on girl touching and kissing; unprotected PiV; fingering; pet names; lots of love; yeah uhhh… that’s it? 

A/N: another fic caused by discord. I have no other explanation. Shameless self insert is shameless. Also – there might also be a plot for a second part 👀 Sooo enjoy part 1 of the Djarem (Djarin harem)

Lil guide for the pet names: 

Cyare: Love/beloved 

Cyar’ika: Diminutive of cyare – no literal translation exists in English I fear, but Favorite comes close

Kar’ta: Heart

It had been way too long away from home. He was exhausted, yearned for some sleep in a proper bed, and preferably some company by his side. Din returned to his temporary residence with heavy steps, towards a motel on the outskirts of a city on Naboo. It was the dead of night, the buildings of cream colored stone only dimly lit by sparsely scattered lanterns, two weeks after he left to hunt a quarry. With the successful capture he could now afford a few weeks of downtime, not having to worry about how to afford food and shelter. While he didn’t need much to get by, he still had to make sure he had some credits in his pockets. He didn’t have to only care for himself, after all. 

He opened the door, hoping the hiss of the metal sliding open wouldn’t wake anyone. His steps were as soft as he could manage them to be, but the thumping of his boots still caused a little commotion in his bedroom. A short woman with long, dark auburn hair emerged from the adjacent room, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. The light was a little to bright for her eyes, but his return had woken her up. »I’m sorry, Cyar’ika,« he whispered softly as he registered her. His helmet was off as soon as the door had shut, allowing him to at least show his face to his wife. A little rule he had not known about before. 

She walked over to him, slender fingers effortlessly beginning to remove his armor, while his hands brushed over her body, now realizing she wore one of his shirts. »You really missed me, huh?« His eyes were soft and warm when she finally looked up to him. There they were, eyes as blue as the ocean on this planet, deep and full of love for him. They kissed tenderly, him holding onto her softly while there was still Beskar on his body. 

Returning from a hunt always ended like this. Din was worked up and still kind of tense, until he felt that tension go with every bit of armor that was removed from his body. His heart rate slowed with every kiss, especially when he felt fingernails grazing over his scalp and his hair getting pulled carefully. Soft growls roared in his chest and he pulled her close, chest crashing into his armor. The little whine she let out upon impact drove him wild. 

A second voice was audible from the other room, first a whisper, a question into the darkness no one could understand through the door gap, then a sigh as if someone stretched and yawned. Cyar’ika retreated and removed more armor, ending with the zipper on his vest to take it off as well. Din couldn’t deny that he enjoyed being undressed, it was like a slow transition from Mando to Din. From the deadly bounty hunter to the loving husband. 

Finally, the second woman, equally as pretty as the first but a little taller, appeared in the doorway. She smiled at him and he smiled back. »You’re finally back,« she said in delight, her voice still a little rough as she had slept up until a minute ago. Her hair, a rich cherry red with some black framing her face, hung loosely over yet another shirt of his. »Whose idea was it to wear my shirts in my absence?« he asked, looking at his cyar’ika first, then back to his other wife as she came closer to open the zipper on his jacket, her hand sliding underneath it before she finally pulled it off of him. »Kar’ta’s,« the shorter of the two answered, nestling into his side just like the other did, both engulfing him in a hug. 

A sigh of relief escaped him, closing his eyes for a second. Worry was his companion for every hunt, as it meant he had to leave them behind. They knew how to protect themselves, but still, he was with them whenever he could. They kept insisting it was fine, but the way they greeted him every time he came back made it clear that they missed him a lot. He missed them too, every second he couldn’t be with them. 

Kar’ta rested one of her arms in Cyar’ika’s waist, halfway cuddling into her as well. »What else were we supposed to do? We’ve missed you and they smell like you. It makes it a little less lonely,« Kar’ta explained and rested her forehead against his cheekbone. Cyar’ika mimicked the motion on the other side, her forehead resting against his jaw rather than his cheekbone. 

Din pulled both of them closer to his chest. »I’ve missed you too. The hunt was successful and I promise I’ll stay with you for a little longer this time and make it up to you.« His head turned to kiss both foreheads that were so accessible to him right now. He inhaled their scents, entangled in their hair. Even if they wore his shirts, their sweet scents lingered in the soft locks. »Let’s go to bed,« he purred, waiting to be free to get rid of his pants. Both women went back into the bedroom as he had ordered, holding hands. He followed them with almost no distance. The bed was bordering on being too small for three adults, but they made it work. If they had to have one sleeping on top of the others, so be it. None of them minded. Besides, nights on Naboo could be a bit cold, a warm body on top of one’s own was welcome.  

Din sat down on the soft mattress, the material giving in due to his weight and reminding him that his back hurt from the many uncomfortable nights he had spent inside the armor. His shirt landed somewhere in a dark corner with little regard. It didn’t take long for the wives to follow suit, kneeling beside him on either side. Four soft hands glided over his skin, as if they wanted to make sure he had not collected yet another new scar. »Did anything happen while I was gone?« he asked, eyes closed and taking every little sensation in. »Nothing out of the ordinary, my love,« Kar’ta replied as Cyar’ika gently pushed him backwards. He let his body fall into the still warm bed and sighed. His eyes opened just the smallest amount, to see the two beauties kneeling beside him, one hand of each on his thigh. 

They exchanged a look, Kar’ta nodded and the smaller of the two climbed on top of him, sitting down on his lap. »Are you tired, cyare?« She asked as her fingers dragged over his chest, her nails leaving subtle red streaks on his heated skin. His hands rested on her hips as she rolled her sex against his, a groan escaping his lips. »Not if you’re asking me like that.« His eyes darted over to his other wife, who had started stroking his thigh. »’s that okay with you?« She nodded, »of course, cyare.« She gently squeezed his thigh. 

»I’ll find something to entertain myself, mh?« Kar’ta teased and sat down on his thighs, right behind Cyar’ika. Her hands glided over the shirt the other wore, tracing her curves hidden underneath the loose fitting top. Din’s eyes followed every movement of Kar’ta’s hands, as Cyar’ika had her eyes closed and grinded into him once more. The women were head to head, the taller one kissing the other’s cheek as she palmed her breasts through the fabric. »Hear this, Cyar’ika? I think he likes when I touch you,« Kar’ta purred into her lover’s ear, maintaining eye contact with Din. Her hands trailed down to grip the shirt’s hem, pulling it up and over Cyar’ikas head, the dark red hair falling back over her shoulders in soft waves. Her skin was warm and soft, softer than Din’s and a lot lighter. His hands wandered upwards, along her waist, until he had her breasts in his hands. The hands belonging to his other lover glided downwards, one set of fingers sliding into her panties. Cyar’ika turned her head to the other woman and they exchanged a kiss, softly moaning against the other’s lips. They were putting quite the show on for their husband, who was craving them already.  

»Kar’ta,« Din whined and held onto the wrist that was just above the hem of Cyar’ika’s panties. The dark green eyes darted over to him and she removed herself from the set of soft lips she had been stuck to. Suddenly, his gaze softened. It reminded her a little of a puppy who desperately needed attention. »You haven’t kissed me yet,« he said with a sheepish smile. »So needy,« Cyar’ika commented with a sly grin when Kar’ta got up from Din’s thighs, took her shirt and panties off and went to lie down next to him. She placed one hand on his chest and gave him a kiss, which he returned a little more hungry, hand firm on her neck to pull her closer. She nibbled on his lip, delighted to feel the vibration of the hum in his chest.

They disconnected their lips, stayed close enough to feel the other taking a breath. Smiles crept onto their lips. »We’ve missed you so much, love,« she purred against his lower lip, placing another kiss on it until she focused on the rest of his face. She peppered kisses all over his face, giving the other redhead the perfect distraction to take her underwear off. When he felt the weight lift off of his crotch, he lifted his hips just enough so his shorts could be removed as well. 

»Fuck,« he cursed under his breath when he felt a hand on his hard-on, drawing circles around Cyar’ika’s entrance to cover him with her slick. Kar’ta gently bit along his jaw and neck. His eyes darted down to his crotch, wanting to watch when he sank into her, but a hand pulled his face away, a firm grip on his jaw. »Nuh-uh, eyes are staying on me if I’m not the one getting your cock.« His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned when Cyar’ika sat down on him, taking him in his entirety in one thrust. 

Kar’ta silenced him with another demanding kiss, pulling one of his hands towards her. No further instructions were needed, his hand worked its way towards her cunt. Din parted his lips and let his wife take the lead, tongues desperate to taste the other, drowning out the moans that rumbled deep in his chest. His fingers ran along her folds, brushing over her clit every now and then only to have her hips buck his way in a desperate attempt to feel him inside of her. When he finally slid two fingers into her, she cursed in between kisses and had to finally let go of his lips. 

Din’s fingers pumped in and out of her, face buried in the side of her head while she needed to catch her breath. His moans ended up in her hair, drowning in an ocean of red. »Fuck – you make me feel so good, I can barely concentrate,« he groaned, overwhelmed by the sensation of getting fucked while trying to do right by his other wife. When his thumb joined in to circle her clit, all was over for Kar’ta and she came with a near-obscene amount of curses and whines. 

Cyar’ika’s soft moans became louder and louder simultaneously to Kar’ta’s orgasm and Din, despite all of his efforts to entertain both women at the same time, had to let go off Kar’ta for a moment. Both of his hands grabbed Cyar’ikas hips as he started pounding into her. She practically collapsed into his chest, surprised by the sudden change of pace. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and turned into a moaning mess, incoherent but willingly receiving what Din had to give her. Gentle praises fell from his lips, head turned so far back it was affecting the sound of his voice.  

Forgotten was the other woman for the moment when he felt Cyar’ika’s walls spasm around him, working him towards climax. His thrusts became sloppy, his growls were accompanied by whimpers whenever he felt another twitch around him. After Cyar’ika was slowly getting off of her high, Din finally peaked and painted her insides with his spend, grunting while trying to push himself even further inside of her.

It fell silent in the small bedroom, only three separate sets of gasping for air audible.

With everyone satisfied, Din pulled Kar’ta to his side, leaving it to Cyar’ika if she wanted to stay on top of him or nestle into the other side of him. »I love you,« the one on his chest whispered, barely able to gain control over her voice. All of them were out of breath, but very happy; at least that’s what he hoped, as this time fell a lot shorter than usual. »I love you too,« Din replied, gently petting her head. He turned to face the other, placing a kiss onto her forehead »and you too.« The women both extended an arm, hands finding each other in the darkness to intertwine their fingers. »What an odd couple we are,« the taller woman stated with a chuckle, nuzzling her face into Din’s. »I know,« Din sighed. Exhaustion overtook him with a force he was no match for, pulling him into a warm embrace for him to fall asleep. »But I wouldn’t change a thing about it. You two are the best thing that has ever happened to me.«  

If you liked this, check out my other solo works 💜💜

[stxrrynxghts]

Ok so

It's me, Hi, I am the problem, it's me.

Why did I just say this? Because the topic of my rant MIGHT just get bombarded with hate comments (tho ik my followers aren't like that, but y'all are surely not my only audience).

So basically I am going to rant on the most underrated MB character, Karna.

No shit, sherlock.

See, I admire Karna for some qualities of his, like the fact he has such a dazzling armor which def gives him an unfair advantage over other ppl, his warrior skills, and his loyalty for his bestie, Dury majority of the time.

Now, Karna is not as much of a run over puppy as ppl make him to be. His foster father is the leader of the Sutas of Hastinapur, plus a direct descendant of Yadu, there is nowhere this guy is poor or something.

Now, Sutas are a set of people who are born from a Kshatriya father and Brahmin mother. Yadu was a Suta. Kichaka was a Suta. Bharat was a Suta as well, and these are all powerful/respected/famed people that I listed.

If the Pandavas (or Kshatriyas in general) hated the sutas so much, they wouldn't marry Abhimanyu to a girl who has Suta blood. And hello, the Pandavas themselves are descended from TWO Sutas.

The sutas are mostly bards by profession, but many of them are also charioteers. FYI, charioteers are allowed to learn warfare. Karna learnt FROM Drona, but he left, yes. WHY?

Because Drona wasn't giving him the brahmastra. Why, you ask, when He had no issues giving it to Arjun. Dudes and girls, Drona gave Arjun a hell of a time, because he just wanted to teach special stuff to his son, but Arjun was a step ahead, and would always end up completing whatever task he was given. THAT credit lies with Arjun, not Drona. Not to mention, Arjun was also an obedient student, one who repeatedly risked his life to save his teacher, and Drona gave him special weapons as a reward.

Now back to Karna. He is born in a relatively rich family, and has loving foster parents. He gets to learn from DRONA, but leaves when Drona doesn't agree to his conditions, and ends up lying to Parshuram so that he can get special weapons.

In the rangbhoomi event, Karna participates illegally. It was an event planned for the Kuru princes to flaunt their skills, not DRONA'S disciples. Drona had other students too, but they aren't here. This is a Kuru prince-only event, and Karna still enters, and he challenges Arjun, who is 10+ years younger than he is.

Now the point where Karna's family background is being asked. Arjun is a fucking prince, and princes don't start dueling with any random guy, do they? No they do not.

Duryodhan crowns Karna as the King of Anga, and Karna doesn't even prove his merit whatsoever. Good warrior=/=good king. Not every man is like Ram.

Karna spends his time plotting, mostly. See, I dislike this dude a lot, even if I admire his warrior abilities. He is also very sexist, calling Draupadi, someone who he shouldn't be having issues with, a harlot. GR8 going Karna. Does he know that his heavenly step bros, the Ashwini Kumaras, are married to the same woman?

Sorry, I am more of a monogamy supporter, but slandering a woman practicing polyandry, because of a boon she got from Shiva ji, especially in a world where polygamy is quite common.

Now, Karna ain't that big of a loyal friend either. When Duryodhana and his brothers go to the forest the Pandavas are living in, to have a fucking picnic to spite them, and get attacked by the Gandharvas, Karna runs away....

wow.

Ahem. I am just picking up the main issues overall. Karna's armor gives him a pretty unfair advantage over everyone else. Unlike Arjun, he does not meditate to gain weapons.

Please do not say that Karna is a better warrior than Arjun. Arjun has defeated countless Danavas when he went to help Indra during his exile. He has defeated the devas during the Khandavaprastha event, and fuck, he stood his ground against SHIVA of all gods. yep, he couldn't defeat him, because that is impossible. No one can defeat Shiva, but Arjun managed to please him. Karna has no achievements of this sort as per my knowledge, correct me if I am wrong.

Karna gives his armor to Indra. Unfair, and tragic. But it isn't that much tragic in real. Karna basically says that a) he shouldn't feel any pain when he cuts off his armor and b) he wants a special weapon in exchange. It is basically a TRADE not a sacrifice, tho I do feel it is kind of unfair on Indra's part to demand the armor.

Now, flashforward, the war. Karna enters on day 11, and I can vaguely recall reading how Abhimanyu handed his ass over to him on day 12. Yes, Star Plus, I am very, very disappointed with what you have done.

Now, day 13.

...

I feel I have ranted on this a bit too much in the past. Basically, Karna runs away when Abhimanyu is on his spree, and then asks Drona how to kill him. He cuts off Abhimanyu's bow from behind, is part of his brutal killing, and enjoys his death, dancing around his corpse.

....This is after he KNOWS that this boy is his NEPHEW. He doesn't wish to accept the Pandavas as his brothers, okay. But enjoying, relishing the cruel murder of a boy who you know very well is your nephew?

Some Karna fans do say that "hey, they didn't have a choice, Abhimanyu would have finished off their entire army!". No. They did have a choice. And they chose to break all the war rules and regulations.

See, I am not being biased here, but Abhimanyu's death is the winner of the top most brutal and undeserved deaths in Hindu lore, correct me if I am wrong.

Karna kills Ghatotkacha, again, his nephew. Tho it is still a one-one fight, so I ....don't hold it against him.

Now, on day 17, when his wheel gets stuck, Karna is like "hey you cannot kill me, that is against DHARMA" right after he just tried to invoke the Brahmastra because he couldn't bear losing against Arjun even if the world ends up being destroyed because of it, and shot a special arrow with Takshak's son on top of it.

Arjun, like the lil meow meow he is, is having an existential crisis for the n-th time. Krishna probably wants Karna to die this way as Arjun-Karna's duel might take up a lot of time to come to a conclusion, and the Pandava army is on the edge of extinction, so the unfair way is the way to go-

Krishna, being the mastermind, reminds Arjun about Karna's crimes, and well, Arjun kills Karna, after being riled up.

So, we all know Arjun killed Karna's son, aka his nephew. It was a one-one duel, so it is fair? And Vrishasena was not unarmed. See, as much as I hate Uttar and Iravan's deaths, they are still SOMEWHAT fair, so...we gotta accept that.

Now, Yudhishthira is very teary over Karna once he finds out he is his big bro. Really Yudi? REALLY?