#and had about a hundred different runs to draw inspiration from | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

multifandomfanatic02 · 2 months

Text

"You Don't Own Me."

pairing : Alastor x overlord!reader

summary : A new overlord has came to play in Hell, you. Alastor took notice in how many souls you've accrued in such a short time. He has to let you know where you stood in the overlord hierarchy, however things don't go the way he originally planned.

warnings : slight blood play ig? Idk. Author trying to edge the reader :)) not proofread

word count : 900

You hadn't been in Hell for long but it felt as if you belonged. It didn't take long before you started catching the hearts of the sinners. A lot happily giving up their souls to simply breathe the same sulfuric air as you. The way you used these souls was unique. You weren't mean or evil in anyway shape or form. In fact, you were often seen as an inspiration.

The overlords in Pentagram City were a different story. None of them liked the way you shot up the hierarchy without even trying. Instilling fear was what got them where they were at and they weren't going to give up their seat to a goody-two-shoes like you. Your methods interested one overlord in particular, Alastor. Despite literally being stuck in the past, he was quite the open-minded demon.

He didn't know whether or not to applaud you or challenge you. Your talent would be useful. He wanted you for himself. And for years he fought to claim your soul and make a deal. And not once out of the hundreds of proposals did he convince you it was a good idea. The two of you slowly started to develop a strange relationship. Nothing romantic but there was definitely tension. While he didn't own your soul, you were often in each other's company.

It was like mutualistic relationship. He staved off the overly pushy overlords constantly offering you a job; jobs that would obviously make you uncomfortable. In turn, you offered your assistance in a lot of his business. It came with pros and cons like any other agreement. He was extremely possessive of you. You were treated like precious property. You had enough. There was no reason for this behavior. Typically it didn't bother you, but something snapped.

"Alastor. You do not own my soul. I'm not property that you can toy with. I should be allowed to go wherever I please." You crossed your arms in frustration hearing him explain why he didn't want you in the Vees territory.

"Darling, you know I hold you with upmost respect. It's got nothing to do with you being property. I understand you are immune to Vox's hypnosis spell. It's not him I'm worried about. My worry is of Vox's plaything, Valentino." He gripped your wrist, leaning ever so slightly to place a kiss on your knuckles. "Understand that you are a sight to behold in the entirety of Hell. Valentino, is not honorable in his job as I, my dear. Without the proper protection, you might as well be an easy target." His breath ghosted your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

It's like he forgot who you were, what you were capable of. It was time to show him how that talent of yours has affected him over time. And trust when you say, it did.

"Oh Alastor, I think you forget as to how I became an overlord in the first place. The feminine charm that you oh so fear backfiring on me is why you have been by my side after all these years." You wrapped your fingers around his bow tie, pulling him down to your level. An enchanting smile creeping up on your face as Alastor's expression glitched out from the bold action. The other hand running through his hair making him let out a soft purr. His eyes focused on yours trying to determine your next move before you could decide.

To his surprise, you gently pressed your lips against his. His head was dizzy with confusion and guilty enjoyment. Your lips trailed down his neck, biting down a bit. Enough for his blood to trickle down. Your hands were now trading between playing with his hair and drawing small circles on the back of his neck. Your lips returned to his, smearing the blood from your tongue as if it were a beautiful crimson lipstick. The poor guy was so touch starved, he gave in to the sudden intrusion of affection. He couldn't do anything but allow you to press his buttons.

Your tongue ran over your lips, swallowing whatever blood was left on them. You took a step back to view the obvious mess you've made. Alastor's eyes were dazed as if he was in another world. His face beet red nearly matching the color of his suit. It was such an unusual sight to see on him. And you managed to do it.

"My my, Alastor, you look like you would be willing to sell me your soul just readingthe look on your face." You held your hand to your lips to cover the laugh attempting to escape. "How the tables have turned, dear." A joke of course, he would never actua-

"Yes." His ears dropped to the back of his head, still standing at your level. No sign of humor on his face.

"I'm sorry, what?" You blinked dumbfounded, mouth agape.

"I will give you my soul, but only if I'm the only one to experience that from you." Your face flushed from his proposal. Alastor had actually submitted to you because of a single kiss? But it wasn't JUST a kiss to him. It forced out desires he had been holding in for a long time. Now more than ever was he determined to have you be his. It didn't matter as to how anymore.

"You've got yourself deal, Al."

a/n: I know this one is short, it was more of an experiment because of a dream that I had. However if you like this concept, I'd be more than happy to build upon it in the future.

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbinhotel #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #alastor x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor angst #alastor fanfiction #alastor oneshot

1K notes · View notes

bluetimeombre · 4 months

Text

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Wanting you, under the Italian sun

You and Timmy have most been working hard. For the summer, they decide an Italian getaway.

[a little something that's been sitting in my drafts while i work on some other things, i hope you enjoy. I'm thinking of taking some requests, cause i'm lacking inspiration so if that's something you'd like, let me know and maybe, you'll get lucky]

The car dropped you off at your private villa for the weekend, the wheels rolling onto the stone.

You step out first while your beautiful boyfriend, timothee paid and took the bags from you. You both stare at the old but wonder ours villa which would be your home for the summer.

Timmy threw an arm around you shoulder, drawing you in and kissing your temple. It was an endearing move you revelled in. ‘Are you happy, amore mio?’ (My love)

You smile up at him. ‘Very.’

His lips Slide Over yours before leading you over to the door. You guys had already picked up the keys to the place by the owner. All summer, this would be your own private haven.

The two of you were hidden, surrounded by tall trees to shield you and it was at least a mile walk from the nearest town. You had a stocked kitchen, a pool for your own enjoyment and each other.

You and Timmy had only been dating six months, but it felt like the most blissful forever. Already you knew there was nothing more you could want, you had everything. But still, you both had been working hard over the last few months and knew to keep you both sane, you needed to escape.

You had been working hard on a movie you’re especially proud of with Emerald Fennell (the director of Saltburn). It was premiering at the end of the year and was a high talk of Oscar buzz, but it was taxing. And Timothee had been busy promoting dune two and preparing for Bob Dylan. The only time you’ve shared is surprising each other in different countries, stealing moments of hurried movements of bodies in hotel rooms and several hundred facetimes.

You'd both agreed to get away, knowing it could snowball into stress and terrible times. He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, a household name and everyone loved him. Meanwhile everyone was looking to you, a trend-setter, so what your next big move would be.

Italy, it would just be you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

You spent your first week sleeping in, bathing in the sunlight that came through the windows, left open for a cool breeze and curtains blowing gently. His hands would run over your bare skin, tracing marks his lips had made the night before. Then he'd roll on top of you and continue the evening.

His lips trail down your neck, biting and licking over a spot. 'Can't get enough of you.'

Then your mornings continue slowly. Sometimes you'd go for a walk around the countryside, or walk into the town and buy some flowers for the villa and Timothee would insist on buying you pretty things.

'A pretty girl deserves pretty things,' he always said.

So, when you brought a bouquet, you always spared a flower for him.

Most mornings, you'd be found in the pool while Timothee made breakfast, bringing it out for the two of you. You'd sit at the set table, next to each other, your legs stretched into his lap as he traced patterns on your skin. Or his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

You guys talked, talked about anything. Your careers, your hopes and dreams for the future, together-obviously. You talked about books and poems and movies and family. It was so easy with him. And at the same time, everything was exciting.

Your bodies knew each other, and in the summer, with so much skin, you had many chances to explore each other, but you also explored each others minds, picking out anything you each wanted to know.

Timothee, on rare occasions, even on holiday, slept in. You spent your time admiring him, his lips parted with soft breaths and his curls fresh and soft. He was naked under the sheets but the white covers were pulled over his chest. He still had an arm draped over your stomach, but it was weak in sleep.

You slipped away easily, taking your books and making yourself coffee and heading to the poolside to relax in the morning glow.

Only half an hour slipped by before you boyfriend wandered out, in his trunks, still stretching out the sleep that held his body.

'Good morning, baby,' you greeted with a smile.

Timothee smiled down at you before urging you to shuffle to the end of your chair. He slipped behind you, legs on either side and arms wrapping around your waist. He kissed one the tattooed marks he left on you last night. That's what he loved about the villa, the two of you wearing barley anything. 'Morning, mon amour. How did you sleep?'

You lean your head back on his shoulder. 'Like a babe.'

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. It was never quick with him, never swift. His lips were hard against yours, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip to taste the coffee on your tongue.

You pulled back before you could lose your place in your book. But, you pulled your coffee cup from the ground and offered him some.

He took a sip and leant his head on you shoulder, reading over while his hands messaged your stomach and hips. 'Even on holiday you're working.'

'This isn't work, i'm reading.'

'About the architecture of Italy?'

'It's a beautiful place.'

He hummed. 'It suits you, beautiful place for a beautiful girl.' He wears a smirk as his fingers slide over your swimsuit and slowly slip under under it grazes your bare hipbone.

'Timothee,' you warn with the most conviction you could.

'What?' he asked innocently.

You peck him on the lips, pulling away and leaving him to chase them. 'You have a problem.'

'Yes, I do.' Slowly, he slides the book of the chair, leaving it to thud on the ground and he slowly settles you down, as he slides along your back, slowly taking the straps down with his teeth. 'Will you help me?'

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

As the sun sets on your simple day, the two of you sit at dinner outside as always. You listen to Timothee strum the guitar he brought along, mumble along to some songs he'd learnt for Bob Dylan.

Then, he passed it to you, letting you strum what songs you knew from other movies you'd done.

Once you set the guitar down, it fell quiet.

'You know I want to marry you, right?' said Timmy out of nowhere. 'Not here. Not now. When it's right, for you.'

You look at him. You spoke about futures, but never had he said so blatantly that he will marry you. 'What about you?' you ask.

'I'll be ready when you are,' he says, gently brushing your hair behind your shoulder. 'And this could be our lives. Here. Every summer this could be our villa. You and me. Then one day, our kids. Then, when we've made enough movies we'll do what the old movie stars do. Retire, direct or produce a movie or something. We'd be like those cooky neighbours who throw the craziest parties.'

'Cheeseboards,' you suggest. 'Watching sunsets and sunrises, walking to town to buy ingredients for supper. Then complaining about the kids running around our feet while trying to cook.' you say, playing pretend for your future lives.

Timothee nodded, leaning closer to you, like he could see the future in your eyes. 'We'll hide away here, in the trees, and swim together, naked- when we're alone of course-' you laugh at his. 'and we can spend all day together, I'd get to touch you whenever I please,' his hands slowly caressed up your legs, careful and light.

You blush, smiling and resting your chin in the palm of your hands. 'All day every day touching you.'

'Could you think of anything better?' he smirked, lips brushing yours.

'Well, right now, a few things.' you kissed him and kissed him, thankful forever for the Italian sun.

#timothée chalamet #wonka #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee imagine #timmy #timothee x you #love #my dreams #timothee chalamet x reader

314 notes · View notes

radiance1 · 9 months

Text

Remember that post where Danny was a dragon and Vlad was a pheonix?

Yea, they're thought here too.

And Danny is obvi an eastern dragon.

Also kinda inspired by the Kwami from mlb.

Danny became the prince of the Far Frozen, after having been adopted by Frostbite a few centuries earlier. Danny is immortal here, and lived past his family so he just spends most of his time in the Far Frozen now.

Vlad meanwhile just stuck to his own lair, a great zone of fire filled with his signature black flames. Occasionally he goes out to the human world to check in on Vladco, he unfortunately had to leave his business up to an heir since it would draw a great amount of suspicion if he were to still be the head after, say, a hundred or so years.

Did he have a child with someone? Hah! No, he just took an orphan off the street, cleaned them up a lil, and turned them into an heir worthy of Vladco.

Vlad and Danny aren't exactly friends, nor enemies either. The most accurate term would be that they're Frenemies. After a few hundred years they've just resorted to that.

Vlad is an enemy of Prince Aragon, surprisingly he didn't actually do anything significant to earn his ire, Prince Aragon just hates him because he's a phoenix.

Danny is also enemies with him, since he was one of Danny's enemies before when he was a teen and the guy's attitude didn't at all help in making Danny not be his enemy really.

So you can say they bonded over their shared hatred for that one guy a little bit.

Cute forward a couple years into the future and Danny and Vlad have gotten trapped inside some magical artifacts.

Why?

Because some wizard wanted their power for his own gain and such made a plan to pit them against each other, make them tire themselves out and injure the other, and then turn them into artifacts.

Danny got transformed into a necklace and Vlad got transformed into a ring.

In hindsight, they should've seen this coming.

Like the Kwami's from mlb they can come out of their respective items in a chibi form. Tiny eastern dragon and tiny phoenix that gave the wizard who turned them into what they are now hell.

They were sassy, straight out insulted him and laughed to each other about it straight to his face, and when the situation allowed it. Hindered him instead of helping him.

It got so bad that the wizard who turned them into jewelry decided to just give them off instead of holding onto them.

They've been given away, sold, auctioned off. A lot of things, though after being handed off from the wizard they were mostly silent. Over the years they were unfortunately split up, going to different owners.

Fast forward to another couple more years and Danny found himself dug up from a casket belonging to a long dead wizard and then just dumped into the custody of one Timothy Drake.

Meanwhile, Vlad found himself bought Lex Luthor, then he went: "Wait a minute, something about you is familiar.." then found out he was the descendant of that one orphan kid he took off the streets.

Danny appeared to Tim because he was lonely, and basically became his best friend. Though he was confused about his apparent obsession with this Batman character.

Vlad also appeared to Lex Luthor, though he did haggle him quite a bit for his business and what did you mean that kid's descendants ran his business into the ground? He taught that kid everything he knew and his descendants had the gall to run his business into bankruptcy just because he wasn't around?

If he got his claws on them he swore he would-

Anywho, who the hell is Superman and why do you hate him?

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt

458 notes · View notes

thebibliosphere · 8 months

Note

Joy! I've officially jumped on the Phangs bandwagon, so I can finally send coherent questions about it—how did you come up with the political landscape? I imagine it's at least partially inspired by true events, but how do you keep straight the political compasses of each character?

Eeey! Welcome aboard!

And yeah, a lot of it's based on history, but also a lot of current events if you squint. (Or maybe you don't need to squint.)

As for how I keep the characters straight (ha!) I had definite ideas about them while forming their personalities and history.

Nathan is the youngest and only starting to question the political landscape around him. He's not politically unaware but perhaps a little naive and unwilling to see how corrupt everything is.

He's been conditioned from a young age not to question authority. Military indoctrination will do that to you. Only when he finds himself on the frontline of an unjust and hopeless war does he realize things aren't what they seem. He still toes the line... until he gets injured, and the true depths of how little the military or government cares for people like him gives him a nasty jolt. Even in the first book, he's still somewhat in denial because part of him doesn't want to admit that he's been complacent. You can see what in the conversation with his brother Miles. His realization that he's spent his whole life following orders doesn't sit well with him, and that's a theme that will continue for his character in all future books.

It's only when he meets Vlad that he genuinely starts to question things, and that's because Vlad is the walking embodiment of a homemade Molotov cocktail wrapped up in a silk suit and a fierce, unshakeable sense of justice.

Vlad was created as a challenge to the bored, misanthropic vampire stereotype who doesn't give a shit about humanity because they've been around for hundreds of years and lost all faith in humanity. If anything, the longer Vlad is around humanity, the more fiercely he loves it and wants to do everything he can to help them. He grew up under the bloody iron fist of his grandfather's regime and saw firsthand what happens in a world devoid of democracy, and he's been running from it ever since.

He can only do a little under his father's thumb. But what he can do, Vlad does with all of his being. He's found ways to enable free schooling and medical care on the island, and if you give him a few more decades, he'll find a way to make housing accessible, too. (It's a numbers game, and he's very good with numbers. And honestly, his father doesn't pay too much attention to what he's doing. Not if he's careful about it...) He's also a staunch believer in the power of worker's unions, and despite technically being the person the unions would fight against, he is trying to help the workers of his island unionize because he believes it is the just and right thing to do.

Ultimately, Vlad is my firebrand catalyst for change, and I am really looking forward to exploring his arcs in future books.

Ursula is... tricky. She's in a precarious situation where she can't afford to draw attention to herself and, at times, has been forced to side with people she'd otherwise cheerfully drown because they could offer her the best protection. It's exhausting and soul-destroying, and it leaves her feeling powerless. Which is laughable when considering who she is. What she is.

She hates it. She wants it to be different. She doesn't like feeling so hopeless. Defeated. But she's tried to change things in the past, and it almost destroyed everything. So now she just keeps her head down and works from the shadows. It's safest that way. Not to mention quicker. After all, what's one more human war to an immortal [REDACTED]? If she ignores it, it'll go away. Eventually. Right? Right? (This may or may not be the denial talking.) (It is absolutely the denial talking.)

The fact that human politics are about to severely and unavoidably affect her will not go down well. Ursula is, in fact, going to be bloody livid about it. Not to mention guilt-riddled for burying her head in the sand and letting the humans go unchecked for so long.

Fortunately, she's got some new allies in her corner. A fiercely protective werewolf with a newfound sense of political rage and a vampire who's been spoiling for a fight of this magnitude for over four hundred years. Maybe, just maybe, this time, things will be different...

#hunger pangs: true love bites #hunger pangs series #world building #character building

358 notes · View notes

nogacheloveka-blog · 2 months

Text

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №9

next 10

prev 8

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

I encountered an organization called "To Be Determined". It inspired me to create this drawing. In this organization, there are 6 people who trade highly nonfunctional and peculiar items. I immediately imagined it as a shop run by lost Temmies (Flowey and Bob) from different AUs within Backrooms.

I noticed that there aren't that many prepared posts about bad guys in the backrooms - maybe two or three more. A couple of weeks ago, I started a new job and haven't been drawing much.

I think these posts about bad guys will be once a week, on Saturdays.

Please wish me inspiration =)

The new rooms were similar to Level 0 in their structure. Clusters of office rooms, with and without office furniture. But now there was a pleasant addition in the form of windows. The closed door of the previous place, as before, disappeared behind them when they passed through it. Nightmer seemed calmer without the negative water supply. (Again, being able to clearly distinguish the auras of his wards was definitely pleasant)

After some wandering, Nightmare sensed another presence nearby. Within seconds, everyone heard a distant

“HOOOOY!”

This exclamation certainly wasn’t what Nightmare wished to hear, yet if these were Temmies (or something like them), then they might provide information — even though their brains seemed similar to confetti made of narcotic flakes. At the same time, the place where the Tems might live cannot be too dangerous.

Following the sound, the group found themselves in a medium-sized office room. Soft bean bag chair (Error felt nostalgic for Antivoid) and strange objects, presumably for sale alongside an old cardboard box, occupied one corner. Something resembling Flowey danced as if trapped in an animation loop near merchandise, becoming slightly animated upon seeing customers. Two monsters dressed similarly to Temmies sat nearby. Bob stood apart, his expression frozen, suggesting he had eaten Temmie Flake.

As it turned out later, two more monsters from this group were missing, busy gathering supplies and goods for the little shop. They all seemed to come from different AUs.

Here were also computers, many of which were operational. They tried to access the Undernet and various sites. They couldn't. Instead, they entered a sort of knowledge base. A local Wikipedia or something similar. The browser already contained open tabs, but they couldn't open new ones - there was no network connection. Someone had left the browser open, he took the equipment with him. And, oh, it seemed they had found gold while looking for copper: by reading the text, they understood that the author of the notebook was making notes from this knowledge base. This was easy to understand by the style. There were about a hundred open tabs: items and entities, but mostly levels. From the amount of new information, their heads were spinning. Some levels were described in an unusual way, requiring attention to details to extract additional information. And nothing about exiting from here. There were levels-dead ends, levels-traps, but nothing about a real exit from here.

However, on the other hand, it became evident that there weren't many people in the Backrooms, and they moved individually due to the nature of how many levels was work. Almost everything here seemed to be trying to kill them. But it appeared that not even the dimension-killer could do anything against their DETERMINATION.

Temmies struggled to provide clear answers regarding humans; instead, they simply told strangers, "Temmies too pieople," and strangers treating them like quirky yet harmless folks. How could such a system work? Perhaps these humans were slightly mad. Or perhaps very tolerant towards others' differences. Either way, avoiding contact would be wise.

The presence of monsters in these places brought some comfort. The Bad Guys weren't the only ones who had a rough time. That was good. But the fact that some other monsters they encountered were distorted beyond recognition - like the Smilers - raised serious concerns. It was nerve-wracking.

While Error, Cross, and Dust were exploring the local equivalent of the internet, others used the suddenly freed-up time for themselves. For example, they tried to trade. They all had some amount of monster gold and items to exchange, which Temmies agreed to accept. Horror bought a "Strange Amulet," sweets, and some food to diversify their diet. Almond Water was certainly good, but it was getting boring, and they never tried to cook Greasy Marshmallow. Considering the amulet useless for himself, Horror gave it to Dast.

Strange Amulet ATK: 10 DEF: 10 Made from butterflies in the stomach. It smells of hopes and dreams turned to dust. Allows forming new friendships.

Killer bought numerous boxes of Temmi Flake and Flowey Seeds, several paint cans, and countless small parts of mechanisms along with some mysterious steel scraps, strange red shavings - it seemed he enjoyed them. He also tried planting grass, but Horror stopped him.

Temmie Flake Restores 1–10 HP and sanity *represented by cut yellow wallpaper soaked in Almond Waters

Flowey Seeds Restore 10 HP *represented by seeds coated in Greasy Marshmallow

Nightmare didn't particularly need any products, but somehow excitedly Temmies looked at his tentacles (too much positivity) and offered a discount. Eventually, he purchased a notebook containing maps of certain stable levels from them. Unfortunately, those maps were unsigned. Since he wasn't sure if damaging traders would be beneficial, he decided to go the honest route this time around. After all, merchants held a special status across worlds.

The group stopped at this location for a couple days to record all the information from the site that could be useful to them. It turned out that sequential exploration of levels was only possible up to level 12. Beyond that, entrances and exits from levels led randomly, and any movement scheme resembled a pot of spaghetti. But in theory, they needed to explore this entire pot to find a way home. There were levels that looked like a one-way ticket, empty, unexplored, strange, surreal, remote, and destroyed. Overall, they could work with this.

Temmies didn't mind their company. Soon returned two departed collectors - underfell!Temmie and Temmie in "Temm Armor". They were surprisingly normal compared to the other merchants and shared some information:

People here can also be dangerous just like Fallen Child of Dungeons;

Many who live outside bases and settlements are mad to varying degrees especially those who haven’t drunk Almond Water for long;

Monsters can safely trade with lone humans;

People at outposts and bases usually think rationally and may attack if they realize you are not human. But even with them, you can negotiate.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

#bad sanses #cross sans #dust sans #error sans #horror sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #the backrooms #au #undertale au #bad guys in backrooms #bad sans gang #art #underverse #undertale #level 4 #temmie #swap!flowey

52 notes · View notes

writingjourney · 1 year

Note

Hiiii! I was wondering if you could maybe write about copia struggling to do his makeup and asks (y/n) for help?

let me help | copia x gn!reader

Thank you for your suggestion anon, it inspired me to this little fic. It may be a bit different from what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it anyway :) @leezlelatch here it is ♡

summary: your papa is overworked and tired, too shaky to do his own make-up, so you offer to help. content: 2.1k words, some mild hurt/comfort, established relationship

masterlist – Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦

A strong gale blew thick and heavy snowflakes against your window all night, leaving a plump white pillow on the sill that’s now covering half of the glass pane. You woke up multiple times as the wind howled in the cracks of the abbey’s old stone walls like a wolf calling to the moon, only ceasing in the early hours of the morning. As you get ready for the day now, the sky has cleared up and the soft glow of a rising sun paints your quarters in warm hues of orange. You lift your hand and let the warm rays of sunshine dance over your fingers.

It’s all quiet at this time of day and you’re sitting on your shared bed, pulling on some warm socks while Copia does his make-up. He’s perched on a wide, upholstered stool in front of the vanity he got when you moved in with him. Anything so he wouldn’t occupy the bathroom all morning, so he can share some more time with you while getting ready.

The sunlight hits the back of his head, his hair still tousled and sticking up at odd angles. You love observing him as he gets ready. While clumsy at first the process of painting his face has now gone over into muscle memory and watching his nimble fingers get to work each morning is a sight to behold. His brow is always furrowed in concentration, deepening the adorable wrinkles on his forehead as he draws precise black lines onto his features. His lips stay tightly pressed together through the whole process right until he finally has to relaxe them to apply his lipstick.

It’s the same procedure every single morning.

Well, except for today.

“Ahhhh, cazzo.”

His sudden curse makes you look up and you catch him furiously scrubbing at his cheek, almost violently wiping away some of his black paint. A blotchy gray rim remains around the red patch of skin he just rubbed raw.

“What is it, my love?” you ask, worried he’s going to seriously hurt himself.

Copia sighs in defeat, setting down the black paint in frustration only to stare at it in mild disgust. You observe him over the mirror but he doesn’t look up at you, a heavy air of sadness hanging over him.

“Ugh… I feel a little shaky today,” he finally says, staring at his trembling hand. “I cannot get it right.”

You’re aware Copia has dealt with a rough few days – sleeping restlessly, feeling unwell from all the stress, skipping meals in order to get more work done. It’s hardly surprising that he’s shaking, already overworked and worn out with another long day looming ahead of him.

You scoot off the bed and make your way over to your exhausted Papa. His eyes find yours in the mirror as you approach, and he makes space for you on the stool. It’s a tight fit but you sit down sideways, facing Copia instead of the mirror.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you take his hands in yours.

“Helping.” You bring them to your mouth, gently kissing each individual knuckle. You can feel his tremor, feel his tension against your lips. He slowly eases up as you continue to kiss him, running your thumbs over the backs of his hands. Copia sighs softly and when you look up, he’s smiling weakly at you and you already know what he’s going to ask next.

“Amore… how do I even deserve you?”

“You deserve all my love, don’t you ever question that.“ You give him a playfully stern look, followed by a pout, and his cheeks turn all rosy. “Now let me do your make-up.”

“You– you want to–“

“I’ve seen you do it a hundred times. I think I should be capable by now.”

“That’s not…” He swallows, softly shaking his head. “Not what I meant.”

His tone is enough to tell you exactly what he did mean. Do you really want to do this for me? Painting my face, something you’ve never done before, to help me when I feel so vulnerable right now?

“Yes, I want to.” You let go of his hands to reach out for his face, slowly rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. “My love, I know I cannot shoulder your burdens, I cannot paint my face and be Papa for you, but I can try to give you as much love and support and care as I can. And if that means packing you lunch to make sure you eat, rubbing your back when it’s sore from sitting all day, popping in to help you with paperwork or even doing your make-up because you’re too worked up over the day ahead, I will happily do it.”

His eyes close and he takes a deep breath, smiling as a single tear rolls down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, amore. You are my everything.”

It pains you to see him like this, so bone-tired, so defeated, really. He is your everything too and to admit that you can’t simply make all of this go away hurts. You lean in to kiss away the tear, add a few more kisses to his cheeks for good measure and an especially soft one to his lips. “I love you, too, Copia. More than you can imagine.”

You break away and he opens his eyes, huffing out a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Uhm, yes… so… should we start?”

“Mhm.” You reach for the white paint and decide to fix the spot he had been rubbing raw earlier. The redness is mostly gone but you’re still careful as you apply the face paint with a beauty blender. At first Copia watches you, still with that hint of disbelief in his eyes that you’re actually willing to do this for him, but then he slowly closes them and relaxes into your gentle care. Once his whole face is covered in an even shade of white, you pick up the black paint again. You find a brush and dip it in, trying to get a feeling for how much you need.

“Do you… uh…” Copia looks around, probably searching for his phone. “If you need a picture, for reference…”

“No, I don’t think so.” You chuckle, reaching for his chin to make him look at you. “I’ve been staring at your handsome face so many times, I’m sure I could do it in my sleep. Just relax, amore, I will get it right, I promise.”

“I know you will,” he immediately says, ears turning red at the use of his pet name. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to doubt you, tesoro. It’s just…”

“I know, it’s okay. Just relax, please.” You give him a genuine smile, raising your eyebrows until he finally returns it. Of course it seems a little forced, he’s still anxious, still tired, but it’s better than nothing. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes his features, allowing you to start with the black paint.

It takes you a while to get his whole face done since you’re trying to be as careful as possible. Admittedly, you’re a little shaky too, but with the help of the brush and working very slowly, you get the lines straight anyway. Copia tries very hard not to flinch or move his face, but he does blink a few times as you draw the lines around his eyes. You’re doing his eyelids when he blinks yet again, the timing unfortunate as his lashes hit the brush and some of the paint gets into his white eye. He hisses and tears up immediately, squinting hard in pain.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” you mumble, pulling away as fast as you can.

He raises a hand to your arm, the hurt eye still tightly screwed up. “Don’t, please, it happens.”

Copia hands you a tissue and you gently dab at the tears before they mess up the rest of his make-up, waiting until his eye stops leaking. An agonising minute later he manages to keep it open, the white iris surrounded by a now very red sclera. It looks worse than it probably is but it still scares you and you take a few deep breaths before you decide to continue with your finger instead of the offending brush.

“Is it okay now?” you ask.

“It is. Thank you,” Copia whispers. “You’re doing so well, amorino. Don’t worry about it.”

You smile at his praise, though you’re not sure if he’s being quite truthful about the pain. Nevertheless, you apply the rest of the paint, even more cautiously now, until it’s almost done and only the lips are left.

It’s not the first time you see his whole face covered in make-up with only his lips bare, it’s basically a slightly cleaner version of what he looks like after a good make-out session – once all of his lipstick has transferred to your face. And he does have very beautiful lips, so plump and pink and practically begging to be kissed. They always feel so soft against yours and when he’s gentle–

Copia must see you staring at them because his fingers find your chin, slowly lifting your gaze until your eyes meet and he smirks. “Are you distracted, tesorino?”

You fight a smile. “What if I am, Papa? Are you going to fire me?”

“Oh, I could never do this, no.” He smirks knowingly. “Your Papa enjoys having all of your attention way too much, amore.”

That’s enough to make you close the gap and finally kiss him. He smiles into it and before you can pull away, his hands find your cheeks, keeping you exactly where you are. His fingers gently move into your hair, tilting your head up before he deepens the kiss. You sink against him with a sigh, hoping this won’t do too much damage to his paint. But that thought is forgotten as soon you feel his teeth grazing your bottom lip, asking for more. You let him kiss you breathless as you taste the remnants of minty toothpaste on his tongue and it’s enough to make you crave him so badly. But he’s tired enough already, you can feel him losing his energy as the kiss gets more sluggish and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Promise me to take it easy today,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m so worried about you, Copia.”

He lets out a sigh, the exhale ghosting over your tender lips before he whispers back. “Ti voglio tanto bene. For you I promise anything, anything. I try my best to get home early tonight, sì? We can continue this without hurry.”

“Yes, please.” You smile, running your thumb along his jawline. “And I love you too. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“How could I? Whenever I look in a mirror today I will be reminded, eh?” He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before he pulls away. “Now, I think I’m already late.”

He’s right, you’ve taken way too long. So, you reach for the black lipstick and carefully follow the curves of his still kiss-swollen mouth, trying to ignore the tingling sensation in your belly. You blot his lips with a tissue after you’re done and fix some of the white paint your kiss messed up again. Once you’re done, he looks just like always. The only difference is the warm, affectionate smile that now graces his features, the twinkle in his eyes that belongs to you and only you.

“Thank you, amore,” he says, inspecting himself in the mirror. “È veramente perfetto. You did so well. I want to kiss you again so bad, but I would ruin it.”

Instead, he blows you a bunch of kisses and you giggle as you pretend to catch them. Copia gives you the first enthusiastic smile you’ve seen on him all day and it doesn’t leave his face as he combs his hair back, smoothes out his black dress shirt and tugs at the sleeves.

Then he suddenly jumps up, raising his hands. “Tada!” He does a little spin, almost stumbling over the leg of the stool. “How do I look, eh? Tell your Papa what you think. Be honest.”

“You look bellissimo!” you say, clapping your hands as you grin at him. “The most handsome Papa to ever grace these halls.”

“Ha! And it’s all thanks to my very talented amore. I am so lucky, molto molto fortunato!”

You stand up as well, let him pull you into a tight embrace. He’s solid and his arms feel strong as they squeeze you to his body. He’s not quite recovered, and you know it will take more time, will take you a lot of convincing to get Sister to reduce his workload, but you can tell he’s feeling better for now.

And that’s what truly matters.

thanks for reading :) if you want more comfort fics check out this fic, this fic or this fic hehe ♡

#papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus 4 x reader #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #ghost the band #comfort fic #papa 4 #papa iv x reader #papa iv #copia

418 notes · View notes

lightandfellowship · 19 days

Text

A Single Step

(A short Xehanort fic inspired by this ask @starlightwayfinder sent to me.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sometimes, Xehanort just...sits.

That strange (and frankly, highly suspicious) man he had met while preparing for his Mark of Mastery exam had been right, in the end: after some time, Xehanort didn't need to wear the black coat inside the dark corridors anymore.

Repeated exposure to the dense darkness within these corridors had strengthened Xehanort's heart and toughened it, much like how repeated exposure to the elements toughen the bottom of your feet after walking barefoot for miles and miles. Eventually, the skin hardens, and the sharp edge of spite, the biting chill of indifference, and the scorching heat of animosity become—for the most part—bearable. Nothing can stop you from making any trek, no matter how perilous the terrain may be.

He no longer required the protection of the coat, and sometimes, he just sits within the depths of the dark corridor. Waiting.

It doesn't usually take too long for "it" to appear.

The afterimage of his mentor.

He doesn't really know what the afterimage is, exactly. Oh, he has theories, sure, based on his own observations and what he was taught in school. But no true way to test those theories. And in any case, he doesn't particularly care about the specifics—not now, anyway.

The resemblance is striking, he thinks. No, not their appearance, for every time Xehanort has run into them in this place, their face has, without fail, been obscured by the hood of their favorite blue cloak. But their heart—their heart!—he can feel it: their emotions.

The emotions are different each time (he recalls them with ease, as if they were engraved upon his own heart: guilt, doubt, pity, grief), but he recognizes them as belonging to his mentor all the same. It's them, somehow. Were it not for the figure's ghostly translucence betraying their true nature, Xehanort could almost swear that his mentor was standing right next to him again, alive. Rhythmic waves of emotion imitating the heartbeat that he used to know so well, that used to lull him to sleep every night as a baby.

Used to.

Use—yes. He utilizes these dark corridors so frequently now. A journey of hundreds of thousands of miles, reduced to nothing more than a brief stroll. A method of travel that is quick, convenient, and covert. It would be foolish not to take advantage of all the benefits such travel provided, so of course that's why he's gotten into the habit of using the dark corridors whenever he can. For efficiency, and for proving the strength of his heart. No other reason, really.

But sometimes he doesn't pass through the corridors with the swift, purposeful pace that he ought to. Sometimes, he loiters, peering into the turbulent darkness as if looking for someone. He waits, in those halls that should not be traversed by the living.

And he just sits.

Finally, a figure coalesces several feet ahead of him. He's so used to it by now, and yet he can't help but draw in a sharp breath at the sight of it.

His mentor. Or something close to them.

Close enough.

Xehanort gets on his feet, and slowly inches his way towards the apparition. He's encountered it several times already, but has always kept a safe distance away. Today, however, will be different; today, he will indulge his curiosity.

The spirit remains perfectly still as Xehanort approaches. It doesn't react, doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't seem to notice him at all. He may as well not exist.

He's only a couple of feet away from the spirit when suddenly, something inside of him shatters. His knees buckle on their own from the shock, and he crumples to the floor without meaning to.

All at once, the pain he was so masterfully ignoring up until this point hits him in full force: the rapid, uncontrolled beating of his heart; the bone-deep ache in his legs; the soreness of his feet; the lightheadedness and stinging intakes of air that follow running out of breath.

The rough skin of his heart had finally fractured under the strain of the corridor, and the darkness that flows into the cracks feels like water rushing into his lungs.

He doesn't know what caused his heart to falter like this. Was this the spirit's doing, somehow? But the pain is so relentless, so overwhelming, that he can't focus long enough to consider the possibilities.

Endure it. Keep going.

His arm shaking, he desperately tries to grip the hand of the only parent he's ever known (known, but not the only parent he's ever loved) to steady himself, but his own hand passes right through.

He knows this will happen. He knew this would happen. But a pained sob escapes his throat regardless when he fails to make contact, soft and broken and child-like and utterly drowned out by the sea of unintelligible whispers surging all around him.

Trying to stand up in this state would be a futile effort, he realizes. Instead, he crawls the final few inches to his intended destination and collapses, curling up next to the memory of someone long gone.

And, for once on this seemingly never-ending journey of his,

he just

sits.

#making kh art #ch tag: xeh

17 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 3 months

Text

Though the Take Our Border Back convoy has largely been a mess so far as the small group makes its way toward the Texas-Mexico border, experts warn that it has acted as a lightning rod for militias, far-right extremists, and even long-dormant vigilante groups. It could reach a tipping point this weekend, as multiple rallies are planned against immigrants and the Biden administration along the border in Texas, as well as Arizona and California.

“Data we collected tells us emphatically that the standoff between Texas and the federal government has become a magnet for far-right vigilantism,” said Devin Burghart, the executive director at the Institute for Research and Education on Human Rights, during a press briefing on Thursday organized by the immigration reform group America’s Voice. “From the convoy steering committee on down, the protest comprises many of the same dangerous elements as the January 6 insurrection: militia members, election deniers, QAnon conspiracists, Covid deniers, and other hardcore far-righters.”

Those groups include the Proud Boys, neo-Nazi militias, and other vigilante groups. Last week, the Republic of Texas Proud Boys shared a post in its Telegram channel calling immigrants “brown immigrant invaders,” and the South Texas Proud Boys told followers to “grab your guns.” Meanwhile, the neo-Nazi Aryan Network issued a rallying cry in support of the Texas ‘resistance,’ asking for white men to join. In another post, the group added, “to hell with the United States of America.”

“The convoy itself has really inspired some of these more fringe, really extreme sects of the far right to engage in operations down in border states,” said Freddy Cruz, the program manager for monitoring and training at Western States Center, during the briefing. “Discussions around the convoy and just the convoy itself really animate extreme anti-democracy groups to go down to the border.”

The convoy had an inauspicious start; just 19 vehicles set out from Virginia on Monday, and within minutes some were lost. There has been paranoia and infighting within the small group, and a convicted pedophile showed up. But on Thursday night, when the convoy organizers held a rally at the One Shot Distillery and Brewery, owned by former US Army colonel Phil Waldron, who was a key figure in proposing plans that ultimately led to the January 6 insurrection, a different picture emerged.

Hundreds of people gathered at the event, which featured far-right speakers that included Chrisitan nationalist pastors calling for “drawing a blood line around Texas, around America.” Convicted January 6 insurrectionists threatened another insurrection. There were Covid deniers, Pizzagate adherents, and sovereign citizens. Former conservative news presenter turned conspiracy booster Lara Logan was also onstage, talking in graphic detail about child trafficking and the dark web. Michael Yon, one of the convoy promoters, screamed and ranted at the audience about how Jewish people were funding an NGO that works along the Texas border. He also claimed that Hamas and Hezbollah are coming across the border: “Allahu akbar, when you hear that shit, you better get ready, your thumb better be hitting that safety.”

Sarah Palin, the former governor of Alaska and the late senator John McCain’s 2008 presidential campaign running mate, introduced musician Ted Nugent, who called President Biden a “piece of shit.”

Elected officials were also present: Republican Texas state representative Carrie Isaac repeated the conspiracy about “terrorists at the border.” She was introduced onstage by Chris Burr, a board member of the Texas GOP.

Though tensions surrounding immigration have been simmering for a while, the most recent crisis was sparked earlier this month when the US Supreme Court lifted an order by a lower court and sided with the Biden administration to rule that Border Patrol agents could remove razor wire installed by the Texas National Guard and state troopers. Rather than stand down, Texas governor Greg Abbott, a Republican, replied in a letter that Texas has the right to “defend and protect” itself against an “invasion” of migrants, adding that this “is the supreme law of the land and supersedes any federal statutes to the contrary.”

The vast majority of the GOP has backed Abbott, including more than two dozen Republican governors, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, and former president Donald Trump, who called for National Guard troops from other states to be sent to Texas.

The rhetoric from the right has continued to ratchet up. “This is an invasion from third-world countries,”Texas’ lieutenant governor Dan Patrick told Fox News. “They're coming here with health issues, they're uneducated, unemployed, and all they do is commit crime on the streets.”

Since the standoff began, there has been “an online explosion of invasion and great replacement rhetoric, the idea that white people are somehow being displaced intentionally with immigrants,” said Heidi Beirich, cofounder of the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism. “We've seen white supremacist and neo-Nazi groups all taking advantage of the standoff to push their propaganda and recruit new members.”

On Friday, the convoy will reportedly conclude in Quemado, Texas, and the Cornerstone Children’s Ranch, a humanitarian charity which provides food and support for low-income families in the US and across the border in Mexico. “The people that are coming here are doing a religious prayer for the border,” Lori Mercer, the director of the organization tells WIRED, adding: “We have to be peacemakers.”

The location was picked by Pete Chambers, one of the people organizing the convoy, who claims to be a former Green Beret. Last week, Chambers spoke with school-shooting conspiracist Alex Jones about how the convoy planned to travel to the border to hunt migrants in collaboration with sympathetic law enforcement. Other convoy organizers have said that the effort is “peaceful” and that they are not going to the border. But comments made by members of the group on livestreams, online videos, and in Telegram channels indicate that not everyone feels that way.

“We will engage decisively, and if it gets worse, in the infantry we call it ‘fix bayonets,’” Chambers told a pastor in one online video this week, adding: “That’s war, we don’t want to go there, but that’s where we’re at right now.”

On Saturday, the group will take part in a trio of rallies along the border: in San Ysidro, California; Yuma, Arizona; and Eagle Pass, Texas, the epicenter of the current standoff between Abbott and the Biden administration.

“They've discussed calling out militias or posses and needing to ‘show force,’” said Burghart. “One organizer, who is also a militia leader, even threatened, ‘We'll do whatever we got to do to put a stop to it.’ Leading border-conflict figures have also stated that their convoy is meant to pick up where January 6 left off. Moreover, they've amplified the specter of kicking off a second civil war.”

While it’s unclear what is going to happen over the weekend, there are already signs that the convoy and the standoff generally are activating long-dormant vigilante groups.

“Earlier this week, we did see vigilante group Women Fighting for America in Arizona livestreaming the group's expedition to try and track down a migrant camp in Arivaca, Arizona,” Cruz said. “Women Fighting for America have previously been on the border, but they took a two-year hiatus, and all of a sudden they're back on the border because the media is covering the convoy.”

In a video posted in the group’s Telegram channel, Christine Hutcherson, Women Fighting for America’s founder, is seen wearing night-vision goggles, talking about a camp run by a Catholic charity set in a remote part of the Arizona border region. “I’ve been here before a couple of years ago. They are housing migrants, illegals, mostly single adult males of fighting age. And we’re getting ready to go into this camp right now,” she alleged.

Experts are concerned about the impact of this kind of extremist rhetoric long term. “It’s important to keep an eye on how these types of efforts are successful in mainstreaming fringe far-right ideas and far-right groups into a much larger context,” said Burghart.

22 notes · View notes

beechersnope · 11 months

Text

summer of cum days 1/2/3: coming untouched, orgasm denial, free use

(inspired partially by the post below)

oscar/mark ft trans oscar, warning for undernegotiated kink/mildly dubious consent, 914 words

***

This is—insane, maybe. Maybe Oscar is the crazy one for liking it so much.

The idea of it, anyway. It’s a little different now that he’s tied up in the middle of a wooded area on Mark’s property, completely naked, legs spread and bent over a fallen log with just a folded-up towel shielding his bare belly from the bark underneath. At least he got to keep his shoes on.

He can’t deny that he’s wet, though. Has been ever since Mark left him out here after tying him up himself. He’d taunted Oscar with the prospect of inviting guests over, letting them hunt for Oscar like it was a game—that wasn’t anything new either, except for the part where it was strangers, not Mark, seeking him out amongst the trees and the hedges, like some kind of perverted hide and seek. Like Oscar was an animal, being hunted for sport.

Oscar had felt vulnerable then, too, the fear rising in his throat as soon as he’d seen the light turn off on the top floor of the house from his hiding spot a few hundred meters out.

Now, like this, it’s amplified. He can’t run, can’t hide. Can’t do anything but wait with his legs spread for Mark, or anyone else, to find him. His clit is so hard it aches, but there’s no way to get any friction. He can’t squeeze his thighs together the way he likes to get off when he needs to be discreet, can’t rub up against the towel the way he grinds against the taut planes of Mark’s stomach when they fuck.

Oscar clenches his pelvic muscles anyway, desperate. Wanting. Maybe he can get himself off just like this, just by thinking about it. He’s not supposed to; he’s not supposed to come at all, not until after, when he knows he’ll be too sore to even enjoy it properly. Mark likes it when he cries, when it hurts, when Oscar’s clit is red and raw and he can’t help but scream until his voice gives out when Mark sucks it like it’s a cock.

For a second, he thinks he’s almost there. He can feel wetness dripping down one of his thighs, and he’s on the edge of something, his hips and quads spasming wildly as he holds his breath, trying to force himself up and over—

Then he hears a rustling in the leaves behind him.

All the air rushes out of Oscar in a loud whoosh. He waits, heart thudding loudly in his ears, wondering if Mark is going to call him out for disobeying, whether he’ll spank him for it—or worse.

But Mark doesn’t say anything. Oscar isn’t even sure it’s Mark. He couldn’t tell if Mark was serious, earlier, when he’d asked Oscar how he felt about playing with others or if it was just designed to keep him on edge.

Whatever Mark’s intentions, it was working. Oscar’s mouth goes dry as the footsteps behind him draw closer, soft crunching through the dried leaves. He can feel it once the stranger stops behind him, their heat radiating against his skin in sharp contrast to the cool autumn air.

It’s quiet for a moment. Then he feels the soft press of fingers at his cunt, probing gently, then pushing in, three at a time. He’s wet enough for it but it’s still a lot right away, and he lets out a loud groan, tensing up instinctively before forcing himself to relax.

The fingers shove in deep, to the knuckles, fucking in once, twice, and then withdrawing completely.

Oscar lets out a pathetic little whine at the sudden loss. Then something desperate, frantic, when the fingers return, only this time pressing against his ass instead. Did Mark tell his friends they could fuck him there? Do they even know Oscar’s safeword?

Oscar doesn’t say anything as the fingers slowly push inside, using just his own wetness to ease their way. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s never been able to ignore the reflex of his body, the way he feels like he needs to clench down, flinch away from the feeling of something entering him. When Mark fucks him like this, it takes hours: spread out in Mark’s bed, between Mark’s legs in the bathtub, Mark making him come over and over again with his cock inside, barely moving.

The fingers inside him now are moving, fucking into him like it’s his cunt instead. Oscar grits his teeth as they pull out; a moan slipping through every time they fuck back in. It hurts now, deeper inside, the part of him that makes him sob and thrash on the end of Mark’s dick when he slowly feeds his dick into Oscar’s ass. It’s too much. He can’t take it.

And then three fingers suddenly becomes four, and just like that: Oscar is coming, his cunt seizing up as a trickle of liquid shoots out of him onto the ground.

All four fingers withdraw from his ass at once, leaving him empty. Oscar lets out a feral howl and comes again, and this time, the pain is every bit as potent as the pleasure flooding his body. He almost passes out.

A warm hand settles in the small of his back as Oscar slowly comes back to himself. He feels a weight pressing down on him, hot and heavy. Breath against his ear.

“I thought I told you not to come,” Mark whispers.

#summerofcum2023 #my fic #oscarmark #f1 smut #f1 rpf

72 notes · View notes

joyfuladorable · 6 months

Note

⭐️ any section of I'll Be Okay! that you're itching to speak on, i am all ears, ears for days.

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

*twirls you around!!* HANNAHHH!!! 💜💜

Oh, man, so, as I made sure to point out in the Author’s Notes, this fic was inspired by This Art by my Buddy soggytommy on twt:

My writer brain was active at the time so I sat down and wrote a couple hundred words and DMed my buddy the wip, to which they responded by giving me more context about the scene: fighting the PDs, Leo accidentally blows something up, Mikey suffers the consequences.

So, the actual bts is that I Had been considering making this full angst with comfort at the end, but y’know!! I’m a sucker for levity during serious situations (which is probably why Mikey’s my fave, lol), so I tried to strike a balance there with Mikey kinda breaking the tension at multiple points, even with himself during the immediate aftermath of the explosion.

Also, I enjoy echoing/calling back to lines in my fics! The most obvious recurring one in this fic is the theme of Promises (Mikey promising he’ll be okay, Leo promising to tell him the end of the book, Mikey promising to tell someone immediately next time he gets badly injured). Don and Leo both tell each other at different points that they’ve done Enough. In Mikey’s POV, there’s Orders, with Mikey immediately following Leo’s command to Run and then later listening when he tells him to sleep. There’s also the Donnie SAINW trauma I slipped in, with both Leo and Mikey noticing he doesn’t react well upon seeing Mikey with arm injuries. Probably a few more but these are the clearest ones off the top of my head, lol!

Oh, and here are some of my favorite lines:

- “Aw, du’...” Mikey glares up at him. “Cli’ ‘angr.” << *points at my bestie* turtle who wants immediate gratification instead of suspense and probably loves to binge stories in one sitting

- A bookmark sticks out of it, tasseled with yarn and made up of layered and colorful construction paper and filled with childhood memories. A frail thing (a treasured gift) that has somehow survived all these years and unintentional moves. << *points again* baby Mikey made that :3

- The stabby thing needs to stay in his arm or else he’s off to join the Big Turtle in the Sky. << Personally the funniest joke I had Mikey think to himself next to the This Mission Blows line

- I know it’s Bad, he tells his brain as the pain whites out his vision. Stop yelling at me. I know. << *Mario falling in lava owowowow noise* if I ever actually draw this scene I apologize in advance

- Leo being up meant that they could stay up late, so Donnie would tinker or read and Raph would hog the Gameboy so Mikey would be resigned to reading comics. Sometimes, he’d slip under Leo’s blanket tent and try to read with him, asking him questions about the heroes and the villains and the story. << I wrote this Because of your (yes, You, Hannah) comment on Ch1 which made me think about Leo reading to his bros. Also, I totally drew a thing inspired by this because it’s The Most Precious Thing

- “Nope!” Mikey forces a leg to kick out of his blanket, missing Leo by a mile but sending the message loud and clear. “Y’know what? No blame game! No one wins in the blame game.” << *points for one last time* things I’ve actually done as a kid tucked in bed and a sibling says something stupid so I kicked out to let them know so

- And, he finally gets a hug from his dad, a carefully gentle thing from Splinter that he soaks in like the rays of the sun. << Actual Favorite Line that I will feel proud of til the end of time and also maybe draw at some point cuz Splinter Hug

#sea answers #sea rambles #YAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!#thanks again Hannah!!!

15 notes · View notes

asassydork · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: One-Eyed Flying Monkey

Story: High Water

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Post-Apocalyptic Cult Vibes.

The day was supposed to be like every other at the end of the world. It was peaceful down by the creek. But when alarms are sounded and flares begin flying in the valley, it’s clear something isn’t right. Upon discovering the group returned with both members of a rival group, random stranger refugees, and everything they were meant to scavenge, it becomes clear there’s more going on than they anticipated.

TW: MDNI, 18+, enemies to lovers, they kiss in the first chapter, references to torture, whump inspired, adult language and adult themes.

The sirens came rolling in over the mountain. A series of sticks being smacked against trees loud enough to reverberate across the valley. Tens of them, spread out from the lookout points.

It was something we practiced but not something put to use yet. When the flare went up over camp, all sound ceased in a rush. There was no echo. Nothing but birdsongs rising out of the silence. A flare like that meant something had gone horribly wrong during the last raid. They were only sent out to scavenge but you never really know what you’re getting into when you go out there. The world is nothing like it used to be.

I drop the sticks I was gathering and take off running towards the camp. They’re going to need me for the sake of keeping everyone calm. I wasn’t the best with interventions of a certain magnitude but everyone seems to have enough faith in me that I influence decisions.

Black Water Creek was an outpost along the Black Water River, an ironically crystal clear safe to drink little river that flows between the mountains from a spring up north. It’s got plenty of safe fish to eat. Vegetation that’s not going to kill you. And draws in enough wildlife that we rarely have to go off looking for food. It was somehow a perfect place despite the reputation it once upheld.

The outpost is more like a compound behind walls of steel, iron and concrete. They’re over ten feet tall and four feet wide, plenty enough room to keep people out. It’s got a series of twenty five buildings behind those walls and plenty of vantage points and lookout spots. It existed before the world went sideways, but its mission was much different these days. It was a safe haven but only to the select. Most of the time, people we bring in choose not to stay. There’s a lot of rules and cooperation that goes into keeping a place like this functioning. And what we can’t get from the land, we have to scavenge from the wreck of the world. It’s something that started off small. A few trips into Brown Water, the town up and across the river. But then the town stopped having what we needed and babies continued to be born despite everything. It meant having to leave the valley all together for days or weeks at a time. But the groups had to be bigger to survive those trips. They had to be more prepared. After my last run in with the group we call the Flying Monkeys from up north, I haven’t been able to leave camp. It’s some paranoia attached to the post traumatic stress related to getting taken and tortured like I was. I was gone almost six months before they managed to figure out where I was being held. The scariest experience of my life and I survived The Collapse first hand.

The trucks pulled into camp around the same time I entered the gates, each vehicle accounted for but covered in bullet holes. That was new. The number of holes was over a hundred. I couldn’t begin to think who might have that many bullets. But I knew it wasn’t good. The Monkeys only use resourceful weaponry handcrafted so they don’t run out of munitions. They’re also more interested in skinning you alive than they are about shooting at you. Torture was more their style, which was why they’ve been plucking people off of trails and new access roads like it’s nothing. It makes the mountains a dangerous place.

A second flare goes off from the gate as a new truck pulls in behind the others. It didn’t have any bullet holes in it but it was also packed with people and supplies. People weren’t something meant to be brought back from this one. This was strictly baby business. My eyes scanned the vehicles and I ultimately moved to find Bastian unloading someone injured from the back cab of one of the old trucks. Caleb. He was alive?

My heart sank as Bellamy moved to help him carry the makeshift stretcher. Caleb was alive and moaning. He’d been assumed dead last year. MIA without a single sign of life. There was nothing we could’ve done. No one knew where he’d gone off to or how he got separated. But it was good to hear sounds coming from him. Chances were he might just survive this. But I don’t go with them to the infirmary. There was a commotion around one of the other trucks and I needed to get to the bottom of the reasons for the flares.

Inside the back of one of the trucks was a badly beaten, bloody and bruised man hogtied and gagged. There was nothing familiar about him that stood out of me as Jeremy and Derek both dragged him out of the truck and let him fall onto the ground hard without being able to catch himself. He groaned in pain behind the cloth in his mouth and another man awkwardly climbed out of the truck. He was beaten and bruised but far less purple and not so bloody. He just had his hands bound behind his back and a gag in his mouth that he likely didn’t need considering the large tattoo on his forehead. He was sworn to secrecy. Opening his mouth would mean a true death by the people he’d been stolen from. The Flying Monkeys.

I haven’t seen one of them without those stupid fucking masks on their head but I’d known about the tattoos. They’re basically covered in them, so the only way to get them off is to peel off their skin like what they do to their victims. It’s a cycle. A vicious endless cycle.

But they hadn’t tied his legs. He could attempt to run and get knocked down and dragged back. It was like a cat toy, basically. There was nowhere for him to go, now. But he didn’t make the attempt. He jumped down out of the back of the truck and scanned each of our faces like he was studying for a report back. It wasn’t until he looked in my direction that he even seemed to blink. The expression on his face became that of fear and he’d taken a step back. A step that was intercepted by Jeremy who shoved him forward roughly. They weren’t taking their chances with him. He’d be the first prisoner we’ve had in a while and the first Monkey. He’d have an awful long road ahead of him if he chose to survive.

I moved to help gather boxes out of one of the other trucks. I got first dibs on some of the supplies, even though I technically shouldn’t. Motherhood wasn’t something I spent a lot of time thinking about. It wasn’t in the cards for me by the way this was all going. The end of the world was the end of hope itself. I couldn’t imagine raising a kid in all of this. And yet, I technically have been. More than one. Children that weren’t mine but needed my guidance and my reassurance. Children who found me out of everyone else and chose for themselves that I’d be left with this impossible title. A role I didn’t ascribe to very well.

We made several trips from the trucks to the warehouse. The boxes had to be sorted and rifled through. It could take days to get that process flowing. It was when I went back to the trucks that I saw someone new that I hadn’t expected to see. Another Monkey. A more noticeable Monkey pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t have a forehead tattoo, so his identity wasn’t given away as easily. He was the One-Eyed Captain. The one who kept me locked inside a cargo container for months on end with barely enough food to eat. He tortured me in the most horrific ways and waited for me to die every time. A monster of all monsters. He was cruel and undeserving of life. When I moved to ambush him in front of the others he pretended to be with, he grabbed me harshly and pulled me right into his personal space with his fingers digging hard into the backs of my arms. He forced a kiss upon my lips in a savage threat to keep my mouth shut. He’d do all of those things to me again if I didn’t let him be. That was the promise the kiss swore.

It wasn’t a tender kiss or a violent kiss. It was the kind of kiss you can’t ever possibly be prepared for. The kind of kiss that not just anyone can give you. It was precise and practiced. He’s planned this assault on my senses and on my dignity. It was equal parts cruel and comforting. A man expressing to a woman feelings he wasn’t supposed to have. And when I didn’t head butt him like I could’ve, he loosened his grip on my arms and moved to hold my neck, keeping me in front of him like I was nothing but a pet now. My sense of self had been stripped away from me in a single second as he deepened the kiss with the taste of sex on his tongue. He was salivating as he thought about it. He was probably thinking about all of the harm he brought to me in our time together. I was nothing but a mere commodity now. Expendable. Recyclable.

He moaned into my mouth as he tasted me, forcing me to taste his hunger. It was violating in every way but I knew what he’d do if I pulled away or pushed him off of me. It made him smirk behind his lips as he sipped and licked at my mouth like he would’ve done this a long time ago if he thought it would’ve worked. It was like all of his torture was meant to make me submit to him, to give in to some desire I simply didn’t have. And yet, I reluctantly kissed him back, forced to play this part with an audience clearly watching us. His thumb on my neck stroked me like it was a reward. I was being a good pet giving him what he wanted. And that’s when I stopped being nice, nipping and biting at his tongue in my mouth. He growled at me a feral sound as he pushed me up against the side of the truck and nipped and bit at me just the same, fueled by the rage I just provoked and reminded him of. He grinds his hips against mine, rubbing up on me with his want. He manipulated my mouth and took all that he wanted from me because he wasn’t going to let it go. I kept my pace, a taunt in every movement. I’d get my revenge on him and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s in my territory now. He’ll be my prisoner by the time the sun goes down. That was a promise. I’d do worse to him than anything he’d done to me. I could guarantee it. It was what made him moan at me again. I was in control. This was my game. My pet and my leash. That was when I shoved him off of me and walked away. He’d gotten the scene he wanted and I’d gotten my message across. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back towards him, kissing me again softer like he didn’t want it to end on a high note. He was probably never going to stop kissing me, now.

“I’ll find you later,” he whispers, kissing the knuckles on my left hand in a strange way that I wasn’t anticipating.

He didn’t have to tell me. I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone. He’d find a way to slip away from the others and come find me. And then I’d have him right where I want him, where he’ll never come back from. I’ve wanted my revenge since I escaped. I’ve wanted it since the minute he started hurting me. We’d never be whatever he thinks we are. It was a game. An act. A manipulation of the human condition. I’ll own him in ways he never imagined someone else would own him. I’ll do unthinkable things that he hasn’t prepared himself for.

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, pulling my hand away and escaping this weird exchange going on.

3 notes · View notes

idyllic-affections · 8 months

Note

Hi there! So its been while since i last sent my ask. How are you aph? There seem to be a lot of posts, so im going to ask about the ones im interested about!

First, HI LIAN!!! I saw Lian and I LOVE THEM, They look so cool (btw great drawing btw) and i have so many questions!! 1. Is Lian a high elder? If they are, which ship are they from? (The high elders are the only ones who has visible dragon features, normal vidyadhara only have pointy elf ears) 2. Since they’re in erudition, What kind of research do they speacialize in? 3. WHAT IS THEIR BACKSTORY!!!

Second, why must you break my heart with Kaveh and his younger sibling like BRO. WHY YOU GOTTA BE LIKE THAT!!!!!!! God the angst is hard, but for some reason, i could see kaveh’s younger sibling getting along with wanderer because yk mommy issues and similar personality, although i think at first they didnt get along with wanderer hat guy since he injured Kaveh during the akademiya extravanganza thing and if they have similar personalities then they’re going butt heads with eachother. Still i think Wanderer can understand where kaveh’s younger sibling is coming from. Also am i wrong to say that Alhaitham might have inspired them to join Haravatat??? 👀

Third, uhhh so what happens if bots start following you? (Also how do you know its a bot?)

Hope you have a great day/night btw!

(have you gotten my other ask about a trope idea i had about Archilles heel and a HSR x reader idea? I hope you dont mind me asking that)

- 🐱 Anon

OOODHSKSH i love talking about lian. i told my boyfriend about them last night. he had no idea what i was talking about BUT he listened anyway 🫶🫶

hsr spoilers utc. some of lian's details are still being tweaked and edited, so certain things may or may not change!

yes! lian is a high elder. you know how dan heng... does not really care about his past incarnation and his high elder-ship in general? lian was always a "I Do Not Want This Job" high elder, in most if not all of their incarnations. they're from the xianzhou zhuming originally, but have spent the last few hundred years on the luofu. dan feng's silly ass got them thrown in prison LMFAO lian spent many incarnations serving as a retainer for other high elders since they weren't particularly interested in guarding one of yaoshi's artifacts or leading a clan of their own or succeeding another high elder, but they still had some kind of duty and obligation that they had to fulfill. so. they did it by being a retainer.

well. many incarnations went by, and who was the most recent high elder who they served under? that's right. imbibitor lunae dan feng.

the difference between dan feng's relationship with them and their relationship with other high elders is that he ended up being like some kind of strange older brother figure to them, because almost immediately following their self-incarnation, they were placed under him as a retainer. so he--a bit older than them, probably 100-ish years older at the time--just had this little vidyadhara high elder kid following him around.

well. you know. things happened, and of course they supported him in his Sinful Behaviors and his Crimes. they got thrown in prison for an indefinite amount of time, which was a considerably more merciful punishment than dan feng's. anyway. jing yuan eventually lets them out (initially with the intention of returning them to prison, even if he felt like they deserved to be free) around the time blade and dan heng and yanqing have their interaction.

lian knows why he chose to free them briefly--jing yuan released them with the intention of using their loyalty to his and his companions' advantage, because he knew dan heng was around and he knew they would absolutely blitz anything that put him in danger, even if he is technically not dan feng. they tell the general off and run away when he initially releases them but they do pull through for him and the trailblazers during the fight with phantylia. and they apologize to him for telling him off bc they generally aren't that mean they're very kind and gentle actually and they're generally very logical and understanding of the nuances of situations. it's just that they were tired and angry :(

when dan heng's eternal banishment is lifted, so is their prison sentence.

but now the issue is lian doesn't really want to stay with the xianzhou alliance anymore. dan heng advises them to join the nameless (bro is like "i'm not dan feng" but has nightmares involving them that cause deeper and more stressful feelings which linger more than the other nightmares of his past life.....), to which they kindly--and a little shyly, still uncomfortable and unsure of how to interact with dan heng--accept... with welt's approval, of course.

and as an erudition pathstrider, they have always been fascinated by the universe and it's mysteries, but they haven't really had the chance to study that stuff in-depth until they joined the nameless. they're also quite skilled with mechanics and craftsmanship. they're from the zhuming after all! their skill is definitely not to be underestimated, even if they look too gentle and sweet to do any harm. himeko gets along with them very well and spends a lot of time just... talking with them, exchanging thoughts and perceptions about the universe.

lian hejehekshsksh <33

AJFMSJSKGAKAGAN YEAHHH a lot of you seemed to really enjoy that little brainrot kaiser and i had <3 wanderer and kaveh's younger sibling PLEASEEEE i definitely think the wanderer could understand them. and no, you're not wrong at all! alhaitham definitely inspired them to join haravatat.

i don't think anything bad really happens. i think it's just a personal preference to have real people following you HSNSHJFN.... the reason people always insist that new blogs customize their blog is because blank blogs (ones without a profile picture or banner or title) are ones that are indistinguishable from bots. basically, you can never know for sure, but blank blogs are kind of likely to be bots.

I DID GET YOUR ASK BTW it's okay!!!! dw about asking, i understand <33 i will reply soon!

#aphelion replies: 🐱 anon 🌸

7 notes · View notes

cridhe · 9 months

Text

i don't agree with people who write fanfiction who say that ai art is stealing cos it draws from other ppls work. because that's literally what fanfiction is? the whole point of fanfic is that it draws on other people's work (often also without permission). also, ai only scans for data and doesn't in fact keep the works it scans, or claim ownership. how is this different to drawing inspiration? how is this different to making a collage, a gif set, some blackout poetry? please stop trying to add qualifiers to what counts as art and what doesn't, especially if ur qualification is that 'a machine did it'. you cannot define the limits of art. people have been trying for hundreds of years and it's such a complex debate that i had to take an entire philosophy course on it. you are not saying anything new. you are making arguments that people made a hundred years ago about the invention of the camera, arguments that the art world has already moved on from. can we please stop inventing problems with ai and actually focus on the real ones? what is actually being stolen is LABOUR. first of all, ai are made by humans, and they are constantly edited by humans until another human is satisfied with how it works, and then it continues to monitored by more humans. every step of the way the human and the ai are inseparable. the issue is that capitalism works by obscuring labour, straight up making it invisible, and nowhere is this more obvious than ai. so what is the difference between a collage and an ai generated image? the valuation of labour, ESPECIALLY creative labour. artists are being phased out of the labour force because they are not valued. THAT is the problem with ai, not any argument about what counts as art (to which the answer is anything. literally anything can be art). but the artist must recognise that they are being replaced with more people whose labour is also not valued. if ai is run at every step by human beings, then why is it cheaper (and therefore more attractive to big business)? the answer is because IT labour is also not valued, to the point where it is actively hidden. so successfully that we're lucky to even know the name of the person who owns the program, who is being paid by the businesses using it. we never hear the names of the thousands of underpaid workers who programmed and actually built that shit, and who continue to maintain it. artists must recognise themselves in these invisiblised workers if we want to successfully organise a boycott to get our labour recognised and valued. the real problem with ai is that people are losing jobs, and being exploited in the ones they have. and this is not actually a problem with ai, it's a problem with capitalism, and the value of labour. when you redirect the conversation to impossible arguments about art, you continue to obscure the labour that builds the algorithm AND you actively harm artists by ignoring the real problem, which is the value (or lack thereof) of their labour

important reading

#ai #sorry for being mad #artificial intelligence #fanfiction #art

3 notes · View notes

la-imp · 1 year

Text

Imp’s roleplaying ad

Roleplay Partner Search

Hello everyone, its been a while for me since I've last posted an ad pertaining the search for roleplaying partners. I basically made this tumblr profile to search for new potential roleplaying partners. :)

I'm in my late twenties with a strong penchant for roleplaying, writing, and drawing. One of my main passions being video-games, illustrations, comics, live-action films, series and anime/cartoon shows, elements that shaped me during my years of growing up.

I’ve been roleplaying for a few years now and gradually gathered a good amount of experience throughout the years, but it’s always fun to meet and learn something new.

I have a few original ideas that I’m very interested in trying out. The ideas will be posted down below.    Name: Imp   Age: 29 years Gender: Female   Experience: 13 years   Preferences: 1:1 Roleplaying   Partner: Be at least [18+], but I rather much prefer my counterpart to be 21 years or older Timezone: Importante! I am from central Europe, so my timezone could differ from yours.

  EMAIL: [email protected]

I am a very creative sort of individual with hundreds of ideas constantly running through my mind. And I am very spontaneous too, so I can always adjust to a new setting, depending on how good and compelling the concept is.  Inspirations come from various sources and origins, be it a fandom (an already existing universe) or an original storyline.  Please read through these paragraphs carefully before you decide to contact me! It’s important to avoid any misunderstanding later!

  I am very communicative and have many ideas when it comes to plotting and world building. I do appreciate a partner who puts in the same amount of thought and effort into the roleplaying as me.

I am not a big fan of one-liners, so yes, paragraph format is preferred (needed).

When it comes to the writing itself, my style is in 3rd person, paragraph form, lengthy and detailed. If you wish to know more about how I write, do not hesitate to ask.

I have very few limits, but do feel free to ask and introduce your own boundaries when contacting me.

I love a good introduction / opening letter about you and yourself when you send me a message.

Regarding the platform on which to write on, I am open to either email or Discord. Both have worked out fairly well for me in the past. However, I would appreciate it if contacted on email first. Which is where I can assess whether or not we’re compatible.

Be creative! By all means, go nuts with the ideas. We can brainstorm together and see whether or not it would work out with the plot.

Both Canon and Original stories are welcome. However, I tend to lean more towards Canon this time.

Doubling would be great. Really, I’d be forever grateful if you are also open and willing. For those who don’t know, Doubling is a very simple concept. I play my OC and your preferred love interest for the RP while you do the same for me.

Dynamics and character chemistry for me is extremely dependant on the character, but I love a good, firey exchange between individuals to spice up any scene. If you are curious about that, don’t hesitate to mention it, I’d be more than happy to discuss.

I am currently looking for an Avatar themed roleplay. Not Avatar the Last Airbender.

The other one. You know, the one with the blue, tall statuesque aliens and their beautiful world named after the Greek goddess Pandora.

I recently saw the sequel in theatres and was absolutely smitten by it, which lead to a current craving of fleshing out some ideas and characters I had in mind. I am a huge sucker for this world and how vast it feels. There are so many possibilities and the beauty of the Na’vi is just one of many factors that has drawn me in.

I would love to set this roleplay around Avatar: The Way of Water or a bit after the events of the film. I have a few ideas but I am willing to discuss with you, once you have messaged me!

3 notes · View notes

mechanicalinertia · 2 years

Text

STMPD Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction: Mike Breen's Father's Pride, Mother's Passion

You know, I wonder if I should tag this with Highlander... eh, nah, wouldn't make a difference. Anyway.

I read Father's Pride, Mother's Passion over the course of several months, really. The first two parts in a burst around New Year's 2022, then I just came back to part 3 and just finished it. It was worth it. Undoubtedly. Perhaps the ending struggles to find its feet for a bit, perhaps you can see the author changing his mind as to where he wants the story to go somewhat last minute, but even so this story continues Death and Life's tradition of being insanely good on every relevant level. Even story beats I don't usually like in other stories I like here.

For context: You can read my original review of D&L here, and access the pages for both these stories (and a few sidestories I haven't read yet) here.

So. Where to start? Well, I'm going to start with the epilogue's author's note, because it says a lot about what FPMP is:

"I got very positive reactions to "Death & Life," and many people asked if I was going to write a sequel. I wracked my brains a bit to figure out where to go with a story, or even if I wanted to. As far as I was concerned, "D&L" was a complete entity, and when I finished it, I didn't really think it needed a sequel. Priss was Immortal, she was the good guy, eventually she'd whack Quincy. Plus the fact I wanted to go back to writing straight HL stories. Simple, ne?"

"Not really. The more requests for a sequel that came in, the more I began to seriously think of one. And the more I think, the more in trouble I get. Many people on a.f.bgcrisis know about my dissatisfaction with BGCrash, and how I felt there was a good story lurking somewhere beneath the crap if only the date was pushed up a year and some explanations were made for the discrepancies between the BGC characters and their BGCrash selves. Oh, yeah, Quincy and GENOM had to be central to the plot again with a suitable explanation for their absence from everyday Megatokyo life, Largo needed to be ejected from the plot entirely, the ADP slacker attitude had to disappear, the hinted-at-in-ep-7 relationship between Leon and Priss needed to be consummated, and Adama had to be severely rethought. Hey, cool. I'll rewrite BGCrash the way I thought it should go. Originally, I was going to write a straight BGC story within the same cycle, but with little or no HL influence beyond Priss' rapid healing and inability to have kids."

"Then they cloned that damn sheep..."

So, yeah, cloning had just been done with Dolly, and that was an inspiration. The desire to see Crash done better was another inspiration. Both good things to draw from.

Anyway, yeah. The story is told as a flashback from four hundred years after BGC, after the rest of the Sabers are long dead, where Priss's Watcher interviews her about the events assumed to be Crash. Of course Priss says that what we know as Crash was cooked up as fabrication by Sylia to hide a far stranger Immortal-related truth (how coy, Mister Breen, how coy) and from there the plot kicks off hard. Priss is friends with a fellow Immortal Patrick happens to know from the bad old days in the nineties, she's started to develop her own label alongside said immortal to help finance less idol-y acts like her own -- and then Sylia comes back into town by just emailing Nene (instead of doing some tomfoolery with hacking a game center) and they've got a new set of jobs - and yet, and yet, Sylia isn't afraid to admit the other Sabers are getting older, and that there's no shame in swapping out the old members for new ones over time. This is a running theme, really: winding down the Sabers instead of destroying them in a blaze of glory. Which even Priss, much mellowed by having killed two other Immortals in the last fic, is down with.

So that means shacking up with Leon, and it means trying to get custody of Sho. And, uh, the scene where Priss explains to Sho that she's an immortal is the cutest thing in the whole goddamn world, I am not joking, it's not even close.

But evil never rests. Quincy and Madigan have some seriously diabolical plans tied to Immortality, and they involve planned blackouts, a different kind of MacGuffin, the Illegal Army, and Adama - no, not the Adama you're thinking of. Something infinitely stranger and more twisted, and uh, tied to the themes of the story, about whether or not Immortals can have normal lives given their supernatural status.

Now, despite loose pacing and plenty of scenes of characters just talking, of the ever-closer bond between the Sabers and Patrick O'Brien, I really like everything that happens. It all happens for a reason, see (and it also justifies Nene going full savage for a moment there), there are a few good hardsuit fight scenes against the Illegal Army, and it all builds up until the end of Part 2. Part 3, though, is when it stumbles. The hardsuited showdown we've been building up to, we just don't get. We get some killings, both of two people we care about and of one person you're probably going to want dead by that point, but it doesn't feel satisfying. The only death that cuts deep is - well, you'll see for yourself. Suffice to say that even with poor execution (heh) in that last part, Father's Pride, Mother's Passion ultimately sticks the landing and succeeds at being the kind of story it wants to be, at once triumphant and tragic, the best kind of stuff.

Did I mention all of Priss's parts of the story are told from first-person POV? It's a nice touch, especially since it helps convey how much of a better-balanced person Priss is compared to the original anime, and compared to most fanfic including my own. Another positive quality.

Supposedly there was to be a final part where Priss finally killed Quincy, but it never came about. Fine, it was made clear it would happen some day. And what we've got is still worth a good readthrough. Seriously, give this one a go. If you've read Death and Life, and you want more of that, you will not regret it.

#stmpd reviews bgc fanfic #bubblegum crisis #fanfiction #bgc #fanfic rec

2 notes · View notes