#so true bert

[microwavepopcorn]

[terracyte]

music is fire af...lowkey

[3416]

also kyper going so hardcore about 1634 today saved me..... "34 wants 16. he doesnt want 88, he doesn't want anybody else. he wants him." he said it with SO much conviction, it's killing me. like that's how me and the oomfs speak bro, welcome to the club. also the use of their numbers to make it less personal like these guys dont wear their numbers like a LIFELINEEEE......

[sesamestsaxophone]

Me when I watch elmo in grouchland and draw while giggling and kicking my feet

[teufelme]

You ever just want to talk about Bertl,

[leadersguilt]

he appears, as he's always been, reticent, the stillness at the bottom of the well, a sinking shadow encompassing movement and a slanted backbone; proclaimers gaze reaches his own despite the cowardice and fodder ( i guess you're right, he can tell there is a story behind that, one beyond a boy with a tight smile and even tighter hands, the apparent antithesis to his conviction. ), devilish smile merely widening upon his visage as his elbow nudges it's way by his side, closing the distance in turn. ' sorry for being so troublesome ' he murmurs, and it takes jean a moment to swallow his laughter in turn; if this is a problem, then how many times has he disrespected those he has never sought forgiveness from?

“      can't say i'm a fan of the competition, of course ...     ” there's a curiosity still inked into his tone, and if asked to place the reason in which caused it ... well, even he remains slightly uncertain.   “      but having the top ten means nine other punks have gotta get through. you know what i'm talking about, right?     ” faceless voices, jutted and seamless / voiceless names, distorted and infrequent; the countless dreams of those who end up clattered or broken, deserting or fleeing into the agriculture without a second to none thought. the reflection of what is to come -----   “      speed is a pretty good quality to have against this lot. learnt it from experience, or just the best you know?     ” half question / half analysis; he's still observant towards them all.

@teufelme, continued from here.

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

watched the second episode of Frerard the true story

can I say something

[theepitomeofamess]

this season is truly giving us the characters of all time & the players at their best. like:

intelligence-based emily character?? already deadly. she was once the spitfire of the crew but now she's haunted, hollow, vengeful? she might be a revenant bc you can't convince me marya wouldn't live & die by "captain goes down with the ship"? she crashes into a wasp just so she can personally shoot their engine out? she has a pet rat with a mech suit that's more than ready to beat the shit out of intruders? she runs a toy shop with her aunt zuzu? inspired.

nepo baby child of true libertarians beardsley character? & a rogue at that? already getting flashbacks to liam wilhelmina. on top of that she's a trans fangirl that her grandma knew would need to be protected at all costs? you can tell she's imagining herself on an adventure with monty when she's lassoing the pheasants, that "easy girl" is a direct quote. they're at the height of their power.

lou pulling out a ranger, i think the first wisdom-based character of his since kingston brown. he's a bestselling author, he's an environmental advocate, his voice is quiet (very close to lou's eursulon voice imo), he hangs off the side of a ship to riddle the deck with bullets, he's silent when he marks his quarry and kills without hesitation. he pulled his tooth out to give it to a boar. my god he's perfect.

siobhan "i don't think i have any beefy characters" thompson rolling up with a fighter, born into & bred for sailing, fighting, and giving orders. she's never heard of sunscreen, she's the crew's hardass mom, she'll go down before she lets anyone touch marya, she greets adrenaline & blood with the same fondness as her cinnamon roll of a husband. she will protect her family at all costs. immaculate.

zac. fucking. oyama. the old southern man of all time. he's wanted, by the law and by many others. he's divorced. he lived with a pack of coyotes to cope with the heartbreak. he swore to protect your family where you couldn't. he's a gunslinger. his best friend is a labrador that's been called "ghost dog" since he was a puppy 38 years ago. his guns are called "biscuits" & "gravy". you can see some of his greatest hits coming together to form a new fan favorite. brennan WILL fuck that old man before the season ends.

don't even get me started on whatever the fuck Maxwell Gotch has going on. murph, who just wants to be a good good boy and punch bad guys, once again putting himself on the front lines. he's out & proud at college but closeted at home, he loves his grandfather, he's reclaiming "rowdy", he only removes his gloves by biting them. he wakes up every day at 5am to do a thousand squats. he gets bloodlust so potent he damn near kills himself in the process of killing three other dudes, and vomits when he comes down from the high & realizes what just happened. he made dawderdale orgasm just by talking to her. murph's dice have been waiting for this moment. he's pompous, he's violent, we all know he's queer, & he's already my favorite of the season so far.

plus, the npc's? adding wealwell to the long tradition of needing a gilear or alphonse the mule? and you can't convince me that bert isn't going to be the obscenely magic old man this season he's gonna pull a sawed off shotgun out of his aioli or something he's the plug strut of the season i'm calling it.

this season is already so immaculate i am losing my mind

[microwavepopcorn]

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Bert, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Bert. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[bromantically]

had a dream where me and some friends were all larping as muppets for shits and giggles, and everyone else had recognizable muppets like kermit or bert, but then i had some muppet named Em who was kind of a chill stoner rocker type. i was like "aw man everyone alreay has a muppet who am i supposed to be :(" and they were all like "ur obviously Em" "yeah definitely Em" as if he was just a normal existing character so i was like "Waiiit So True Im Literally Em..." anyways heres em

(ID in alt)

[dancingaliensfics]

loser remmick idea: he appears on reader’s doorstep sizzling like a fajita asking to come inside kind of like what he did with joan and bert, fully intending to suck her blood and do vampire stuff once inside. but reader thinks he has sun poisoning or something and is hell bent on nursing him back to health and doesn’t even noticing him acting like a weirdo ready to pounce. and remmick being a lewser desperate for human connection just plays into the helpless sick/injured think like those dogs pretending to be hurt so their owners will pet them. and then once the sun goes down he’s probs like “yeah im turning you into a vampire lmao”

See I'm actually so fascinated by this that I've started writing an entire fic about it. Which is why the response is short, I have so many thoughts i had to just start writing a whole fic haha.

Anyway here's a little bit I've got so far:

The man kneeling before you is no threat. He's quite pathetic really. Burning and weeping. Its been a long time since youve seen wounds like this. The smell of burning flesh fills your nose and you stop yourself from gagging. God, what happened to him to get him in this state.

"Please, please help me," he cries, head bent forward, hands folded in front of him.

"They got me, dont let them hurt me, please."

"People did this to you? Who?" You're disgusted, you're no stranger to violence, not here, not as a black woman, but it still cuts you deep. Your heart aches and you feel sick.

The eye that isn't swollen gives you a quick glance. It's so fast you doubt if it happened.

"The klan, I was travelling with some other folk, a few black and some Irish. They stopped us, said we were carrying stolen goods, but I swear it's not true. I'm a good man i promise you please." You're don't notice his accent change really, it happens so fast.

"Jesus christ, no ones safe from them are they." You kneeling down and reach out to touch him, then stop for a moment. You look around you at the grass that stretches on to the trees. You see nothing.

"You're don't think they come after you do you?"

"No ma'am, they won't follow me. I ran a long time before I got here."

You finish reaching down and gently rest your hands on his upper arms. He flinches with a hiss.

"Cmon now, we best get you inside."

He leans into you as you rise together and pull him inside. The door shuts behind you and you quickly walk him to the sofa.

"We best get you cleaned up first so I can take a better look at your wounds. What's your name, then?"

[demonic0angel]

Danny is bored one day and decides that, if the rest of Young Justice is gonna date his sister/daughter/clone, then they must prove their love! So he creates a giant ghost obstacle course for them all to overcome as a team for his amusement. The rest of the Justice League is also watching for their amusement.

(I fucking love this ask)

Part 2, part 3

“Danny, do they have to do this?” moaned Dani. She looked distressed. “Can’t we do something else? Like— Like baking or something?!”

“Can any of them even bake?” Danny asked idly.

Dani was nearly pulling out her hair. “I don’t know! But it’s better than this!” She gestured aggressively at the arena, where her friends were all desperately running through an obstacle course/escape room/maze/puzzle room with several monsters chasing them through the labyrinth.

They were (unfortunately) doing a rather good job.

“As a Princess of the Ghost Zone,” Danny explained patiently, trying not to reveal his smirk as he watched Dani’s eye twitch, “you know that your spouses must be strong and able to protect you, especially when we both know that the only reason why we’re able to sit on this throne is because of how strong I am.”

“Yes,” Dani said through gritted teeth, “that’s true. But they’re still human! This is too much! A hydra, a manticore, a chimera, and a sea serpent?! This is overkill! It's not even all of them!"

“I dunno,” Danny said, stuffing his mouth with popcorn. “They seem to be doing just fine. Look! Your Bert friend was able to get rid of one of the harpies!"

"Bart!" She corrected snappishly before she waved at them urgently through the stands.

One of them, a blonde girl with the blessings of the Greek Pantheon, noticed her and pointed at her while saying something to the others. A newfound determination seemed to fill them and then they were off, fighting off monsters and solving puzzles and escaping the death mechanisms Danny put into the labyrinth with a viciousness that wasn't seen before.

If he didn't hate how they were taking away his baby sister, he almost could've felt proud that she found such strong, devoted partners.

"Robin needs some work on his puzzle skills," a voice murmured nearby. Danny tilted his head to look at Batman, who was thoughtfully watching the arena with an intense look. "He's taking too long to solve them."

The rest of the Justice League sat nearby, also eating their own snacks and making commentary.

Dani looked at him like he was crazy. "He's solving them in less than 10 seconds! That's too long?! And why are you even here?! Shouldn't you be helping your son?!"

Batman hummed. "He can handle himself. I have full faith in his abilities to woo you and convince Phantom to let them date you."

Danny frowned at that, but then sighed. "Children. They grow up so fast, don't they?"

The Justice League, also watching their protégés, nodded in agreement, looking mournful.

Dani's eye started twitching again.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, edging, pet names, sex toys, multiple orgasms, mentions of body image Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“Hel-lo, is the idiot in the room still with us?”

A slender hand waves back and forth, back and forth, until you awake from your everlasting daydream.

Annie Leonhart sits across from you at your favorite coffee shop looking like the cat that caught the canary.

That knowing smirk hasn’t left her face since she sat down.

Curling her fingers, she pulls her arm and returns her hand to join the other under her chin once she’s finally caught your attention.

The small blonde squints her icy blue eyes, observing, deciding on what you’ll say before you launch your defense.

“That good, huh?”

Embarrassment is your first folly.

"I— What?!”

“I know a blissful climax cloud when I see one.”

“Annie.”

Sometimes Annie could be an ass, too smug for her own good, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and colleague.

Everything is meant in jest — at least, to you. Not many others got to avoid her wrath.

You lean over the table, reaching your hand out to cover her mouth.

She manages to duck your advances, expertly so, and rears her head with a small chuckle.

“Relax, no one’s listening,” she chides.

“That’s not true,” you argue under your breath. “It's a small shop. You know the vultures circle this place.”

“Not since the old thirsties got busted for their smutty book club — which, quite frankly, I resent losing.”

"You resent?" you repeat, mirroring her squint. “But you never ended up joining the old lady book club.”

“Mm, I didn’t,” Annie agrees, picking up her coffee cup to sip leisurely. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t listen. I looked up a couple of those titles for myself. In retrospect, they had good taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead.”

She pauses, setting the cup back on the table.

“So… are you going to make me work for the details, or what?” she finally leads, getting to the point while you skate around it with imaginary triple axels. “Did you call again after Friday?”

You did.

In fact, you've called several times — almost every night since last Friday with the exception of Tuesday, since you’d fallen asleep as soon as you hit the couch after working overtime.

It’s now another Friday afternoon, one week from the first time you’d called the hotline, and you’re wondering what constitutes bordering on addiction.

“I have,” you confirm. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she chastises with a grimace. “Boo — tomato, tomato.”

“What?! What did you want me to say?”

“For starters, who the guy is.”

“Not happening.”

“Loser.” A beat passes. “But it’s not Bert?”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Definitely not Bert.”

“Thank god,” she exhales. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you enough to be calling up the same dude to get our rocks off.”

“Jesus, Annie.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude.”

You pick up your own tea, sliding it across the table before taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t know how you freely talk about this like we’re trying out restaurants.”

“Because it’s not real?” she suggests, and your stomach flip-flops. 

You know it isn’t. 

It’s a job.

It’s his job.

“I don’t know,” Annie continues, sitting back against her chair with her arm draped across the curve. “It’s no strings attached and hot. I’ll never meet Bert, and he’ll never meet me, and it isn’t like he’s going to ask to hold my hand and beg me to meet his mom.”

“You’re such a commitment-phobe,” you comment with the roll of your eyes. “You won’t ever meet anyone’s mom.”

“Yeah, because I’m not a psycho,” she replies with a snort. “I take it you went premium?”

You nod once. “Levi suggested it.”

Her eyes widen, delighted, and you scowl at your own stupidity.

“Levi?”

Ah.

Fuck.

"Wait." You sit up taller. “Don’t—”

“Oh, that’s a hot name.”

“Annie, I swear to—”

She sours to herself. “Damn, that’s so much hotter than moaning Bert.”

The tea in your cup bubbles from your chortled breath. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not my favorite name ever, but that’s fine — because it’s more like he’s moaning Annie.”

Paired with a wicked grin, your friend winks at you.

“We have two very different wants.”

You squint, and her grin widens. “Wait, do you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god, Annie.”

“What?!” she chirps with a chuckle. “You like the bossy ones, I like being the boss. You’re not allowed to kink shame me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Who said I like being bossed around?!”

She points her finger at your facedown phone.

“Porco Galliard bosses people around. I’m not stupid. And you scream ‘I don’t like being assertive’.”

Great.

The same observation Levi made over the phone without ever meeting you in person.

“Whatever, that isn’t the point,” you wave off, deciding to try and swerve the subject. “I wanted to ask: how many times do you call a week?”

Annie presses the tip of her tongue against her cheek as she considers.

“A week? Maybe two, three at most. It used to be a hell of a lot more, but I’m working a lot of late nights.”

“When you say ‘a hell of a lot more’, do you mean—?”

“Daily?” she finishes for you then tries to recall. “Why? Are you daily right now?” 

You hate yourself for a second. 

“Sort of? It’s only been a few days, but—”

“Hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She reassures in that randomly serious way Annie can pull on a rare occasion.

Making fun of people might be her favorite pastime, but if she can sense true withdrawal from her friends, then she’s quick to stop. 

The blonde reaches over the table to pat your hand, but it’s hardly a comfort.

Annie is about as comforting as raw-dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater by an amateur: it's itchy, too tight, and you want it to stop immediately. 

“You’re a grown woman with grown woman money. If guys can go get blue balled at the strip club, then why can’t we call a hot guy over the phone?”

Again: not comforting at all.

With reluctance, you nod.

“You have a point.”

“I know I have a point.”

“Then again, I don’t know how long term this fix can be,” you reason. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s more expensive?” Annie retorts. “Hooking up with a stranger at a bar who’s abysmal in bed. Maybe not so much for your wallet, but definitely for your ego.”

“And your sanity,” you agree, “if they’re weird.”

“Or a creep.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“A weird creep that happens to be a serial killer.”

You both give each other a look, an unspoken conversation of two delusional women saying ‘exactly’ in a singular gesture, as you sync the sips of your drinks.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “Do you ever — ha — use to — oh — ys?”

You’re not sure why you’re so chatty with your rabbit vibrator barely hovering over the hood of your clit.

A week ago, you would've been trying to smother yourself with a pillow for talking.

However, with each night you’ve called Levi, the more comfortable you’ve become.

More bold, if openly using toys tells him anything.

The avalanche that brought you here was quite swift.

Traffic lights no longer remind you of the cars on the road but the man waiting for you on this hotline.

A willing striptease; a compliance to do what you wish but let him take the lead.

All you had to say was ‘my hand’s getting tired’ during an edging session.

All Levi had to reply with was ‘if you had a toy, I’d allow you to tag it in’.

Allow.

Like you’re completely under his spell.

Like you couldn’t have been using one from the get-go, but you listened.

You said you did.

He said grab it.

(God, you always listen.)

Now you’re here, legs spread in the center of your bed with your phone sitting between the valley of your breasts as you talk to him through the speaker.

“I am right now,” Levi replies in that diplomatic way of his, the lift of his voice telling: he’s amused by the way you try to speak to him, even when you’re ready to scream with impatience.

“I meant on yourself,” you exhale shakily.

“On myself?”

“Like on c-calls,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus.

He loves when you lose your mind.

You refuse to cave so fast tonight.

“A mystery for another day,” he teases, before adding in a firmer tone: “You earned it. Touch it to your clit, but don’t go inside yet. I want you wet and ready for me, understand?”

“You’re so mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he softens for just a moment. “And don’t talk back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you joke, before pressing the device against your clit.

The vibrations surge pleasure down your legs, causing your toes to curl.

You’re not sure if it’s the ‘sir’ or the moan you emit that makes him groan in return.

“The answer is no,” he finally states.

For a second, you think you did something wrong.

Then you circle back, remembering what you asked in the first place.

Right.

The toys question.

“You don’t?”

“Not on me, no.” He exhales, slow and steady. “Too busy making sure I’m hitting the script.”

That’s the funny thing about these calls:

The fourth wall? 

Broken.

He doesn’t pretend to be your boyfriend for the night, just as you don’t pretend he’s only yours.

You’re aware he’s a sex worker, just as he seems to open up about his profession when speaking to you.

At first Levi wouldn’t — it was meant to be a fantasy — but each night he’s divulged more.

Like how he used to be in the military. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he has an affinity for tea, going so far as to have a mild cup with you after a session in lieu of a cigarette. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he’s a Capricorn. (Unrelated to sex — kind of.)

In the midst of learning about him, you’ve learned about yourself.

You’re less vanilla than you originally thought.

With Porco, things felt regimented.

Scheduled.

You weren’t willing to open up your heart, much less your legs, because he was too cold behind closed doors.

Focused.

Driven to his work and passions.

Levi, on the other hand, will suggest leaning against the wall with your hand in your underwear, eyes forced to watch yourself in your full-length mirror.

To worship yourself, when he can’t.

To pump your fingers into your weeping core, when he can’t.

To give over complete and utter control with the promise that you’ll come as many times as he asks you to, because if he could be in this very room — this very apartment — he’d easily do it himself.

With Levi, you’re bold.

With Levi, you’re in.

So you’re not shy to arch your back, moaning into the receiver when you feel your first orgasm approaching you like the incoming tide.

“Levi,” you whimper his name, “can I—”

“Shit, baby, you know you can,” he practically purrs, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “C’mon. Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours, huh? Just for me?”

“Just for—”

The last word is garbled by the way your teeth clench, legs snapping together as the first climax hits after a relentless twenty-minute edging session.

It’s unreal.

It’s pain.

It’s bliss.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

(Freedom.)

You pant, pulling the vibrator away from your body for a moment to catch your breath.

You hear him hum with approval on the other end, a low rumble against your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he says after a beat. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” you confess breathlessly.

“You sound better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Oh shut up,” you scowl before laughing.

Turning off the toy for a momentary reprieve, you allow yourself to catch your breath as you grin up at the ceiling.

“Always so goddamn modest.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, shifting on the other end of the line. “Can’t take a damn compliment to save your life.”

You make a face like he can see you in the dark, but you decide to continue the conversation.

That’s a new thing the two of you have picked up — talking.

Lots of talking.

You get off, sure, but he knows your work drama, your chore schedule — your mailmen even have the same first name, funnily enough.

“I’m serious, though,” you exhale. “Do you ever like… get off? Without toys, obviously.”

“During a call?” he clarifies, and you nod. He answers like he can see it. “No, not — not typically.”

“Wow, so you’ve faked an orgasm with me,” you tease with a blissed out snort. “Shame, shame, I know your name.”

“I what?”

“Faked it,” you clarify, fluffing your pillows behind your head as you situate yourself on your bed. “As if I don’t hear you breathing all heavy and shit over there.”

Then something unusual happens.

The man grows quiet on the other side. 

Nothing shuffles.

No huffs or ‘tchs’.

Just… silence.

“Levi?” you ask, brows knit.

A beat passes, but he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you good over there?”

“I— yeah, fine,” he clears his throat.

Uh-oh.

You frown immediately, blinking twice. “Sorry, was that a weird question?”

“Not at all,” he clarifies, gruff this time, “just… I said not typically, not never.”

…oh.

Oh.

Suddenly you abandon the rabbit and sit up in bed, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Wait.”

“Scarlet.”

“No, did you actually—”

“I already said too much.”

“No, wait, you can’t just imply that you’ve gotten off with me then abandon ship here, Levi!”

“I’m not abandoning ship — why do you say such weird shit sometimes?”

“How many times?!” you yelp.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Holy shit,” you exhale, “I’m so mad I didn’t pay attention.”

It’s like you can hear Levi squinting, narrowing his eyes with uncertainty on the other end of the phone. “...why would you be mad?”

“Because maybe I want to hear you get off, too?” you suggest simply.

Another agonizing breath of silence.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you place your phone on your sheets and pick up the vibrator, contemplating your next move.

“Because I would totally love to just… I don’t know, make you moan, too? See what you taste like? Feel you lose control, pull my hair, hold my head down while I wrap my lips around—”

“Baby.”

Two syllables shoot out of his mouth, as if overwhelmed with shock.

Huh.

An Uno reverse in your favor.

You’re no Shakespeare, but what you say is as honest as words can possibly be.

“I picture you all the time,” you confess softly, pressing the rabbit vibrator’s first function.

A low rumble begins, and you guide it between your legs.

You’re already soaked from your session.

There will be little give to the toy.

“When we’re not on the phone together, I wonder what it would be like. I could be at work. I could be at a coffee shop. Like, holy shit, I was meeting with a friend today and all I could think of is how badly I’d love to just take you to it — maybe disappear in the back hall, find a bathroom? I’d bend over a sink. I don’t wear skirts all the time, but I’d wear one for you.”

You hear shifting on the other end of the line, but Levi is deathly silent.

Mindlessly, your hand takes hold of the vibrator and you press against your entrance.

With a tiny whimper, you push in, deliciously enveloped in a sea of vibrations.

“You wouldn’t need to wear a skirt.”

Suddenly his voice appears, and you accidentally push the vibrator further in, causing a strangled moan to exit your mouth. 

“Le—”

“Pants are just as easy,” Levi cuts you off, a thread of a whisper. “Couldn’t take that much effort. Wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw your damn clothes at your ankles.”

Suddenly the room burns.

“I just know you’d fill me up so good,” you whine, and there’s a sharp hiss on the other end.

“Jesus Christ.”

There.

You hear it: the waver in his voice.

“Yeah, baby,” he concedes. “I’d fill you so fucking good.”

You whimper, a pathetic little noise at the base of your throat, and he exhales a large breath — as if he’s been holding back this entire time.

“Promise?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he challenges, a bit more strained now.

It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” you breathe, ragged and wrecked, and there’s a small groan on the other end of the line.

“You already do, baby.”

“Not how I want to,” you argue in return, body pulsating with the growing need to release a second. “You’re so good at making me cum, but all I want is to take it how you want me — bend me over and fill me up, push me to my knees and stick my tongue out—”

“Fuck,” he curses sharply. “You’re so good for me. So, so fucking good, not fuckin’ fair.”

“Wanna cum with you.”

He groans, louder this time, and inhales the most deliciously jagged breath you’ve ever heard.

“Right there, baby,” he forces out. “C’mon. Give me one more. Just one more.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You purposefully bite your tongue when you come a second time, squeezing your eyes shut with all of your senses focused solely on your ears.

A grunt, as if he’s holding back just the same before exhaling, slow and languid.

In your mind’s eye, you see it: how he uses his teeth to hold up his t-shirt, painting his abdomen with streaks of white as he holds himself back from climaxing too loud. His whole body trembles. He squeezes the tip, milking himself for all he’s worth.

Pulling the vibrator from your body, you turn it off and toss it elsewhere on your bed. Your body curls around your phone, trying to stay quiet so you can listen.

Shaky.

Exhausted.

Not typically, not never.

You say nothing, can’t, but a small giggle of euphoria emits from your throat.

Surprisingly, Levi chuckles back with that drugged slowness that comes with exhaustion.

“You’re too damn giddy after two orgasms,” he chastises, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Uh-huh, Huff ‘n Puff,” you tease right back, and he tsk’s right against the phone.

And in your heart, you know—

Know you’re in deep shit.

Know that you like Levi, even if it’s impossible to like a stranger.

Maybe when you get this month’s credit card bill, you’ll sober up from your crush.

But not right now.

Just not right now.

.

.

— —

.

.

  The next morning, you’re up bright and early.

Skip the elevator to the apartment lobby.

Walk down the stairs to kickstart your adrenaline.

Skip the coffee at the local shop.

Choose a small cup of chai instead.

By the time you make it to the gym, you’re more ready than you ever have been in your life to take on the day.

.

.

— —

.

.

  Forty-five minutes later, your sweat even has sweat.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the endorphins from a tough workout only make you feel that more excited to get your shit together. To be more mindful of your time.

(Totally not because your last call with Levi was unreal. Nope.)

Overall, you went from hating your life to — well, this.

Whatever this is.

Owning your self agency and worth after a pitiful breakup?

Unfortunately joining this gym had been Porco’s idea — he’s a treadmill hamster, and you got swindled by the sea of abs under his tank tops.

A ‘couples activity’, whatever that meant.

(Being sweaty and tired without an orgasm to finish it off never did feel rewarding.)

After the breakup you considered trying to get out of your 6-month contract, but Porco dipped first.

He joined Pieck’s crossfit endeavor somewhere else in the city, leaving you and this dingy little gym to commiserate together.

Now?

Now, you excitedly get ready in the morning to the gym — not to get thin or look a certain way to appease anyone else. A revenge body is bonafide stupid.

No — you don’t want to be anything but stronger.

Because Levi would probably think it was hot if you were stronger.

Maybe the next time you call, he’ll be impressed that you’ve taken to strength training. 

Maybe he’ll give you some pointers — one more topic of conversation to be had.

Setting down the free weights back on the rack after a thorough cleaning of the equipment, you step out of the way of the other regulars gearing up for their workout and head towards the locker rooms to shower.

In the small pocket of your leggings, you hear your phone vibrate. 

Digging your hand in to fish it out, you see a familiar name on your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Yo [A. LEONHART]: We’re all going out Tuesday for drinks – u in?

All.

All means the department.

All might mean Porco and Pieck.

Annie must sense your apprehension, before adding:

[A. LEONHART]: Porky probs not going, Pieck’s got a family thing

 

Well, that’s two positives.

[ME]: I’ll think about it. [A. LEONHART]: Think about it????

[A. LEONHART]: 🍅🍅🍅

Her and her fucking tomatoes.

You snort and begin to write back—

But not before accidentally slamming chest to chest into a stranger.

The phone flies out of your hand like a bar of wet soap.

Like a Scooby Doo short, it alley-oops to the sky then smashes down against the black-speckled rubber gym floor.

Before you can even react, the person you’d bumped into is bending to crouch on the floor.

“Shit. My fault.”

Every cell in your body freezes.

Time ceases to exist.

They scoop your phone into their hand, flipping it over checking for damage. 

Luckily, the screen is intact. 

No fall damage.

But that isn’t why you’re frozen.

As they rise to full stance, your eyes are still downcast. 

From their sneakers your eyes crawl up, up, up — noticing the basketball shorts that cut just above the knee with compression under armor peeking beneath.

On his torso is an emerald green tank top, clinging to his flexing abs, the fabric speckled with sweat. 

His collarbones are defined; chin just as sharp as his cheekbones.

Then you meet his eyes.

A blue-ish gray.

The man standing before you runs on the shorter side — under average height for a man.

His ebony hair dangles and sticks to his sweat-slicked forehead, the ends pointed and shaggy.

It takes a moment until you realize you’ve seen that hair before.

While you’ve taken to walking on the treadmill for your warm-up these last several weeks, he’s typically nestled in the strength training corner of the gym alone. 

Every morning that you’re here, he is also here diligently working on his physique.

He’s always in some squat position or lying on a bench, so you never paid attention to his face—

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Looks like it’s fine,” he says casually, and your stomach falls out of your ass.

Baritone.

Smooth like honey, low like a rumble.

There’s no way.

There is absolutely no way it’s—

“Here.”

The man holds your phone out for you, brows knitting curiously. 

You can’t speak. 

Hell, you can barely breathe.

He shakes his hand to wake you from your shock.

“Take it.”

You know that voice like the back of your hand.

Wordlessly, you reach a shaky hand towards the phone to take it back.

You part your lips to speak, but no words exit.

All you can do is grasp your phone and pull it to your chest as you catch the scent of his deodorant with a mixture of musk when he passes by, none the wiser.

By the time you turn to say something, anything—

Levi from Scout Services Hotline dips into the men’s locker room.

.

Author's Note:

...oops.

Thank you for reading part three of P4! I continue to be blown away by the response. Because of your encouragement, I wrote one of the fastest updates I've made in ages. How are we feeling now? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[agirlking]

Remmick is actually charming and capable of manipulation (he is also a bit off putting)

I see a lot of takes about how Remmick can't be suave, charming, seductive, so on, here's why I don't think they're entirely right.

(Though I agree he's not traditionally seductive, at least not when we see him in the film, he doesn't seem to focus on sex. But he can be seductive and tempting in another sense.)

Remmick's true strength in terms of charm and manipulation is not getting it right instantly, it's in his ability to rapidly adjust.

I think the scene with Bert and Joan shows this right away.

He stops using the word Choctaw when Bert starts using slurs. His manipulation wasn't perfect right away, but he adjusted almost right away. He sees how resistant they are and starts crying. People are going to be uncomfortable with someone they don't know crying in front of them, (unfortunately) all the more when they're a man, he was getting them to think less.

(Also he sees the robes and assumes that they don't have enough compassion to help someone out of the goodness of their hearts, which is a very reasonable assumption, and then he switches to offering money. Once again he is able to adapt rapidly.)

To touch on his limited background info; We know that Remmick came to America in 1911, and we know he lost his "family" on the boat, he was the only survivor. I personally believe that he spent the next 21 years isolated. He wasn't turning people, nor do I think turning people en masse was typical behavior for him.

He was leaving Ireland, he turned everyone on the boat (assuming none of them were older vampires who'd been with him for awhile) to hold onto his community, it just backfired horribly for one reason or another.

But if Remmick turned people like that all the time? There's no way he made it to 1300 without someone taking him out. Actually you can also look at his accent as further proof. He came to America in a time when he would absolutely be discriminated against for being Irish, and I think it must've taken time to hide his accent. If he was also super weird and off putting all the time on top of being Irish, again, he'd have constantly attracted violence. The fact he even put both the thought and the effort into faking an accent (which he's doing quite well at other than here or there where his real accent slips in) shows he's capable of calculation and manipulation.

I fully believe Remmick only turned Bert and Joan out of desperation. He approached the Choctaw (the real life Irish Choctaw history probably played a part in his decision making) wanting to turn them, the first major attempt he'd made since the boat, but they figured him out. He finally turns Bert and Joan because they were the only ones who opened the door, so to speak.

Then he gets to the Juke Joint, 21 years of isolation have him rusty, and he hasn't been around this particular community in that time I would bet. He doesn't have enough info to realize how strange he's coming across, and after seeing Sammie's gift and his desperation to see his ancestors he rushes into things. If he'd approached a group of people that didn't have reasons to be automatically wary of him then they'd likely have thought he was a bit odd but completely harmless and let him in.

(Notably, Cornbread liked the singing and so did Stack, and Stack was about to let him in but Smoke vetoed it. Even after, Stack gives him a chance and had Mary not... distracted him, Remmick would've gotten in. So it seems his manipulation isn't going too badly. Though obviously the money situation prompts a lot of that.)

When Mary approaches the group Remmick's already changed how he's handling things. His song is much more gentle and welcoming than the very creepy one he chose initially. He singles out Mary's specific pain, (I think this is key, he's better at manipulating individuals than he is massive groups. I also think he has some kind of telepathy or empathy because he seems to be able to sense Mary is grieving.), and her longing for companionship in her grief.

The way he speaks to her initially is completely normal ("were you lookin' for some fresh air, or?"), the only particularly strange thing is how Bert and Joan are acting (which I have thoughts about due to @cannibalfogdreams and I discussing this privately, but this post is long enough). When Remmick truly starts acting strange it's not because he can't act human or normal (he's been doing just fine in this conversation) it's because he's in a rush and doesn't need to do that. Mary's far enough away from the Juke Joint she has no chance of getting back to it even if she ran. He's already won.

I imagine if Remmick wasn't so frantic and if his goal had only been to turn Mary he would've taken his time and kept manipulating her and breaking down her walls until she was more inclined to listen to what he was saying. (I'm not swearing she ever would've fully bought into what he was selling, just that he was clearly succeeding at swaying her to some extent before he stopped bothering.)

Also why is it Remmick backs off when Mary pulls a gun on him? It's obviously not going to kill him, and there's reason to think their ability to feel pain (minus coming from something like garlic) is muted. Stack tells Sammie in 1992 he wouldn't hurt anymore, and Cornbread seems to be doing fine even with a ton of his face missing, same for the gentleman who got sliced up by the guy using loaded dice. So I don't think it's because a gunshot would be that painful for him.

I think it's because someone could've heard her fire and that would've made them suspicious of her and even more suspicious of Remmick and co than they already were. That's calculating.

He not only backed off and wiped his face when she pulled the gun, he waited until she fully turned her back and was walking away to attack and turn her. He could've just grabbed and bitten her then, but she probably would've fired a shot and/or screamed.

Later on he still attempts to convince everyone, but when Stack and Mary show up he lets them basically take over, and I do believe that is their own words, they are in a hivemind but their own self is not gone, just influenced. (As mentioned in a previous post I think they're basically high.) And it almost works! Stack nearly gets Smoke out the door. He knew to step back and let the people that know those in the Juke Joint take over the attempts at convincing.

There's probably more I'm forgetting but this has been bugging me a lot. Just because Remmick acts very strange sometimes doesn't mean he can't be suave and charming, it just depends on the situation, how much he wants to be convincing, and how much information he has.

TLDR: "Remmick is weird" and "Remmick is a capable, charismatic, manipulator" are takes that can coexist.

[miss-conner3]

En Español: Aquí

“Dance With Me”

Context: While trying to understand the true intentions of a certain cat, Bert-Bert ends up meddling in what he doesn't understand.

This comic was inspired by the idea that while there might be Narilamb in this AU, you have to remember that my lamb is not exactly “The Lamb” in this universe.

So I wanted to explore a little more about it (owo)

Let's see what comes out, but until then, this is all for now <(UuU)>

¡I hope you like it!

(By the way, ¿did you like the encrypted message in the first image? (>w<) Hehehe)