#this was long and poorly written

[coffee-system-uwu]

After Andrew started making Neil hold his hand, Neil decided he loved it. A month or so later, he was trying to figure out how to take it a step further. He was scared less of embarrassing himself, and more of upsetting Andrew. Finding a comfortable next step might be a little difficult.

It hit him one lazy morning. He woke up first, which is to be expected. (Andrew wasn't a morning person and often grumbled about Neil's tendencies to be up at the cracks of dawn.) He was watching Andrew sleep, admiring his only slightly more peaceful face.

The only parts of them that was touching were the arm Andrew had stretched out under the pillow Neil was laying on, and the arm Andrew had thrown across Neil's waist sometime during the night. Neither one of them ever moved much while they were sleeping, so they were both still facing eachother.

Today he found himself staring at Andrew's lips. His mouth was so fascinating for Neil, because of the words he spewed like venom, and the kisses that he covered Neil in despite claiming indifference.

Neil was a little bit more selective of where he kissed Andrew, there were boundaries. But while he was admiring Andrew, he came to a bit of a realization once again, that as long as he asked, he might just be able to do the same, outside of the bedroom even.

A couple days later, the Foxes took a pitstop for coffee on the way to a game, they weren't particularly worried about their opponent, it'd be an easy win and everyone knew it. It was almost unfair how much of an advantage the Foxes had.

While they were waiting in line, Andrew grabbed Neil's hand. It wasn't really romantic, Andrew was still stiff about it, but it sent a shiver down Neil's spine regardless. Now would be a good time.

"Yes or no?" His voice might've cracked, but Andrew thankfully didn't mention it, he just raised an eyebrow and considered him slowly.

"Yes."

Neil took a deep breath and turned towards Andrew, leaning down. Andrew started to tilt his head up, seemingly expecting a peck on the mouth. But Neil carefully raised a hand to Andrew's head and turned it so he could place a kiss on Andrew's forehead.

The reaction when Neil pulled away was immediate. Andrew's face flushed and his eyes widened as he stared at Neil in disbelief. A couple seconds later he regained his composure. He jabbed Neil in the side with his free hand, and squeezed the hand that was holding Neils so hard Neil wouldn't have been suprised if bones broke.

"You're a fucking Junkie." He hissed.

"You liked it."

"I hate you."

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[bsxcrxts]

comfort

Luke Skywalker x fem!reader

MINORS DNI. AGE IN BIO TO INTERACT WITH MY WORKS.

word count: 5.4k longest oneshot I've ever written whoops

Contains: Luke being sad and hurt, mentions of blood and bruising (not in detail), reunion between reader and Luke post-Dagobah training and Cloud City duel, angst just due to the whole situation in general, a whole lot of tension, blowjobs, inappropriate use of the force, unprotected sex (don't do this irl unless you want a baby idk what to say), somewhat subby/needy Luke, he's pathetic. a wet cat of a man in this and I love him

A/N : This is self-indulgent, soft, nasty, and probably poorly researched. Reader's not a nurse or a doctor, just a concerned gal with a crush, and Star Wars medicine is made up anyway. I have no idea why she's on the Falcon at this point but fuck it, we ball!

You find yourself trailing after Luke in an effort to get him to rest; whatever the hell he just went through in Cloud City initially had him almost feverish, tossing around on the cot in your little makeshift medbay and muttering about things you didn't understand, things about Ben and lies and Vader. But when he sensed the latter, he shot out of bed and right back into the cockpit of the Falcon, open wounds be damned, apparently.

He just doesn't quit, you thought to yourself, momentarily enamored with his strength and somewhat miffed he's left, but then your stomach sank as you also realize you don't even know how bad the rest of his injuries even are.

You and Leia had managed to fit him with the stabilizer on his right arm before she had to excuse herself to help navigate the Falcon away from the Imperial Fleet, and you didn't get much further on assessing Luke before he snapped out of whatever fervor he'd been in and followed her. You didn't run after him, too busy trying to scour the pitiful excuse of a medkit on the Falcon for more supplies and knowing it would be a lost cause anyway– he can be incredibly headstrong when it comes to helping his friends. But you've made the jump to hyperspace now, you've felt the engines shift. It should be safe, and you're pretty sure he should really, really rest.

Creeping into the cockpit of the Falcon, you see Luke slumped in one of the second-row seats, clutching a blanket around himself. He's not speaking in hushed tones to himself anymore, but in the blue light of hyperspace, his eyes look so tired. You lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

It's not the first time you've touched him in months, but it feels like it is– you had cradled him in your arms for a moment when Leia ushered him into the room for the first time a half an hour ago, but Luke wasn't focused then, and he definitely wasn't well enough to hold conversation with you. And the last time you saw him before today was many moons ago, before he left to become a Jedi.

Luke's face snaps up to yours. Your hand is warm and welcoming on his arm, and he wants more than anything to lean into your touch, but he still feels uneasy, like he's unsure if that would be okay with you, for some reason. The recent revelations about his parentage have left him uncomfortable with himself, even if you don't know yet. If you'll ever know.

Meanwhile, your eyes rake over his features. His lip is split and he has a gash and an impact mark across his cheekbone just under his left eye. The reunion between the two of you is soured by defeat and injury, but despite yourself, when he gazes up at you, part of you insists he looks good. Really good. You linger too long on the cut on his mouth before you force yourself to snap out of it.

"Hey," you whisper. For some reason, you're embarrassed. You haven't spoken to him in a long time.

Luke has the audacity to crack a tiny smile up at you from where he's sitting, just for a moment. He breathes out your name and leans his head against your side where you're standing next to him.

"I have a headache," he says, more like he's thinking out loud than anything. It's an excuse he's made for himself to lay against you even for the briefest time, but it's also true. His head pounds.

Luke pulls away and lifts his face back up to look at you again. There's an emotion that you've never seen before behind his eyes. "Sorry," he says quietly, like it's an afterthought. Only he seems to know why he's apologizing.

"You should go lay down again. I-I can help you with the rest of your injuries and you can rest," you say.

"You’re right," Luke sighs, and stands up shakily. He doesn't stumble, but you put a steadying hand on his back anyway, just to remind him that you're there.

The short walk back to his cot is silent. It's awkward. You know you shouldn't ask about what happened, that Luke will tell you when he's ready, but you don't know what else to say, so you say nothing.

When you do start speaking, your words just sort of tumble out. You're talking to fill the space. Luke has never been this quiet before.

"Here," you gesture, "sit on the edge of the bed. I know I said you could lay down, but I'm worried you're concussed, so maybe you shouldn't fall asleep. You said you have a headache. Do you think you have a concussion?" you ask, as if he'd know.

For his part, Luke just shakes his head at you. "I'll be alright," he insists. He doesn't know if he believes it, but he can't think of anything else to tell you to make you feel better.

Right, you think. Stubborn. Luke occasionally has a sense of over-confidence about himself, you've seen it when he talks about piloting or whatnot, and he's never been wrong about his limits, just cocky, but this time it seems almost put-on, like a show. You let it slide.

"I know," you say, and softly smile at him. When he halfheartedly returns your smile, it pulls on the cut on his lip, and you remember why you're here.

You retrieve a wet cloth and start dabbing at the sticky, tacky blood decorating his face. You take his chin in your other hand, and Luke closes his eyes while you wipe at the near-dried blood. His eyebrows knit when you get too close to a bruise, but he doesn't outwardly complain, and you move on swiftly.

Your heart is beating far too quickly given Luke's condition. He is seriously injured, and clearly went through something not only physically horrible but also mentally taxing back in Cloud City, but he's gorgeous right now.

The way his hair is parted and tousled reminds you of what he's looked like in the past, under much more pleasant circumstances. You don't know what you are to Luke; you have an absolute raging crush on him and he obviously likes you too, but he leaves to go off on his own. A lot. The two of you never talk about it. If you acted on your arousal, it actually wouldn't be the first time you'd have slept with him after he narrowly escaped death, but this feels... different.

Luke breathes out a little sigh as you glide the cloth across his cheekbone. Your stomach ties itself in knots, and you freeze.

He notices that you've paused your ministrations and opens his eyes, looking up at you expectantly. His eyes are the clearest you've seen from him today, and just as blue as always. You panic a bit, hoping he can't perceive your inappropriately-timed desire.

"I need to grab some bacta," you mutter, and remove your hand from his chin.

This time when you return, he keeps his eyes open.

Luke can sense something from you, but he isn't sure what. His relationship with the Force isn't in the best shape, but he knows you've been thinking very hard about something and he's almost afraid to find out what.

“You must be sick of taking care of me," Luke ventures as you carefully apply the bacta gel to a cut on his forehead. "Ever since you got to know me, I just keep getting hurt.”

He says it in that tone he uses when he's making a dry joke that isn't a joke at all.

“Hey, I’ll always help clean you up," you reassure.

"At least both sides of my face will be even now," he continues, referring to the scarring on his left side from the Wampa attack earlier that year.

"You look– you look good," you stutter out, finding yourself shy again. Luke doesn't even take the compliment before he keeps going.

“You’re not put-off?”

“By what?”

It's quiet. Luke doesn't answer. You realize he's talking about the fact he lost his hand in the battle. You sink down to sit next to him, forgotten bacta pack dropped to the floor.

"Luke, no, I don't think–"

“He said some things about me…" Luke trails off, and you know the unnamed he in that sentence means Vader. "I’m worried I’ll turn out like him. That I’ll fall to the dark side. But I can’t stand by and do nothing, I can’t,” he insists, passionate.

“You’re not like him."

Luke looks down at his feet, unconvinced.

You lean over and kiss his cheek, meaning to comfort him, watching a blush spread over his features.

"You're not him, okay?" you reaffirm, face feeling heated. Your hands slide over his arm and down his back in a reassuring motion. You intended to pull away to get more bacta, but Luke leans into you.

"Can I–?" he asks softly. You nod, and he catches your mouth in another kiss.

He's overeager, teeth clacking against yours as he licks into your mouth and tries to get as close to you as bodily possible. In contrast, you try to stay gentle, refusing to even playfully nip at him like you otherwise might. The gash on his upper lip splits open anyway, sending him a shock of pain that should stop his motions, but he just groans into your mouth and keeps kissing you.

"You're bleeding!" you exclaim as taste blood and break away from him.

"S'okay," Luke whines, protesting your concern. It's evident how much he doesn't want to stop; he follows you as you pull away, tilting forward. You ignore the rush of arousal flooding your system at his shameless display and grab a bit of gauze and press it to the scrape.

"Look, it's fine. See?" Luke asserts when there's hardly even a few drops of his blood on the cloth as you remove it. Obviously vying to kiss you again.

It's hard to resist him and his pleading puppy-like eyes. You press a quick peck to his forehead.

"Hold still," you say, "I need to put a bit of bacta on that so it heals." It's the justification you're using, because if he keeps kissing you, you're going to lose control and the little scrape will never heal. Luke decides to give in to you as the voice of reason.

"There," you state when you've finished with his face. "Now..." you trail off, eyeing the gashes through the fabric of his fatigues and once again feeling bizarrely nervous, "You should. You should take your shirt off next."

"Right," he sighs, feeling unsure. He reaches up with his left hand and starts undoing the fastens on his shirt.

"I could help you?" you offer softly.

"Sure," he nods.

You gently help him out of his shirt, careful of the cut in his upper left arm and scrape across his elbow that tore through even the fabric of the shirt. The shirt is falling apart, burned in places and ripped in others, and you sort of drop the fabric off to the side, unsure if it's salvageable.

When you look back up, the breath feels like it's been punched out of you.

Luke was always lean, a scrappy sort of muscular but this is new. You remind yourself you haven't seen him in months and that he's been off doing stars-know-what during his Jedi training. Behind the bruises and scrapes, he's built a bit of muscle, more defined than last time. Your eyes dart across his body; his arms alone have you biting your lip, feeling more butterflies in your stomach than ever before.

Luke catches you looking at him, catches you eyeing him up and down like you'd like to devour him, and he just gazes back at you. The blush on his cheeks from earlier never went away.

You convince yourself to slow down and wipe the dried blood off his arms and torso. There's no way to avoid how close the two of you are; you've practically wormed your way into standing between his legs as you dab bacta on the cuts and bruises that litter his midsection. Shamefully, you think about how good he smells, sweat be damned.

Luke audibly groans when you slide your hand across his shoulders in preparation to hold his arm up while you apply the medical salve. Your fingers dig slightly in to his sore musculature and he can't hold back.

"Sorry," you choke out, "want me to stop?"

"Mm-mm. Feels good, actually."

You feel another crack in your resolve form as you slather bacta along his cuts and bruises.

Luke is far enough gone himself, and you try not to notice. His breathing rate increased the second you started touching him, and he knows a hard-on would be ill-timed right now, but he kind of doesn't care that he can feel a tent beginning to form in his pants. It's a welcome distraction from the absolute shit day he's had, and he really, really missed you. The feeling of your hands on his body is unparalleled, so welcome and warm.

The logical choice of waiting even a day in order to prevent his wounds from re-opening is losing appeal for him.

You, however, continue to grasp onto logic. Not meeting his eyes as you finish applying the bacta, you step away from him and turn to fiddle with the medkit.

“Okay, I think it's alright for you to lay down now. I’ll go so you can rest," you say. You don't want to leave him, but it's the responsible thing. You'll go lay in your own bunk and mind your own business. He's hurt, he needs repose, he– 

“Don’t go.”

Not turning around, you go to answer. “Luke, you need—"

“I need you,” Luke insists, desperately. He reaches out and grabs your wrist lightly, like he moved without thinking.

It's very calculated, however, when you turn around and he raises your hand to his cheek and plants a kiss on the palm of your hand.

"Please?" he breathes, eyes wide, looking up at you and begging. His hand hasn't left yours where it rests on the side of his face.

“Oh, baby,” you sigh adoringly, your heartbeat in your throat and your determination to let him alone long gone as you return to stand in between his spread legs. You'd normally settle down on his thighs and grind against him, where you know Luke likes you best, but right now you're sure to be gentle as you can. You're a bit worried about whatever unknown bruising could be beneath the pants he didn't even get off before he couldn't resist you anymore.

“Kriff, it’s been so long. Missed you,” Luke mutters against your mouth between kisses.

"Yeah?" you ask, losing the brain capacity to answer coherently as Luke buries his face in the crook of your shoulder and sucks a kiss into the juncture of your skin.

Any gentle peck you try to give Luke turns dirty as he doubles down in passion every time, almost refusing to let any kiss end until the two of you are gasping for air. He's desperate to touch you, and yes, your hands are cradling his face and he loves it, but you're still somewhat leaning away from him, standing over him as he sits in front of you. He wants.

It's accidental, what happens next. You feel a sudden pressure against your lower back that nudges at you until you tip forward, catching yourself just inches before you would have fallen against Luke, your knee coming to rest in between the junction of his legs. In your new position, he immediately grinds his hard cock on your thigh, the drag of his sizeable length suddenly against you. It's accidental, but it's what he needs.

You break the kiss and gasp. The Falcon hasn't shifted out of hyperspace and you're not off-balance.

"Baby?" you inquire, the question unspoken. Did you just use the Force to move me? Many of Luke's abilities are new. If it was him, it was a recent development, at least in your experience.

"'m sorry," Luke whines, "I didn't mean to– I don't know what happened," but even as he says it, he's practically fucking himself against you, the strain of his bulge in his khaki pants borderline painful.

You're too turned on to even admonish him. You wouldn't if you could. You liked it, liked how his growing desire for you was overwhelming him to the point of losing control.

"Need me that bad?" you tease.

You hardly expect a response, but Luke keens and thrusts hard against your leg, his cock aching and his voice catching on a moan. "Ah-h!! Angel, I told you I do," he mewls. The flush on his face is as red as you've ever seen him.

“Let me take care of you,” you coo as you sink down onto the floor. Unable to resist, you shove your nose against Luke's clothed cock, inhaling his scent and mouthing at him over his disgusting khakis.

"Oh that's– you don't have to–" Luke starts, squirming.

"Want to," you answer, kissing and licking at his bulge until the fabric covering him is damp, from his dripping cock or from your mouth, you aren't sure. His dick throbs, straining painfully against his clothing. "Wanna see your pretty cock even more though," you continue.

You don't have to tell him twice. He scrambles to unzip his pants and you help him, pulling his flushed cock from the confines of his underwear. It bobs against his stomach and smears pre-cum across his torso, across his newly-defined abs. Unable to help yourself, you lean up and lick a bit of the pre-spend off of him, which only makes his erection kick and leak more.

You place an open-mouthed kiss to his cock as you move lower, and then take him into your mouth.

"F-fuck! Your mouth, oh, you ffeel s' ohh," Luke exclaims, incoherent when you first take him into your throat, fisting the rest of his cock in your hand as you bob up and down on him. He almost thrashes, hips jerking forward and hand coming to rest in your hair, not pulling just there, a guiding weight that has you moving at an even pace, sucking at the head of his cock and popping off of him every once in a while to kiss the underside or tip of his member and make him writhe underneath you. Your cunt clenches around nothing when he moans or squirms for you.

As you slide your mouth off his cock, a string of saliva still connecting you to his tip, his body jerks. He fucks his cock against your lips and his hips stutter against your mouth, like he can't take one second without you.

"Stars, baby, like my mouth that much?"

"I like all of you that much."

His declaration is unbearably hot, and you reward him by deepthroating him as far as you can take him, throat constricting around him and your eyes watering.

Luke inhales sharply, surprised by your sudden action.

“S-stop.”

“Is something wrong?” you ask, pulling off of him, immediately conscious of his delicate state and concerned he's started bleeding or something like that.

“'m close. Almost came,” Luke admits shyly, looking off to the side and not meeting your eyes. He still isn't quite comfortable with how fast his body finishes with you, even though you've told him several times how much his eagerness and sensitivity turned you on.

“That's the point, right?” you affirm lightly, running a hand up his thigh. "You wanna cum in my mouth?"

Luke looks at you, blushing fiercely. “I don't wanna cum yet at all," he whines, softly guiding you up from your kneeling position on the floor. He kisses you, absolutely claiming your mouth before he nuzzles his face into your neck, "I don't want this to be over," he confesses, and he sounds both desperate and a bit sad.

"Doesn't have to be," you say, settling into a somewhat more dominant role, but keeping your tone is still gentle. He's liked it in the past when you take the lead, so you try it out. "Tell me what you want."

The shift in your attitude has Luke suddenly shameless, pressing himself bodily against you until the two of you can't honestly get any physically closer.

"I wanna be inside you. I-inside your pussy,” he whines.

His words send shockwaves up your spine and you bite your lip, clenching around nothing.

"A-and," he chokes out, rutting against your thigh like he's an animal, "I want you to make me wait."

You won't make him clarify the last part. You're plenty aware that's his way of asking you to edge him, to control his orgasm so he doesn't finish 'too soon', a game you've played before with him, and he's already shy about it. It makes sense right now, especially since you're basically letting him use you like a distraction from the absolute shit day he's had, that he doesn't want this to end.

"Ask me nicely," you urge.

"Please can I fuck your pussy?" Luke gasps.

"Fuck yes, oh my god," you answer, kissing him and shoving your pants and undergarments off and straddling his lap. "Need your fingers first though. C'mere," you grab at his hand and pull his digits along your slit.

Luke almost wants to groan in protest, feeling suddenly very impatient, but he practically chokes as he runs his fingers through your wetness. His eyes roll back in his head when he slips a finger inside of you, shocked at your state of arousal, and you loosely wrap your hand around his dick. He starts grinding against your hand immediately and you know you're going to have to slow him down eventually if he wants to last.

"Shit, u-um," he throws his head back to look up at you. "You're soaked. Just f-from having your mouth on me?" he ventures, feeling like he needs reassurance in this moment for some reason.

“Mm! Been– been getting like this since you started making those cute noises while I was patching you up.”

"Yeah?" Luke is soaking the praise up, working his fingers in and out of you and across your clit with as much focus as he can. He's inexperienced with his left hand, but you'd never guess. Your cunt is dripping around him down to his wrist.

"You make such perfect sounds, baby," you promise him. "Ah-h!" you exclaim when he brushes up against that spot inside you, "fuck, baby, keep going."

Luke nods against you. "Keep talking? Please?" he asks, so sweetly.

"I never get used to how big you are. You have such a pretty cock, Luke. Helping me first so I can even think about taking it."

He sinks two digits to the knuckles into you cunt and presses hard on your g-spot.

"Ohh-!! Baby!" you shout, caught off guard. "You're so good– so good, such a good boy f' me."

"C-close," he whines. He's already that far gone, even from this uncoordinated dry-humping half handjob, face a mess, dick literally twitching in your hand from the praise you're directing at him. You take your hand away from his cock since he asked to be denied. He makes no move to stop his motions on you, so you let him finger you open with his hand and play with you for a while longer.

When he's calmed down a bit and you do sink down onto him, your combined juices make a disgustingly lewd wet noise and you both breathe out moans. There's still a stretch; Luke is bigger than most, and you haven't had anyone since he left. You haven't had anyone else since the first time with him, at all.

“I-I was bad," Luke suddenly states as you work to take his length inside your dripping core. Any position takes work to fit his cock in your cunt, but riding him takes the most.

“Oh honey, no, you feel amazing for me,” you reassure, both remembering his insecurity earlier and thinking about how full his cock is making you feel.

“Nno I– don't mean. I mean..." he breathes and pauses, "I thought about you whi-while I was training. I wasn’t supposed to."

"What do you mean?" you ask gently.

"Not 'posed to have attachments. Feelings," Luke gasps, thrusting up once into your soaked cunt before his hips settle into a slow grind. He's toying with the edge of your shirt that you forgot to take off earlier, running his hand tentatively under the seam. He's shy, not meeting your eyes again even though he's literally inside you right now. In a way, you understand that he's confessing something very secret to you and you're reeling a bit.

'Missed you," he says earnestly for the second time this evening when you don't say anything back right away. His gaze finally lands on yours and something is electric in the air. He's practically given you his love confession several times in the last hour but this feels different.

"I don't think that's bad," you say, barely above a whisper. "Not at all. I missed you too," you kiss him again, rolling your hips.

And then, “What’d you think about?” because you can't resist.

Luke's hips go back to a stuttering pace, alternating between grinding up into you and the occasional rogue thrust, like he's holding himself back.

"Uh-uhm," he falters, fighting self-consciousness at sharing his fantasies, but the words start spilling out of his mouth anyway, "The way you smile at me when you're f-flirting. What it feels like to kiss you. A-and I thought about your hands and what they feel like on me. When you hold me, or... or when they're wrapped around- ugh m-my cock."

You gasp, but Luke continues without pause.

"How I wanna fuck you slow in bed in the morning. I'll be good. I-I can make it good f' you. Worth waking up early for," he promises. It's startlingly domestic, but before you can linger on it, he keeps going. "Missed your– haa, ah, your pretty tits, too."

"What about them?"

"How gorgeous they are. How you look when you don't wear a bra. C-can't look away."

"You wanna see?" you ask, surprised he hasn't asked you to take your shirt off earlier.

Luke whines, eyes hooded as he nods. "Please."

You practically throw your shirt off and unclasp your bra in record time.

You shift, pushing your chest towards him where he sits, as a desire to give him everything he's ever wanted burns inside of you. He deserves it. He's supposed to have been solely concentrated on learning to be a Jedi– and he clearly has been training– but on top of it, all he's admitting to focusing on not only just some ancient mystic wisdom but also on you, too. You think you love him.

You run your fingers across the nape of his neck and pull on his golden locks, guiding him towards your tits.

You roll your hips against him, pussy clenching around him as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, rolling the bud over his tongue and moaning with every breath.

"Fuck! D-don't move like that. I-I'll cum. M'gonna cum."

"Want you to," you say, but you stop your motions anyway.

"N-not yet," he chokes out. "You haven't– I want it to be good for you," drooling against your tits.

“Stars, you're so sweet. Look how good you’re being for me right now,” and he is being good. He’s being so good, so considerate, and your pussy involuntarily tightens around him again at the thought.

"O-oh shit, I can't take it, I c-can't fucking take it," Luke voice shakes, and in an impressive show of strength for his current state, he pulls out of you and flips your positions so you're laying on the cot and he rests on his knees between your thighs. He doesn't push back inside you; his cock rests against your clit, and he distracts you by leaning down to kiss you for a moment. It's his way of stalling; you know he needs a moment to hold back from finishing.

Even though it feels nice, the contact is not enough, not when you've had a taste of him inside your walls already, and you let yourself paw needily at him, trying to get him to slip in.

"You're as bad as I am, aren't you?" Luke huffs lightly, amused.

"Yeah," you breathe "I just want you, so bad."

“I– I thought I might've sensed that,” Luke says, almost sounding smug momentarily, happy with your response, "through the Force, but I- I wasn't sure if it was just my own desire," he drops that absolute bombshell on you before he mercifully slips back inside you and sets a rapid pace. Your hands fly above you to brace yourself against the wall of the nook.

"S-shit! Baby! Y-you can hear what I'm thinking?"

Luke groans, dropping his head and trying to formulate a coherent response. "Kind of. It's more like I feel... intentions, if you think really hard about something, I-I can sense–"

Your eyes flutter closed, and the way your cunt tightens around his dick cuts Luke off completely. You're rapidly spiraling towards your own high, his words and his cock wrecking you.

All your energy goes into projecting as much lust as you possibly can at him; you're running through every fantasy you've ever had, every dirty thought about him that's ever crossed your mind in an effort to get him to pick up on your emotions. It works, and Luke has to catch himself with his hand before he collapses on top of you.

"Haah, ahh," he whimpers, "That's- that's- y' feel like that about me?" he asks, his eyes rolling back in his head. He's positively losing control, his hips grinding into yours as he pounds into your pussy.

"Yes," you insist, "god, Luke, you fuck me so good, don't fucking stop."

Luke's cute little whines are coming more frequently, his thrusts more erratic, but he doesn't stop. You know him well enough to know he's not going to be able to hold off much longer, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his thighs nearly shaking with effort. Your own high is rapidly approaching.

"Close?" you ask.

"Y-yeah, been close," Luke answers with a bit of humor. “Please let me make you cum first. I just wanna make you cum first,” he cries out, pussydrunk and unable to think of anything other than his and your impending orgasm.

He sits upright again, pulling you in one swift motion by your hips to meet his, then rubs at your clit, circling you. The last inch of his cock slotting into you and the extra stimulation is the only thing you needed to push you over the edge, grinding down on him and yelling his name.

When you come down seconds later, you're met with Luke's gasping moans and begging. He's lost any self control he was able to display before, falling apart in front of you and inside you.

"Ah-haah, fu-fuck, fuck! Gonna cum, am I allowed– can I cum inside you? Please can I cum in you?" he reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers in his.

"Oh Luke, give it to me, baby, please!"

He groans, accompanied by a nearly incoherent mumbling of your name as he spills inside you, hand squeezing yours. His cock gives a jolt inside of you and the feeling of being filled by his spend makes you topple over the edge again, overstimulated. There's so much of his cum that you feel it drip down your thigh before he even pulls out and you wonder when the last time he let himself cum was at all. He curses and cries out under his breath when you tighten around him a second time, aftershocks still traveling through his body as he collapses next to you in the tiny alcove of the wall.

"Love you," he confesses in a hushed tone as he settles there against you, his face tucked shyly into your shoulder.

"Love you back. You have me," you answer with a quiet confidence. When he looks at you, you see the tiniest pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

"Hey," you run a hand along his back, "it'll be okay."

"Yeah," Luke nods against you. It will be.

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

A/N: I don't know how clear I've made it but when I was writing this I was imagining reader and Luke having a sort of on-again-off-again thing (due to the whole Jedi training and extended amounts of time apart) in the past, and that she'd mayyyybe also "comforted" him after Hoth, mayhaps one day I write a prequel to this fic? idk yall know me and following through so no promises lol

[crispycreambacon]

[Image Description in the Alt Text]

Ever wondered what happened to the puppets stuck in the Wondrium Arena?

So did the Professor and his meat shield/bestie westie, Ryan. Instead of waiting for an answer, they planned to get the puppets out of there. They even argued with God over it, or rather the Professor did since Ryan was too mentally out-of-it from the absolute absurdity of this situation.

And what did God give to them in return for winning the argument? A bus. To drive to the Wondrium Arena with. ‘Cause what better way to rescue a bunch of dead puppets than crashing a bus into their purgatory?

— ☆ —

I'm happy to announce the release of my first AO3 fanfic: Seatbelts, Everyone!

As you can see from the blurb above, it's a one-shot crackfic about the Professor and Ryan rescuing the puppets in the Wondrium Arena by crashing a bus into it. 'Cause why not?!

This fic has it all! We got:

Ryan learning how to drive a bus via WikiHow!

God being the absolute worst!

Silly puppet interactions!

Existential crises occuring throughout the fic!

An honestly heart-warming ending?

Y'all the line between silly jesting and sincere genuineness is so blurry in this fic. So if that all sounds like a jam of a time, you can read the fic via clicking here! Or clicking the title. Or searching up "Seatbelts, Everyone!" by crispycreambacon on AO3.

Thank you so much for checking it out! And even if you don't, I hope you enjoyed the comic. May you all have a fantabulous day!

[gothfeedergf]

This is a fetish fic, includes feederism and weight gain stuff dni if you're not into it !!!

Where Miguel gets captured n force fed, includes funnel feeding, NSFW just gross in general lmao enjoy

He crouched atop a rooftop, watching a facility below. He had received a tip that there was someone conducting dangerous experiments on innocent citizens, and he was determined to gather evidence to expose their crimes.

The night was shrouded in darkness, with only the occasional flicker of neon signs casting eerie glows across the cityscape. Miguel's heightened senses allowed him to detect faint murmurs from within the compound. He knew he had to proceed with caution.

Silently, he descended to the ground and made his way through the complex's labyrinthine corridors. His advanced suit granted him enhanced vision, allowing him to see clearly in the dimly lit corridors.

Miguel was on high alert, but as he reached what appeared to be a secure lab, a blinding flash of light engulfed him. He cried out in pain as searing energy surged through his body. It was a trap.

Disoriented and weakened, Miguel tried to fight back, but the room was filled with guards clad in high-tech suits. They immobilized him with energy restraints that sapped his strength.

With their mission accomplished, the guards swiftly moved in, securing Miguel to a sturdy chair in the center of the room. Thick, unbreakable restraints bound his wrists and ankles, rendering him powerless. His enhanced senses, once his greatest asset, were now a cruel reminder of his vulnerability.

One figure emerged from the shadows, a sinister smile on her face. A brilliant but morally bankrupt scientist, she had developed technology capable of nullifying Miguel's powers and had long been obsessed with capturing him.

"Welcome"her voice was just as hypnotic as her gaze. "You're here just in time for the experiment"

Miguel's muscles tensed as he strained against the restraints, his frustration growing with each passing second. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever help you with your sick experiments!"

She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with a twisted sense of excitement. "You see, you have no choice in this matter. And who knows, perhaps you'll even come to enjoy the experiment. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." The scientist chuckled, her fingers tapping on a sleek, futuristic device resting on a nearby table.

A sense of unease crept over him as she continued to speak. Her words were cryptic, hinting at a twisted agenda that sent shivers down his spine.

"I have studied the human mind extensively. And I believe I have found a most intriguing pathway to one's desires," She mused, her tone dripping with malicious intent.

The scientist motioned to her guards, who brought in a peculiar-looking device.

It consisted of a large cylindrical container, filled with a thick, creamy liquid. His eyes narrowed as he recognized its potential implications, and despite the surreal nature of the situation, the liquid's decadent aroma made his mouth water involuntarily.

Connected to the container was a long, flexible tube, its surface cold and slick to the touch.

The container itself was adorned with a series of dials and knobs, displaying the ominous power that she had over the flow of the liquid. He knew that once those dials were turned, there would be no going back. He would be subjected to the scientist's cruel experiments.

"Allow me to introduce you to my newest creation" She said with a sinister smile. His heart sank, realizing the predicament he was in.

With a swift motion, she fastened a strap behind his head, securing the tube in place. His lips wrapped around the tube, stretching slightly to accommodate the device. Panic surged through him as he realized that his protests were falling on deaf ears.

"Please, don't do this," he pleaded, he voice muffled by the tube.

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the rhythmic pumping of the liquid through the tube and his labored breathing.

As the minutes ticked by, his resistance waned, and his senses grew increasingly disoriented. The combination of the liquid's taste and the mounting pressure in his belly began to wear down his willpower.

As the experiment pressed on, Miguel found himself forced to keep up with the relentless speed of the machine. The thick, creamy liquid flowed steadily through the tube, and he had little choice but to gulp it down as quickly as it arrived. This left him breathless and unable to mount any meaningful protest.

The taste, initially strange and unfamiliar, had evolved into something oddly satisfying. It was a peculiar blend of sweetness and richness, reminiscent of melted ice cream. He couldn't deny that he was growing accustomed to it, and with every swallow, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of craving. It was as though the taste had become addictive, compelling him to keep drinking despite the unsettling circumstances.

He couldn't help but steal a look at his own body, and his eyes widened in shock. Miguel had always been in impeccable physical condition.

His suit, which had once hugged his form with precision, now appeared stretched and taut across his midsection. His normally flat and toned abdomen had swollen slightly, causing his belly to protrude more than usual, it was distinctly different from his usual athletic physique.

 A flush of warmth spread across his cheeks, and he tried to ignore the unusual and, at times, arousing sensations that were coursing through him. 

He found himself increasingly frustrated with his own inability to resist the strange allure of the situation. Miguel had always maintained his composure, but now, he felt like he was losing control, both physically and emotionally.

With renewed determination, he attempted to pull away from the unyielding restraints once more. However, this time, the bonds dug into his noticeably bloated belly. The pressure against his expanding midsection, combined with the sensation of the liquid inside him sloshing around, sent an unexpectant surge of heat through his body.

A low, involuntary whine escaped his lips, and he felt his belly resting on his lap now, lightly brushing against his crotch. He couldn't help it, his hips instinctively bucking in search of any semblance of relief. 

The scientist couldn't resist the opportunity to taunt and tease Miguel as he sat helplessly restrained in the chair.

She circled him slowly, her hair cascading like a dark curtain around her. Her slender fingers traced a maddeningly slow path along his arm, sending a shiver down his spine.

He shifted and writhed in his restraints, his movements becoming increasingly erratic as he sought to alleviate the strange tension building within him

The sensation coursing through his body had become overwhelming, and his heavy, swollen belly, pressed firmly against his cock, seemed to beg for attention.

The scientist leaned closer, her voice, as hypnotic as it was malicious, whispered in his ear with a seductive undertone. "You're so strong, so capable," she continued, her voice dripping with condescension, "And yet, here you are, stuck in a chair, grinding against your own belly. How pathetic"

She trailed her fingers down his chest, before reaching out and gently lifting his chin with her slender fingers, coaxing him to look up at her.

"Tell me, Miguel," she whispered, her lips just inches from his, "Are you really that desperate?"

The scientist, fully aware of Miguel's inability to respond with the tube still in his mouth, leaned in closer, her lips curling into a sinister and knowing smile.

"You are, right? Look at you," she cooed, her fingers lifting his softened belly slightly, revealing a damp spot on his clothes, "Seems like you've been enjoying my experiment a little too much"

His response was immediate and instinctual. Despite the humiliation of his situation, he couldn't deny the strange allure of the scientist's touch. He leaned into her touch, pressing his bloated belly against the palm of her hand, seeking more of the strange sensations she was provoking.

The tension that was building in Miguel's tummy was undeniably one of arousal, a potent and almost intoxicating sensation that pulsed through him with each teasing touch from the scientist.

"¿Te gusta esto?" she purred, her fingers tracing patterns on his bloated belly.

Miguel, still unable to speak as the liquid continued to be pumped into him, could only nod in response, his cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and humiliation as he struggled to find a comfortable position.

She decided to give him a little break, and a faint, wet sound echoed in the room as the tube came free from his mouth.

Miguel, his lips now free from the tube but still feeling the lingering effects of the experiment, couldn't help but pout, letting out a soft, needy whine. The abrupt interruption of the experiment left him frustrated and confused.

The scientist, momentarily taken aback by his reaction, felt a flicker of surprise. Her usually steely demeanor softened, and she couldn't help but ask if he wanted more, her voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

"Yes, please"

[yuzurins]

# taken by surprise

in which nagi unintentionally knocks you off your feet during your first meeting. a meet ugly, as one might say.

warnings: not proofread, vv casual drabble i wrote on my way to class, a bit of cursing, and reader is a tease.

likes, reblogs and interactions are appreciated!

you scoff in disbelief, briefly scanning your surroundings to see the damage. your canvas was face down on the floor, the easel it was on lost a leg, and paint was splattered everywhere.

holding back the urge to curse out in frustration, you shifted your vision over to glare at the cause. about 2 feet away stood an antsy looking white haired boy who seemed to be around your age. he was probably in a rush to go somewhere, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look where he was going.

“oh shit,” he mutters, and you could see his eyes darting around in a panic, unsure of what to do. “uh, i—“

“watch where you’re going.” you interrupt, voice laced with hostility.

the boy bites his lip in response, opening his mouth to try and say something but nothing comes out. you’re still sitting on the floor, white uniform now covered with specks of red and blue all over.

wow, you think to yourself, this guy must have really low eq, because why hasn’t he helped you up yet?

“hey! nagi!” you hear someone call, most likely for the white haired boy in front of you. “hurry up or else you’re gonna get killed by reo!”

nagi hears another scoff come from you, snapping him back to reality, as he finally starts moving and picking up all the things he knocked onto the floor.

you stare at him with an unimpressed expression. “aren’t you supposed help me up first?” you tell him, just slightly feeling in the mood to tease.

like the dense guy he is, he shoots his right hand over to you as he continues to pick up your paint. no words spoken at all, and you start to think, this nagi dude seems a bit strange.

though obviously you were capable of helping yourself up, you just wanted to see him do something in return after disrupting your time relaxing in your own world. this sense of wanting to get back at him was natural, you think, because he was the one who knocked you over in the first place. right?

in the motion of him pulling you up, you gravitate closer and almost bump into him. he’s still squatting on the floor and you’re looking down at him, merely a few inches away. but from this position you finally get a good look at his face, and you realize that, oh, he’s kind of—no, actually—very handsome.

as you stand there dumbfounded, nagi finishes picking up all your stuff and stands up, turning over to look at you.

you furrow your brows in response, and for some reason, you feel like if you didn’t say what was really on your mind, you’d never get the opportunity to do it ever again.

“so, how are you going to compensate me for all this?” you point to the messed up canvas that had accumulated a bunch of rock from the floor.

it takes a few seconds for him to reply. “uh,” he starts, and he thinks back to what he sees all his football teammates say when they’re in a predicament with a girl. “wanna go for dinner?”

he says this with such an unfazed guise that you let out a laugh in surprise. was this careless lost little boy actually a playboy?

you don’t even give him the pleasure of replying with a yes or no, and instead fish his phone that was sticking out of his blazer pocket, opening a quick-note and typing your number in.

despite nagi not showing it on his face, he’s amazed by the fact that you snatched his most beloved possession from him so easily, and makes a mental note to himself to take more care of it next time.

you study the absentminded expression he has on his face as his eyes stay locked to his phone, and you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“here, you better not be joking.” you say, attempting to sound as harsh as possible, though you’re actually on the verge of breaking into laughter.

he looks down at his phone like it’s a foreign object, and looks back up at you blankly. his expression seems aloof, but you can make out the slightest red forming on his cheeks.

“NAGI! get your lazy ass here right now!” a purple haired boy is now calling for him from the football field, voice so loud that you can hear it even though he’s a whole building away.

nagi jumps at the sudden scold from his friend and he’s finally reminded of what he was doing originally. “see you later then, i guess.”

you flash a small smile, waving to him as he runs off. you’ve forgotten all about your painting now and your mind is plagued with the boy who had taken you by storm.

he destroyed your work that you spent hours on, but in the process, captivated you as well. compared to all the other snobby boys in your school, you swear it was his contrasting demeanour that piqued a bit of your interest.

and well, he’s actually pretty cute, isn’t he?

[ericbttle]

poor Claire really was the pinnacle of a “female love interest written by a man.” hunting down Carmy’s phone # after he gave her a fake one, somehow always having free time to spend with him despite her being a medical resident (???), never once showing an emotion outside of “in love 😌” or “slightly sad 😢”, no substantial view of who she is as a person outside of being the ~love of carmy’s life~. she could’ve been an interesting glimpse into carmy’s past in regards to romance but…wasn’t.

[overleftdown]

saltburn and consent; an investigative tangent

felix, venetia, and farleigh all consider sex to be transaction rather than emotional. you can see this in the casual way felix approaches sexual intimacy. you can see this in the way farleigh is described to use sex as a tool. you can see this in the way venetia uses sex to fulfill her need for validation. i'd like to explore how this sort of... complicates consent, within these on-screen dynamics.

i'm going to start this off with venetia. in venetia and oliver's first one-on-one interaction, you can see that oliver doesn't yet understand what to do with venetia. he plays his normal, unimposing, nervous, slightly awkward but well-intentioned character. venetia is the one to lean forward, pushing and testing oliver's boundaries. you can infer from later scenes that venetia enjoys testing the boys felix brings back to saltburn. part of this is venetia's own neglectful upbringing; she's starved of attention and therefore validation. she needs to be appealing, and she needs people to want her. this dynamic tangibly twists once oliver has been handed venetia's vulnerability by elspeth.

what is important to understand about this film is that sex is more so about emotion than physicality. this is portrayed in the way that emerald fennell avoids any nudity or exposure in her sex scenes. this is portrayed in the way that oliver exhibits no real confidence until he knows where others are vulnerable. he's unable to exude any strictly sexual dominance; he can only step into his dominance when he knows why these people hate themselves. so, when oliver is given insight into venetia's psyche, he is being given her vulnerability. to me, the sex was merely oliver's way of stripping a wire raw so that a current could effectively travel, so to speak. this is where consent gets tricky. oliver was non-consensually given any real power he had over venetia prior to the actual sex. if oliver had simply slept with venetia without knowing her insecurities or mentioning them, he wouldn't have had any power of her.

now, farleigh. what's interesting is how this dynamic of power, vulnerability, and sex shifts even more with "quickstart." farleigh didn't want oliver's pity, or sympathy. in fact, he recognized that this vulnerability was taken from him by oliver. he might've thought that felix confided in oliver about farleigh's troubles, or maybe he knew that oliver had eavesdropped. either way, oliver entered that conversation believing that farleigh would be just as insecure and starved for validation as venetia (i'm sure farleigh is, but we all react to our misfortune differently). i think the difference between farleigh and venetia in this area is quite interesting. both of them use sex as a way of gaining something. venetia is using sex to fulfill her need for validation, while she grows more and more bored by the material world. she's not afraid of losing anything, she desperately needs to gain something. farleigh does everything to maintain what is tangible, accessible, and real. he sees the material world as an extension of his security, using it as both insurance and escapism. farleigh is constantly terrified, constantly weighing the positives and negatives of his actions.

so, here is oliver, who has yanked the sheet off of farleigh. this is the exposure. instead of biting oliver's proverbial carrot, farleigh does the same to oliver, and in front of everyone. farleigh, just like oliver, understands the power of vulnerability. this is the sort of nightmare where you're suddenly butt naked in front of the whole school. later that night, oliver wills up the confidence to attempt to dominate farleigh, to tame him. again, this isn't just sexual domination. this is "if there's anything i can say to them... if i can help in any way, just ask." this is "we both know i could ruin everything you've worked so hard for. we both know i can help or hurt you." or, at least, that's how farleigh understood it. oliver was planning to ruin farleigh's life no matter what farleigh agreed to. "are you going to behave?" was never just a kinky line to throw around, it's meant to be a threat. what's funny is that oliver already planned to follow through, regardless of whether farleigh decided to "behave." coercive, and painfully hopeless for farleigh.

of course, that isn't to say farleigh wasn't aroused by whatever power play oliver was leaning into. the same goes for venetia. i'm mostly explaining why it's not healthy, or safe, or sane, or consensual. is that not the point of the movie? to question what we find attractive? to stare it in the face and talk about it?

moving on to felix. i'm not really sure where to go with this. i talked about saltburn and its depiction of privilege on an earlier post. to sum it up, farleigh and venetia both have some privilege over oliver, while oliver has some privilege over both farleigh and venetia. oliver has absolutely nothing over felix. both of them are white, both of them are men, and felix happens to be richer than oliver. this is why oliver is... so pathetically desperate for felix. he's obsessed with what he cannot have, control, or dominate. oliver is the vulnerable one, oliver is the one that is eventually laid bare in front of felix. a liar, a manipulator, and pathetically desperate for felix's love. so desperate for someone so powerful to love someone like him.

and, once felix knows this, oliver kills him for it. he fucks the dirt felix is buried under, just to feel like he's taking something after felix took his secrets. oliver understands the power of vulnerability. oliver understands that sex is easy once you've already stolen what really matters from someone. oliver saw the connectivity of human nature and used it, twisted it, just to pull himself closer to felix. oliver's northern star, who he never truly got to have.

[bonefall]

As a big sibling with a lil sib with epilepsy, when they read TBC they Honestly thought if they got struck with lightning reciting the lord's prayer they'd be cured like Shadowsight is from their epilepsy. I had a discussion with them on how that's not how it works, but ge was so upset they took it away from Shadowsight that he hasn't picked the books back up and has stated that 'he hopes Ashfur wins and starts a new religion.,'

I do not even know how to respond to this besides saying that your little sibling is 100% right to be pissed and I now also hope Ashfur wins and starts a new religion.

[jerirose]

I'm really bad at writing these and I'm not sure where to start... but I think I need help. As a large amount of you know in FEB 2023 I got COVID whilst on holiday. I am autoimmune and my body did not take kindly to it. I got it on the 3rd day of my holiday and spent the next two weeks in bed, flew back home (properly masked) with COVID and spent another week in bed with positive results. COVID took my voice for several months, from shredding my throat (I wasn't able to talk for 3 months afterwards and slowly had to gain back my ability to speak) and I gained a heart condition from it, along with breathing problems. I am still suffering, a year later from all of these, the last year has been an extremely difficult battle for me, along with my other illnesses, relearning my limits with my long COVID issues. I has taken away my ability to do the things I love, I used to spend everyday day painting almost all day, I can no longer do this because of chronic fatigue and I used to stream 6 days a week on a good week (I'd of called this my job, since I'm too ill to work), for 6 hours, now I am very limited in how much energy I can put into either. I finally have an appointment at a Post COVID Clinic... but I almost fell over when they told me the cost.. it's expensive and I have to pay up front (we are not sure if my insurance will cover it to get the money back - this we find out when I'm there), this is just the consult and I'm sure there will be follow ups that I have to pay for... If you can help even a little, even by boosting this post I would greatly appreciate it, it'd honestly mean the world to me. (Long) COVID has taken so much away from me, and I'd really like to be able to have a chance to get some normality back in my life. I've set up a Goal on Ko-Fi, if you can or would like to help.

[soaps-mohawk]

I wish you can update for like twice a week 🛐. I'm always checking for new update hahaha.. anyways, take ur timeee 🫡🫡🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Anon, I know you probably meant well, but this is not the time for something like this.

(Gif courtesy of @collinnmckinley )

[densitywell]

as someone who agrees that FCG dying permanently here is likely the most satisfying resolution to their arc, i think the belief that resurrection in general "cheapens" death, or negates its consequences, kind of... overestimates the inherent weight that character death has, as a storytelling tool. or at least reweights that impact to be placed entirely on staying dead as opposed to dying in the first place.

in more traditional storytelling, a character death is a calculated risk; that the story gains more, whether in meaning and emotion or purely practically, from a character dying than the potential that's lost with them. the possibility of ressurection, and specifically how its set up by dnd and Matt in particular, expands the available directions a story could go after a death. to a certain extent it lets you have your cake and eat it too, because not only does resurrection take time, materials, travel and making connections and upending all of your plans, but it doesn't erase the trauma the death first caused. it's not an undo button.

i find the idea that death needs to be permanent to impart a lesson especially strange wrt c3, given how largely the Hells' first encounter with Otohan continued to loom over their psyches even long after Laudna was brought back. shit, they still might not be able to shake it now that she's dead. what lesson of this second encounter requires that FCG's death be permanent? things are serious now? dying is bad? they've known that since, well. since the first time they fought Otohan. going into this battle they didn't know if resurrection was even on the table anymore.

i don't think there would've been anything gained, narratively, by Laudna permanently dying, and it would have shut the door on her arc before it really got started. FCG is a different story, with the revelations they reached before their death giving a real sense of completeness to their character development, but it's not like his story has been completely explored either. there's still more to be story to be told about FCG, and there's story to be told about bringing FCG back, as well.

and in one way or another, the consequences of their decision would still be felt, most obviously by the complications destroying their arcane core (and body) may have on their resurrection, including potentially requiring they come back in a completely different body. if he did come back he would not be the same FCG that blew himself up to save the Hells, and they would not be the same Hells who watched him do it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

He definitely meant the sword, right?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[dragoninahumancostume]

I want to see art of Tumblr as a physical space. It's a building. The popular blogs are sitting on their thrones. The hall of fame is the reception of it because departamental building. You know when you got to a building and there are sofas on one side the receptionist in front fo the door? Imagine he sofa side is incredibly big but it's actually a library, because everyone here seems to love libraries, and each book is a famous post, but they're all disorganized entirely so they randomly appear on a table of the library and someone grabs it and says "hey look at this!" and then continue to share it; sometimes they don't share it and instead put it back in the shelf but soon it appears on a table again. Each apartment is a person and each room in them is a blog they have, and if you only have one blog? Worry not! Slider curtains or magical walls, so it's technically one room but it's made perfectly to fit you. The apartment has all accommodations needed for the person (wheel chair, painkillers, pads, tampons, you name it and it's there.) and you can have your pronouns and your name written on the door and next to it a list of the things you love the most and want to talk about with people. There are pride flags inside and outside if you want to have them. Your wardrobe is whatever you want to wear for the day; Cozy pajama? Sure! Wizard robe! There you go! Victorian outfit? Lovely! Beetlejuice cosplay? Neat!

The dash is the halls. We wander around the building whenever we leave the room. When you post something, you're just saying out loud your thoughts, and if you get notes, that's just people wandering near your apartment who happen to have heard you. Likes are people literally leaving heart shaped stickers —with the paper still on— under your door with a little note saying "I heard you saying this and I liked it". Reblogs are people hearing you, then going back to their rooms and saying "Hey I heard this and I want all of you to hear it too! Also, I may have something to add to it!". Your neighbors are your mutuals, because they can hear you more easily.

In the main hall there are, like, papers hanging on one VERY big wall. The wall has written at the very top of it "POLLS" in big font. The wall is divided in "FINISHED" and "AVAILABLE". The papers on the available side come with a pen so you can vote, but no one sees you while doing so and no one will know what you said except for you.

The asks are people sending you letters under your door. Your door is uh magical so you can say if people have to sign it or if it's okay to put it anonymous. You then proceed to read the letter out loud for everyone who passes by to hear and you answer.

The drafts is you having a thought but instead of saying it out loud you write it down, and put it on a shelf with the other drafts. Every apartment has a shelf, as high or as low as the person wants it, the color and the shape and everything is to appeal the owner of the apartment.

And uh.. I think that's it for now I can't think for much else except uh

@hellsite-detective has two types of asks. The simples ones like "Hey can you find this?" "I love what you do!" are the usual letters, the other type is the people who prefer to go ask for help themselves. They knock on the door and present the evidence for the case, trusting our dear detective.

There's so many people in here... Tumblr is pretty much a city with how many buildings there are... People can go on to other buildings and wander around too and participate if they want.

The gimmick blogs have different wardrobes in their rooms. There's the main one where they go as themselves, and there's the other where they can put on costumes and change their names.

There's also a more secluded part of the city... That's where the misfits live. Bigots, transphobes, homophobes... People who we don't want to be around, so they hide in their little corner of the city. Most know better than to interact. Those who are curious put on a custom to not be seen when they wander around, and they try not to engage.

I want to continue talking about this but I don't have any more ideas right now so please continue this if you want! :)

[rise-my-angel]

Reading your rants and realising I don't like Sansa, I just liked the potential of her becoming a blend of Cersei and Margary. But of course that didn't happen. Tragedy.

Precursor, this is not meant to shame anyone for liking late show Sansa nor am I trying to change anyone's opinions on her. This is just me explaining the main core concepts of my problems with her post season 4 characterization.

Late show Sansa always felt like they were experimenting with making her a more vindictive and manipulative character but never wanted to commit. I think they wanted Sansa to be both the developing Cersei, but also to let her become Queen in the North but had no idea how to make that happen, so it's why she never is committed to this new persona.

She switches between loving sister and horribly manipulative. Her cold, uncaring attitude does not come off as a jaded result of trauma it comes off as trying to make her a stone faced girl boss. Early show Sansa isn't my favorite character but she feels real and she feels like she grows as a person.

Her costumes show this. Season 1 she starts dressing more like Cersei to show her priorities lie in fitting in with what she thinks will be her new family. Season 2 when everything starts to weigh down on her she starts dressing like Catelyn showing her making unconcious ties with her family by dressing like the mother she is forced to publically denounce as a traitor. Season 3 and start of 4 she dresses more like Margaery because now shes finding comfort in what seems to be a kind friend. Then the 2nd half of season 4 and part of 5 she dresses darker suddenly and part of it is being in disguise but it's also showcasing her time with Petyr Baelish is turning her different. Season 6 onward she dressed exactly the same way they were also dressing Cersei but with none of the reasons why behind it.

Sansa in the late seasons is infuriating to me but lots of her stans misunderstand why. I fully enjoy characters like Cersei (especially book Cersei in affc) where she has genuine complexity but is ultimately manipulative and selfish and does bad things partially because she enjoys the power over people. I love Margaery because there is a good heart in her and Loras, but they are playing the game so well that even though we as the audience see it, not even some of the smartest characters can do anything about it. Margaery is the woman Sansa wanted to be, but Cersei and Petyr are the characters she turned out to be. And I wished they committed to it.

There's a big post I didn't reblog to try and avoid angering any followers of mine who love her, but it outlines exactly why her actions in the Battle of the Bastards plot were essentially evil and malicious and it's why I believe the intent originally was to have her saving the day be a not an act of heroism, but an attempt to coup Jon from any power. I feel like her showing up when she does and finding Jon alive as being not part of her plan to be so much more interesting. Because as SOON as Jon is crowned, she publically disagrees and argues with him in front of the court, complains to people about him in private, argues with him more in private, and when hes gone she starts to stir conflict that leads people to publically say they should've declared her Queen instead of Jon (which is fucking treason to say I will add). Sansa in the books doesnt respect Jon and always saw him as less then, and was the only sibling who still called him her bastard brother, when everyone else had grown to half brother and many eventually dropping that entierly and only thinking of him in terms of an full brother. Sansa inherited Catelyns bastard discriminatory views and she does not respect Jon. And I think she sees herself as Neds lawful heir and sees Jon as being King instead of her as an insult and wishes to find a way to get rid of him either by crippling him in battle, or attempting to coup him through the people he rules. Her actions with Jon is where her characterization is the absolute worst and its where I believe theres the strongest argument to be made that she has developed into someone whom she THINKS is like Margaery, but she actually is just like Cersei and Petyr Baelish.

Which is why Jon starts dressing like Ned, the character he internally is the most aligned in morals and values with. And she starts dressing at the exact same time, like Cersei and Petyr because its them she has become the most like, not Margaery who is always contrasted in light tones and alluring fabrics. (I could make a whole separate post about how Cersei's costumes contrasted with Margaery in season 3 and 4 are brilliant adaptive methods of portraying the internal conflicts between them that were lost in text to screen adaptation the early show costume design was so brilliant and people do not give credit enough for how much world building and thematic hinting the costumes are doing in seasons 1 through 5).

Season 7 Sansa with Arya is hard to describe because so much of it was an attempt at a rug pull to reveal her and Arya were working together. Now that entire sub plot makes NO SENSE and I do not have the time to elaborate on why it's insane, but it also does another thing I hate. It cripples Petyr Baelish as a character just to make Sansa come out on top.

Petyr Baelish is an absolute gift a character and he is the kind of smart that Sansa incorrectly thinks she is. She only comes out on top because they didn't know how to end Petyr's storyline and had Sansa do it to get him out of the way. That and there was just zero acknowledgment that she sat on her chair inside the main hall court and let her little sister slit a man's throat after an unfair and rigged trial. When the King she is sitting in for, would have done what their father would've done. Jon wouldve given him the exact charge of his crimes outright, and brought him outside to properly execute him by his own hand a la, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Season 8 Sansa is the closest she was to bearable since season 4 Sansa, but not because she is well written. She is just slightly less poorly written then whatever the bonkers they were flip flopping Dany between (this is not an anti Sansa/pro Dany blog we hate Dany here too). But the finale shes back to full awful display. She does nothing to give proper defense of Jon, does not bring up the fact that there is literally no fucking proof of what Jon did, doesn't vogue for him doing the right thing (also theres just zero parallels that Jon ultimately realized that the right thing to do was the thing that ruined Jaime Lannisters entire reputation and that he has to simply hope somehow Ned understands the cost of what hes about to do but again my Jaime and Jon paralells rant is not for this post). She simply let's them send to to the Nights Watch and I fully believe she is letting him die alone without the pack because he is the one person who still stands in her way of ruling. She becomes Queen as soon as Jon is finally out of the way and doesn't just be like "hey new queens orders Jon you are pardoned in the north".

She also seems to just be sending the free folk north of the wall too, when in season 5 Jon literally brings them South of the Wall and starts the process of finding them lands in The Gift, a far Northern stretch of land partially controlled by the Nights Watch that is mostly abandoned anyways due to wildling raids. So she doesn't even let them stay in the North when Jon's entire reason for bringing them South was because he understood that the two sides of the North should be coexisting and not fighting so she undoes everything Jon as both Lord Commander and King does, because I think she is doing what she thinks Cersei would've done.

Gotten rid of people with more power then her, so that she can be the one on control.

But, it will never be seen as such because the show refused to commit to it. They made her do these actions but always framed it as her being smart and cool. Sansa wouldn't be insufferable if they just let her be a more malicious, badly intentioned student of Cersei but who wrongly thinks she is as clever as Margaery. Cersei isn't insufferable because we all understand the character complexity behind her worst traits and doesn't pretend she isnt a bad person. The late seasons pretend Sansa is a smart person but not a bad person. But she is. Late show Sansa is insufferable because she is a bad person who I am supposed to pretend is this smart, girlboss who knows better then her strong moraled older brother who is more of a leader then she's ever been.

I've always felt that Sansa's story was leading to her becoming someone far away from the Stark identity, and that the very early killing of Lady was both a symbol for it and a catalyst of it. I think it makes sense her story does not end happily with her finding harmony with her remaining siblings. I think Sansas story makes more sense to end with her standing in opposition to everything the remaining Starks stand for because she has allowed herself to learn the worst lessons from the worst people but doesn't have the self awareness to understand that.

The last time I enjoyed show Sansa was the episode of Jofferys death, because it was the last time I felt like I was watching a real character and not a prop for the writers to turn into a badass.

Also just saying, my own opinion, but late show Sansa should've had a kindling romance with Tyrion (they are still married by the way that was never annulled) and they have a few moments that I found myself desperately wishing they would lean into it. I think it would've made her a little bit more of a rounded character, and it would help lean into the idea of her standing oppose to her family. Finding romance in a Lannister, when her political marriage to Tyrion is literally what caused book Robb to write her out of his line of succession in the first place.

Anyways, uh, no ones reading this by this point but I just think late show Sansa wouldve been a better character had they acknowledged the bad person she had become instead of pretending it all just made her strong and cool.

Queen in the North Sansa makes me 🤢🤮

[vampyrsm]

!!! seeing dune part two in an hour, i want to write an au like that SOOOOO bad