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Ok so, between the recent psa about miscecanis scent and reblog of the incels of omegaverse, I can’t stop thinking about how the two would correlate in a verse.
Like, “Chad alphas” could say you need to go buck wild on the Axe so other alphas know what’s “your property” (which becomes yet another omega-repellent because of scent sensitivity). Or even the opposite, where they don’t use anything, like no hygiene At All, because “omegas like the musk” but they just??? Smell like BO?????
But that’s not to say omegas/betas are exempt from this!!!!!! You’re telling me you don’t think some omega incels wouldn’t over-scent all of their bags and shit to like, “allure people in the halls”, but it’s just a Lot and it’s Everywhere. Or even an insecure beta who’s like “can anyone even smell me?????” And it’s like, Yes Buddy, I Promise You We Did Before And Can’t Stop Now
Also just????? The role of actual perfumes in omegaverse. I’m sure they’d exist for so many reasons, but I just wonder like, how they’d be marketed or even placed. Because you’re supposed to place perfume right where scent glands would be normally so I feel like people have a Problem with that while for others that’s The Point, you know?
Idk this just became a ramble. Any thoughts/insights are appreciated :’D
Chai your mind...... this is so good
Niceguy McFedora-type alpha that showers once a month because they think it's unnecessary because your "natural scent" is supposed to be strong to show the "weak and fragile omegas" what a strong and ~healthy~ alpha that will Definitely Treat Them Well you are. (He always has a personal space radius of at least 5 meters or more and doesn't connect the dots)
Or the *ndrewwww t*te type alphas making a point to go to the gym and Not Shower every time they go anywhere in public as some sort of a ridiculous show of dominance and thinking the nasty looks they get from people is because other alphas are feeling insecure and Betas are envious, obviously the Omegas are just pretending to hate it but actually they're all going into heat right now all because of his ~mUsKy AlPhA sCeNt~ (no sir, I know you live in delusion about owning a porsche but this is public transit and your stink is making everyone gag in disgust)
The desperate yet insecure folk of any gender and dynamic buying ridiculously expensive perfumes modelled after celebrities' natural scents (like that one headcanon post) because they think the scent is what made the celebrity famous/desirable/attractive and so if they smell like them then maybe they will also get courted...
And man I'd feel a little bad for the betas thinking they have no desirable scent and trying to "make up for it" because of how much importance society places on alpha&omega scents (that tend to be slightly stronger, sure, but It's not like betas don't have scents!!) And how little betas are talked about in the context of pheromones/scent
Also YEAH on the perfume thing!!!
My own headcanon sort of separates scents into their own cathegories of like, there's the natural scent that's associated with pheromones, it's not the same as body odour from sweat, but also the pheromones are slightly different/separate in that pheromones can affect the qualities of the scent but not the actual scent itself? And then there's obviously body odour, and then on top of that, I think perfumes are often used to either mask or even enchance one's own scent. They'd probably be especially affirming for any transdynamic folks! But also I can imagine some people feeling like their natural scent should be sort of "private" or they just don't want people to pay attention to it, esp if it's very unique? so they'll use fragrances to change it somewhat. Also for people with weaker scents, it could be an insecurity so they'll use perfume to feel more confident?
Oh and I wanna talk more about my headcanon about the pheromone-natural scent relationship! I think pheromones are what cause and are affected by emotional responses, almost like having a sort of... "aura" or "energy" people can read? But pheromones so it's an actual thing. but I also imagine it could affect the actual scent a lot too! I'll use my own peony+peach combo to explain since I know it best, but for example, if I was angry or annoyed, the pheromones would probably make the scent appear slightly "sour", like a sour candy or a flower that's slightly past its best bloom but still emits a really strong scent that starts to smell almost a little "stinging"? Or if I was really content and happy, it'd be like freshly-bloomed peopny blossoms and sweet, perfectly ripe peaches.
Probably in heat the scent would turn more "warm" and "heated" as well as stronger, too, like sitting in a garden of peonies eating a peach dessert during a heatwave in the summer? (Also I just like using that analogy for my own scent a lot. Sitting in a Peony garden and eating peaches. Except in heat it'd be more like a heatwave and much stronger/warmer) Like almost a little overwhelming, but not necessarily in the same way that overusing axe body spray is overwhelming, more like... a heat-scent becomes sort of really thick and warm? And that's why it's so noticeable? Like so ripe it would be "tempting" or something, idk.
For example if someone's scent was "pine forest", and they went into rut, I imagine it'd also increase in intensity a lot. Like... maybe the scent of pine sap really intensifies and gets really "thick"? Or maybe it'd be like... if it rains during a heatwave so the smell is extra strong but also really warm. And maybe someone with a scent like that would smell more like a cold winter forest when they're irritated (which would also be a wonderful way to describe personality through scent- people whose scents turn "cold" and "wintery" being more likely to have that sort of stoic, cold anger than the more explosive hot-headed type bursts of anger...) and when they're content, it'd be like a camping trip in good weather somewhere deep in the woods where you feel safe and relaxed in nature?
Idk man I just like thinking about scents and how scents change based on pheromones & emotions........
I also think perfume could be used to permanently amplify some aspects of specific emotional states in scent. I imagine customer service workers or salespeople using a perfume that maybe doesn't change their scent, but makes them always smell really happy, inviting and nice for better sales results and a better customer experience (especially since I imagine customer service is probably still absolute hell, even in omegaverse... not like they'd actually be feeling very happy to deal with some Karens all day)
Or for people who want others to stay out of their way (bouncers, gangsters, idfk depends on the canon I imagine), they'd maybe use a perfume that makes their own scent always appear a little aggressive/stern, not in the challenging kind of way, but just so people get the idea that it's probably better not to mess with them
But also certain professions having bans on those kinds of things, or even requiring full on scent blockers to be used (especially prevalent in the medical field I imagine)... just. Yeah lots of thoughts on this!
#gamietxt#answered asks#ask#beta-adjacent#chai ur mind .... once again UR MIND.....#gamie headcanons
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Trying stuff with camera angles, not sure how I feel about the outcome…
#18+ minors dni#18+ content#18+ blog#18+ comic#breeding kink cw#preggophilia#pregnancy#pregnant#preggo kink#pregnancy art#hyper pregnancy#rapid pregnancy#magical pregnancy#pregnancy comic#pregnancy transfer#OC: Millie Reynard#open omega#omegaverse adjacent#omega female#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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when i was 13 i wrote an essay explaining the rationale of puppyshipping to some guy in a skype chatroom. found the essay again. wanted to rewrite it. without further ado:
HERE’S HOW PUPPYSHIPPING CAN STILL WIN: THE SEQUEL: 2 PUPPY 2 SHIPPING (4.3k words)
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kaiba and jounouchi’s relationship stands at an awkwardly undefinable place in canon: they're not on good terms, but they're not enemies either. they know each other too well to be called passing acquaintances, but kaiba hardly acknowledges jounouchi as a duelist, let alone a potential rival. at best? they're mutual nuisances.
or, that's how jounouchi and kaiba choose to define it. both of them would love if their dynamic were that simple, nothing more than a back-and-forth of petty insults—but that’s not the truth. and they'll dance around the truth for five whole seasons, purposefully downplaying why they’re so obsessed with provoking each other whenever they’re in the same place.
they're foils.
—but the term "foils" is so dulled within fandom lexicon now that it can mean literally anything from two guys who just disagree with each other sometimes, so i'll sharpen this further. jounouchi and kaiba see their counterpart less as an individual person but more a representation of who they could have become if they had respectively, in their eyes, never learned the lessons they needed to. they project their own ideals onto the other and come away thinking they already know how the other operates, and the fun thing is, even when working from conjecture, their assumptions of one another happen to hit far closer to home than they have any right to.
so really, they can't leave each other alone because they can't stop seeing their failures reflected back at them. the other is a defective version of themselves that they need to correct because they can't stand constantly acknowledging who they used to be, so they try to bend the other to be more like their own image—an "i can fix him (by dragging him down to my level)".
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jounouchi and kaiba’s parallels run down to their origins, both set up against abysmal family situations they have no choice but to make the best of. seto and mokuba are orphaned at a young age until seto gets them adopted, while katsuya is separated from his sister and stuck with a deadbeat father who can't carry his own weight. trapped in an environment where nobody expects anything worthwhile from him, katsuya joins a gang and lives out a self-admittedly miserable existence before befriending yugi, while seto is in a battlefield of his own, faced with protecting mokuba while enduring against the nightmare that is gozaburo kaiba’s parenting.
what they do to survive those conditions determines the outlooks they carry for the rest of their lives: jounouchi learns that losing is inescapable and the best you can do is learn how to cope with it, whereas kaiba learns that losing is something you must protect yourself from because there's only so much you can afford to lose.
jounouchi is positioned as the underdog, fighting tooth-and-nail for every victory he can manage, while kaiba has power in excess and holds to the belief that it’s all he really needs. one would argue that they have the perspective the other lacks—they argue that they have the perspective the other lacks. but in my opinion? it doesn't actually matter. what interests me is how they treat each other as a result.
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side: seto kaiba
kaiba degrades jounouchi a lot. like, to an uncomfortable extent. you know that one post that’s like “why does bullying exist? why are you mad that i’m ugly?” why is kaiba so mad over the fact that jounouchi loses so much?
it’s projection. he’s just holding jounouchi to the same standard he holds himself to. you need to be powerful if you want to play the same games as kaiba, and seeing jounouchi so openly lean on his friends, ask for help, and have the audacity to lose sets kaiba off because he’s not playing the way he’s supposed to. kaiba rubs jounouchi's losses in his face because he believes that's what loss is supposed to look like, and that it’s jounouchi’s fault for not understanding that yet. kaiba is trying to teach him. to kaiba, this degradation might as well be an act of generosity.
while kaiba stayed true to his own ambitions, seizing kaibacorp from gozaburo and turning it into a children's entertainment company, he beat gozaburo at his own game not by inventing new rules but by playing it better than his adoptive father ever could. and as impressive as that is, it’s not sustainable. gozaburo kills himself when faced with his own defeat, and kaiba internalizes this lesson: that all losses are final, and it’s better to die than adapt to the consequences of a defeat. gozaburo’s death was a suicide, but in the context of their game, kaiba might as well have killed him regardless.
he mirrors this when he threatens to kill himself in duelist kingdom, his heightened emotions catastrophizing losing the duel to immediately equal failing mokuba and coming to the conclusion that if he loses mokuba he’d rather be dead. being someone so fervently self-reliant, any alternate solution, a possibility that he can lose here and still find a different way to rescue mokuba never crosses his mind. and, look, this isn’t his fault. this is the only way of living he’s ever been taught. he’s never learned how to cope in the event of failure because he’s never had the luxury to fail to begin with.
he's burned and rebuilt himself over and over again to survive in the world he operates in, and that’s why jounouchi pisses kaiba off so personally. jounouchi loses so much and so messily, and kaiba tries to show him that if he doesn’t start reinventing himself from the broken pieces of his defeats until all that’s left of him are jagged edges the same way he has, he’s never going to win. but jounouchi…does win. and keeps winning. and even when he does lose, it’s as if he creates new victories for himself, like there’s still value to playing a game with someone when you don’t win it—power of friendship bullshit and whatever. jounouchi is still here, a competitor that kaiba can no longer write off as much as he desperately wants to. (and, yeah, it is pretty ironic how jounouchi will jump through a million hoops to get kaiba to look at him, but he doesn't realize that he doesn't need to do anything to keep kaiba’s attention, only continue being himself.)
jounouchi refuses to compromise who he is and still manages to get far when in kaiba’s mind, that shouldn’t be possible; he’s supposed to be punished the way kaiba was. jounouchi is proof that you can take a devastating blow and move on from it, that even when you do fuck up spectacularly, there’s still something worthwhile in starting again tomorrow.
so kaiba constantly needs to prove that he’s better than jounouchi, that jounouchi isn’t even worth his time in order to justify his worldview. because if kaiba isn’t right, then he'll have no choice but to confront the fact that the war is over. that his circumstances aren’t instant life or death anymore and that even though he’s freed himself from gozaburo’s influence, there’s still further growth as a person he could stand to undergo, now divorced from the harsh conditions of his upbringing. jounouchi is a testament to how it’s possible to make peace and move on from the past without constantly bleeding for closure, that maybe, kaiba’s headlong quest to get the last word on his rivalry with yami yugi may not actually be as fulfilling as he thinks.
but admitting that you might need to change the way you live feels like a defeat in and of itself—it’s infuriating to hear that after everything you’ve had to learn, the way you live now isn’t good enough. that surviving insurmountable trauma doesn’t inherently make you better or more worthy than other people—it just traumatizes you, and is something you must heal from. so, instead of reflecting on these revelations, it’s so much easier for kaiba to tell himself that jounouchi is only ever graceful when he’s dead.
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side: katsuya jounouchi
jounouchi is very stuck on this idea that he needs to be useful. his dad is an alcoholic with a gambling addiction and he believes it's not only his duty to pay his father's debts, but to be the household's sole source of income. his sister needs eye surgery and he believes it's his responsibility as an older brother not only to pay for it, but to act as her primary emotional support to get the surgery and throughout her recovery process. haga throws yugi's exodia into the ocean and jounouchi blames himself for not stopping it. jounouchi gets mind-controlled by malik and blames himself for causing his friends anguish from it. mai literally gets jounounchi’s soul stolen and he apologizes to her for messing up and making her sad. it's habitual, jounouchi doesn't know how to stop taking on the burdens of other people.
if you live with the mentality that you’re inevitably going to fail for long enough, you’ll come away with the belief that caring about your own wellbeing isn’t worth the effort. it depends on how pessimistic you want to read it, if it’s just his love language or jounouchi compensating for the damning act of being himself, but jounouchi quantifies his worth by how much he provides for other people. he’s always jumping in the line of fire for the sake of others because if you constantly undervalue your own wellbeing, you always have less to lose. as the underdog, he may not be as overtly powerful as kaiba or yugi, but he can still give himself away, and he’s convinced himself that it’s what he’s supposed to do. jounouchi is still new to this whole friendship thing. after a lifetime of supporting himself by himself, he doesn't know when he's allowed to ask for help yet—he’s supposed to be the help, dammit.
a key distinction between jounouchi and kaiba’s upbringings is that while kaiba’s biological parents died in an accident, jounouchi’s parents are still alive and they choose not to be responsible for him. jounouchi is conditioned to fend for himself by himself because having a parental figure actually present in his life isn’t a luxury he gets to have. to jounouchi, there has to be a reason why his mother only takes shizuka and never goes back for him in the six years he’s left with his father, and he rationalizes this with his notions of masculinity: he’s a strong man who can handle it. jounouchi is not delicate, he can endure it. men are responsible for their own circumstances. kaiba is hyperindependent out of a mixture of spite, paranoia, and self-defense. jounouchi is hyperindependent because he believes he deserves it. it’s the reason why he believes he’ll finally have a good relationship with his father if he just wins enough money to pay off his gambling debts—jounouchi can fix everything if only he were man enough to, and he can get people to stay if he demonstrates himself useful enough.
so death doesn’t carry nearly as much weight to jounouchi as it does to kaiba. in kaiba’s eyes, death is the punishment for failure, but to jounouchi, death is just the natural consequence for the kind of life he leads. he can't stop himself from fighting for the people he loves until he’s spent everything and forced to stop (read: dies), so during the several times jounouchi is confronted with his own death, he meets it with a solemn acceptance. like, yeah, it sucks, but he doesn’t regret the actions he took to end up here—he’d do it all over again, frankly. it’s better to die than not give everything he can, and at least he was able to give his life in service to someone else. it’s not necessarily good to die, but it doesn’t matter as much if he does.
so where kaiba is afraid of losing, jounouchi is afraid of outliving his usefulness (and being abandoned as a result), and kaiba disrupts jounouchi’s worldview specifically because he puts his ideology on the defensive. to jounouchi, kaiba’s presence never demands a question of “what can you do for me?” (nothing, kaiba doesn’t want jounouchi to do anything for him, and frankly, he’d be insulted if jounouchi even tried) but “what makes you worthy of standing on the same level as me?”, and jounouchi can’t sacrificial lamb get set on fire die a billion times into getting kaiba into seeing it his way (rather, that would only prove him right: kaiba would love nothing more than for jounouchi to lose the ability to fight and finally align with his preconceived notions of how the world works), and he can’t argue that his value is in how much he provides for others because that’s a non-answer. kaiba doesn’t care.
kaiba’s presence forces jounouchi into a position of self-reflection: jounouchi works so hard to preserve the friendships he’s created, but who is he—what does he value about himself in the absence of it? jounouchi needs to acknowledge something inherently valuable about himself if he wants to counter kaiba in any meaningful way, and it’s not like he doesn’t have valuable qualities either: he’s tenacious, he’s resourceful, he’s a quick learner—it takes intelligence to rank as high as he does in tournaments, but he undervalues all of it. these traits are all to be expected, they don’t actually count as extraordinary when it’s him. they’re only remarkable when they’re being applied to something greater. jounouchi believes he has the potential to become strong (and valuable by extension), only with the stipulation that he’s never actually there yet. he focuses too much on his inadequacies, constantly pontificating on how he needs to become a “true duelist”, but by the way he speaks about the title, the only way to be a true duelist is be named yugi muto, i guess.
so it’s very jounouchi-esque for him to miss this point with near deliberate precision and try to make himself useful to kaiba anyway. while kaiba is bent on seeing jounouchi fail to prove that his cynicism is superior to jounouchi’s altruism, the inverse is that jounouchi sees his old self in kaiba and he’s dying to teach kaiba a lesson. during battle for bronze, jounouchi states that they used to be the same, people who only relied on themselves and thought they’d be fine living like that. the argument jounouchi makes is that living that way is fucking miserable. he calls kaiba out: you’re supposed to be having fun. why are you playing duel monsters if you’re not having fun? he’s trying to show kaiba that he can be useful and teach kaiba things if kaiba would just let him, but for reasons mentioned in both of their sections, kaiba isn’t interested in being taught anything.
while less malicious in display, it's important to note that jounouchi’s method of trying to teach kaiba doesn't make him the better person here. jounouchi isn’t coming from a place of understanding when he lectures kaiba, he’s coming from a place of misdirected self-flagellation. and from kaiba's perspective, jounouchi is just dispensing unwarranted advice for the sake of his own ego. the most egregious example is when jounouchi picks a fight with kaiba in duelist kingdom, demanding they duel when kaiba is clearly not in the mood, busy with more pressing matters like, i don’t know, trying to rescue his abducted brother? so, okay, maybe a little bit inconsiderate on jounouchi’s part.
they're two ideological extremes: kaiba lashes out at the world while jounouchi gives himself to it, and jounouchi will keep barging in on kaiba with his life lessons because it’s the only way he wants to engage with kaiba’s arguments otherwise. jounouchi interprets kaiba’s rejection of his ideals as the equivalent of the stubbornness jounouchi had before befriending yugi, and he uses it as a reason to keep pushing, not understanding that while he may have found the most honorable path for himself, you can imagine how constantly burning yourself for others isn’t very…appealing. or sustainable. and that maybe it’s something you need to work on, actually.
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conclusion: how i WIN
what’s fun about jounouchi and kaiba is how wrong they are. they genuinely can't live the way the other demands them to, their respective environments won’t allow it. if jounouchi chased victory with the same cutthroat relentlessness as kaiba, he probably never would have left his gang. or, at least, he’d lose the selfless devotion and consideration he has for others, traits that helped him build his support system, and he never would have found the friendships he values in his life—his willingness to change and start again was how he was able to befriend yugi to begin with. (and if you wanted to get really extreme with hypotheticals, his self-destructive tendencies could have grown so severe in the absence of a support system that he probably would wind up getting himself killed somewhere. lol.) inversely, if kaiba granted himself the freedom to worry less about the outcome as long as he enjoyed himself, he’d put mokuba’s safety at constant risk. kaiba’s guarded nature isn’t without reason, there are powerful corporate executives who would love to see him fail, and there are very real consequences if kaiba slips up for even a second and gives his opposition any leeway. the way they live works for them because it’s theirs. it’s not so much that either of their lifestyles are in dire need of correction, but that the other represents the possibility that they could be living better.
and this is fantastic because it means that, despite what they think, neither of them are in the “wrong” and must learn to change their idiot ways or that the solution is to strong-arm each other into some kind of compromise. it’s a battle of perceived weakness. they need to, naturally and individually, accept that the traits they’ve always deemed immature and beneath them can be just as vital for survival, even when it’s not necessarily their own.
jounouchi and kaiba are essentially the most extreme example of two people who want what’s best for each other (gone wrong!) and puppyshipping is appealing because them getting together requires that they stop punishing themselves for who they used to be. they expect too much out of themselves and then inflict those demands onto each other, but if they’re not wrong for the ways they’ve overcome the circumstances they were left in, then it’s equally true that the ideals they abandoned to survive weren’t inherently naïve just because they weren’t given the space to utilize them. sometimes life will push you to your limits in the hope that you fail, and there’s no deeper meaning to it. it’s not life’s way of teaching you a necessary lesson to make you stronger or a test to see if you deserve to live, or that it’s your fault when it breaks you. sometimes there’s no great meaning to suffering. things happen, and you will adjust to it in order to live. when kaiba and jounouchi believe they know each other as much as they know themselves, pairing them is the hope that they’ll respect themselves enough to respect each other, that they’ll one day be able to embrace the parts of themselves they’re the most ashamed of.
(or, you know, for the alternative crowd, they most definitely can make each other worse.)
for two men who claim to be so self-assured in their own lifestyles, jounouchi and kaiba are fascinating because there’s so many layers of denial at play: the denial that they see anything in each other, denial that there may be aspects of the other that they’ve come to envy, denial that they even care, and it's so tempting to imagine if all of it was forced open. jounouchi and kaiba choose to maintain this delicate equilibrium where they never actually confront anything because the idea of admitting vulnerability viscerally disgusts them, and it begs what would happen if the balance irrevocably tipped for once. watching them is like watching a pencil teetering on the edge of a desk, always this close to some kind of breakthrough. i won’t even lie to you puppyshipping pisses me off half the time because i just want to shake them around until something metaphorically breaks.
kaiba and jounouchi never let each other become complacent in their pasts: whenever their personal tragedies and childhoods are brought up in the context of one another, it’s never because they are being vindicated for continuing to dwell in them, but because they are being contested on how much the mindsets they’ve carried over from their pasts should be allowed to determine their futures.
returning to canon, kaijou operates through the language of competition. jounouchi tries to prove himself as a competitor so remarkable that kaiba can no longer deny him, while kaiba already knows he’s remarkable, and that is precisely why acknowledging it pisses him off so much. so they’ll play their game: jounouchi will provoke kaiba into fighting him because he enjoys going up against challenging opponents in the hopes of becoming stronger, whereas kaiba keeps trying to set up situations where jounouchi will lose to the point of letting him die because he wants so badly to believe that losing does equal death and jounouchi’s existence is the most inconvenient counterargument of all. and obviously, jounouchi keeps not dying. and it's endlessly infuriating—almost slapstick at this point, that much to kaiba's frustration, no matter what he does, he can never make jounouchi submit for very long.
jounouchi and kaiba spur each other on to a ridiculous extent: kaiba enjoys pushing jounouchi past the breaking point, whereas jounouchi enjoys getting pushed to his limits to test his own capabilities. whether that’s necessarily a good thing though is…well…hmm. anyways.
their dynamic is the type of messiness only two prideful high schoolers can get up to. maybe it’s just kaiba's repression and jounouchi's recklessness, but there is a fascination with each other that they’re incapable of leaving alone. there’s intimacy in knowing someone so well and fearing that fact, but kaiba and jounouchi never respond to this fear by avoiding it—they’re engaging with it time and time again. they infuriate each other with a passion that never sits still. kaiba and jounouchi seek a validation from their counterpart while simultaneously denying each other from it, and it’s mean, but invigoratingly so.
at some point, it’s not even about wanting validation anymore, but point-blank wanting its keeper by any capacity: wanting a visible reaction to their effort as proof of reciprocation, proof that says “i’ve finally affected you just as much as you affect me.” because kaiba and jounouchi want to leave a mark on each other, they want their counterpart to fully understand how much they’ve affected them, and they want to witness that reaction themselves. it’s no longer this big, nebulous ideological debate with a reflection: the pull between them is made both physical and personal. so, like, not to go the trite route of arguing that two men who can’t stand each other were ~secretly attracted to each other this whole time~, but how else are you supposed to word this?
in some hypothetical universe where they do come together, even the ways they love manage to compliment each other in its own clumsy way. seto kaiba never does anything in moderation: if he hates something he will destroy it, if he loves something he will possess it, and if he is obsessed with something, he will single-mindedly pursue it at the expense of everything else. his repression manifests itself in a passion so pressurized it’s all-consuming against everything it comes to contact with. inversely, katsuya jounouchi loves freely and transparently: showing affection comes as naturally as breathing to him. he embodies the belief that love is not only about the grand gestures, but the day-to-day acts of warmth and casual acknowledgments that it's there. a man who wants to be wanted by someone so badly it aches paired with someone who makes no reservations as to what he's committed to, capable of a love so overwhelmingly insatiable that it is neither fickle nor delicate, and a man who finds the act of trusting others with his affection so unthinkably humiliating that he’s convinced himself it’s something beneath him paired with someone who makes it look infuriatingly easy. they are going to invent a new language to love each other with. i believe in them. i would not write two separate essays titled “here’s how puppyshipping can still win” if i did not believe in them.
ultimately, it feels cheap to build kaiba and jounouchi’s relationship off what life lessons they could "teach" each other reformation-style when they already have a legitimate dynamic in play. they can be good for each other, or they can tear into each other in ways they’d never expect to be capable of. there’s something exhilarating in knowing there’s someone who has that kind of power and wanting to keep them within your reach, a buzzing excitement in knowing someone who can not only withstand you at your worst, but fight back at you with twice as much vigor. sure, there’s potential for growth here, but that’s because there’s potential for literally anything.
kaiba and jounouchi inspire reinvention and self-determination from each other at the best of times and enable each other’s most self-destructive tendencies at their worst. so i think. puppyshipping is the most fun. when you ship them the same way you leave a fork in the microwave to watch it explode. the end.
TL;DR: me x the guy who keeps breaking my worldview and forces me to reevaluate myself every time i see him which i hate so much that i just want him to DIE
#puppyshipping#violetshipping#seto kaiba#joey wheeler#ship analysis#character study#not intended to convince anyone of anything this was a silly project to do on the side for MEEE#also i genuinely dont think any of the points i make are new#in my quest to be as holistic as possible and read every puppyshipping-adjacent meta analysis i could get my hands on#defense essays. criticism. livejournal blogposts#ive found several times that every point i make has already been made before in some kaijou 200k longfic posted in like 2011#so if this essay is for ANYONE who isnt me.#its for the kaijou fic authors who have put in the work. god's strongest soldiers etc etc#actually. might reblog with an actual afterword citing my favorite ygo analysis i read in prep for this lol#i allude to a few of them in certain sections but i think youd have to be REALLY chronically online to notice#(coughing)#anyways special thanks to the friends who kindly beta read a document titled 'YAOI THESIS FINAL.docx'#fer + voski + cherry + sully + eric + cleo + gabby + chris + clover + vio#dear god i have inflicted this essay onto so many people#i love you.#you have enabled me and now we're all paying the price#yugioh
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It’s genuinely kind of hilarious to me how one of the current memes in the Homestuck fandom is “we’ve run out of things to analyze/talk about” when I feel like that’s honestly only even half applicable to the fan favorite characters, predominantly the Striders and Karkat.
We haven’t “run out of things to analyze”. It’s just that the fandom has absolutely run easily accessible conversations about certain characters into the ground. Just because there isn’t anything easy left to talk about with the Striders anymore doesn’t mean that there’s no content left.
Genuinely, I think the fandom needs to start paying more attention to The Felt, or The Exiles, or the Midnight Crew. There’s so much to talk about there, but the main fanbase cares so little for them that fans of Intermission characters have branched off into their own self-sustaining fandom. It’s ridiculous, too, because the Midnight Crew/Felt Intermission is pretty objectively one of the best parts of the comic.
There’s not nothing left to talk about! It’s just that all of the easy topics have been beaten to death. The only thing to do now is to either start talking about the harder subjects- be more critical, more observant to the writer’s bigotry, more receptive of the more difficult and horrifying themes in the comic- or to start talking about the adult characters in the comic more. Someone who isn’t the Betas or the Alpha Kids.
That’s just my take, though.
#not bringing up the alpha trolls here. that is my territory only <3#cuts out my corner in the market and erects high security borders around it#there’s watchtowers involved#snipers are at the ready .#(I say as I literally never fucking check any alpha troll adjacent tag EVER.)#homestuck#homestuck meta#homestuck analysis#beta kids#alpha kids#beta trolls#the felt#the exiles#midnight crew#nekro.txt
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Heyyy leans on car
do i have any mutuals who'd want to volunteer as tribute and like beta read for me when I write new chapters.
#id ask my non mcyt adjacent friends but I dont think I could put them through that#ive never put out a beta reader advertisement before#feeling like a pilgrim#missing my 11k followers of willing sacrifices from my golden era
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omg I need to hear your thoughts on teachers!Javey because that makes my brain go BRRRRRRR
OKAY OKAY OKAY SO. I can already tell this is going to be long winded so. apologies.
To understand why Teachers!Javey has a grip on my two brain cells like a dog has on his chew toy, we must first understand the types of students they are.
---
Jack Kelly is never really the stereotypical "good" student. He's a ward of the state, probably has some sort of undiagnosed learning disability that all his teachers attributed to him being a poor student with lousy attendance. Reading and writing is difficult for him from an early age, and he's okay with math until they introduce fucking word problems--what is that about? Why are they putting reading in math?
Every teacher from first to fifth grade he has can see that when Jack speaks to his peers, he's intelligent. He's a natural born leader and trend setter amongst the students. It's such a shame he's wasting his potential. It's such a shame that he never finishes his exams on time, and chooses to waste time doodling in the margins instead. It's such a shame he's only ever at school half the time, the other half out and about doing God knows what.
It's such a shame that every single teacher he had for the first eleven years of his life just assumed his failure was a deliberate choice.
But he finds solace in arts and craft time in elementary, and then is delighted to find out he can have art class every single day, for an entire period in middle school.
Teachers get meaner in middle school. Jack's smart mouth gets smarter--or dumber, according to his seventh grade History teacher, who loudly announces that Jack has the lowest grade out of everyone in his class. Jack stops showing up to History after that, but manages to scrape by with a C by convincing this girl, Katherine, to do his work for him, and he'll finish her art project she needs to get her Fine Arts credit.
(They date for a while and ofc decide they're better off as friends)
He meets Miss Medda his freshman year of high school, because the counselors screwed up his schedule and put him in Theatre instead of Art for his elective class. He needs remedial English Language Arts and Reading classes, both of which are during the only Art classes his stupid school offers. But Miss Medda is kind, treats him with respect, and after Jack accidentally leaves his sketchbook behind, offers to let him do backdrops for her plays instead of having to act in them.
Jack really can't afford to make time for this kind of long-term project--he's got to walk his little brothers (who aren't... legally his brothers, but... it's easier to just call them his brothers) home from their school, and then helps them with their homework best he can because he's not going to let them struggle the way he does and Tony is starting to get in fights, which is really, really stressing Charlie out and--
Miss Medda offers to let them stay in the theatre while the younger kids work on their schoolwork and Jack on his paintings.
It's an excuse to stay away from the Refuge an hour longer. It's an offer Jack can't refuse.
It's Miss Medda who first suggests to Jack he might be dyslexic. Jack's never even heard that word before, but it sparks a light of hope in him. He's not stupid. He's just--wired differently.
A diagnosis is not easy to come by. Jack has no legal guardians who can request testing from the school on his behalf, and Mr. Snyder sure as hell isn't going to shell out the money to do it third party. Miss Medda says she's doing it to streamline the testing, but when Snyder calls him in to say she's requested to foster him, Race, and Charlie, it takes every ounce of Jack's willpower not to cry right then and there.
School was never easy for Jack, and it still isn't, but it's amazing how much easier it becomes when he's got something that resembles a home. A soft bed, with clean sheets. A diagnosis. A family.
College is a possibility. It becomes a reality when Medda helps him submit his application to NYU.
Even though he's an art major, he's got to take basics. A computer that can read his assignments to him helps get him through with flying colors.
Medda assures him he doesn't have to do this for her. He's not. He's doing it for the fourteen year old Jack who needed a teacher like Miss Medda--and now, one like him.
---
David Jacobs is the stereotypical "good" student. Math, Science, History--it all comes incredibly easy to him from a young age. But especially Reading and Writing.
He finishes assignments early for the sole purpose of having more free time in class that he uses to read. Six years in a row, he's the top reader in his entire district, even beating out kids in high school starting from the seventh grade.
Students adore him, teachers love him, and his parents are proud as they could be.
Most kids are impressed. Some think he's doing it to show off, but he does it because there's nothing else he'd rather be doing. No amount of parties or dances can measure up to the way the ending to Of Mice and Men broke his heart, or the way Jodi Picoult's Leaving Time put it back together.
He loves analyzing the worlds he's being sucked into, highlighting passages that make him feel a certain type of way, and analyzing them to understand what makes them so powerful. He loves the power authors give their readers--to escape this world, to find meaning in theirs.
When he gets accepted to Colombia, it just makes sense for him to be an English major.
And he loves every second of it.
He loves writing papers and sticking to the most outlandish interpretations of Kafka, joining the campus newspaper club--even all the terrible peer reviews he has to do. He adores it all.
And then he graduates.
Magna Cum Laude, of course.
And David's not really sure what to do.
And a few months of crashing on friends' couches until he can get something published turns into a year turns into eighteen months turns into "Don't sweat it, you'll find something," and "Hey, I know a guy at The World who'd love to have you write columns," and if one more person tells him about the twelve publishers who rejected Harry Potter, he is going to pop a vein.
And then he's working for a Tax Attorney's office as a secretary and he hates every stupid minute of it, but it pays the bills for about a year before the office downsizes due to an actual fucking pandemic and decides he's the first to go.
He crashes with Sarah until quarantine is over. Then he spends another year working odds-and-ends jobs to help her with rent because he is not a freeloader with an English degree, for fuck's sake.
Sarah sends him a listing for a teaching position at a district in Brooklyn. Alternative Certification paid for by the campus. Eleventh Grade English.
It's a steady income, and he has an entire year to get his teaching certificate.
David applies for the position, not expecting to even really be considered, but in this teacher shortage--all the school is looking for, really, is a warm body.
David accepts the job.
He's always been good at school.
---
There's a weird, lanky looking guy who comes into Jack's class unannounced, accompanied by the academic dean, who informs Jack (with absolutely no heads up) that Mr. Jacobs is their newest English teacher and needs three more hours of live Observations before he's allowed to begin his classes.
Jack is less than thrilled at being observed for the last half of the day, but Mr. Jacobs smiles awkwardly and waves and that’s the end of that. Jack is instantly endeared by this guy who is way in over his head.
The academic Dean leaves, and Mr. Jacobs retrieves a binder and notebook from his messenger bag. As Jack resumes his lesson, the newest teacher takes fastidious notes throughout.
Jack has to actively try not to smile when one of his students goes to Mr. Jacobs for help with a guided practice warm up sketch. Mr. Jacobs seems surprised, but easily answers the questions best he can.
At least this new guy seems to care.
---
At the end of the day, David gathers his things into his bag and heads towards Mr. Kelly, extending his hand. “Thanks so much for this, Mr. Kelly. I really appreciate it.”
“Call me Jack.” He takes David’s hand.
“David.”
“Nice to meet you, Davey.” David’s stomach does a funny little flip at the nickname. It rolls off of Jack’s tongue so casually, so easily, that David doesn’t even feel the need to correct him. “If ya have any other questions, lemme know.”
David digs a pen out of his front pocket and extends it to Jack. “No questions, but could I get your signature on my observations sheet?”
“‘Course.”
The pen passes between their hands and with it, a bolt of electricity David wonders if he’s imagining, but hopes he isn’t.
He is not ogling the muscles of Jack’s hands as they sign the papers, and he’s definitely not noticing the way Jack’s smock hugs his waist where it’s tied behind his back, or the way his rolled up sleeves seem to broaden his shoulders.
“I noticed you have pictures detailing the steps on each of your assignment packets,” David says, redirecting his train of thought towards something work-appropriate.
“Reading ain’t so easy for all kids.”
Jack says it like it’s the simplest explanation in the world, with a shrug and an inherent understanding of this demographic that David lacks.
He hands the pen back to David, along with the paperwork, now donning his signature is messy script letters.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m down the hall.” David has never been particularly boy crazy, but even he is not immune to the charms of Jack’s radiant smile. “If you ever need anything, Davey.”
It’s an offer for mentorship, not a marriage proposal. And still, color rises to David’s cheeks, despite his best efforts to remain cool.
“I’ll uh, see you around.” The words come out high and strangled in his throat, eliciting the widening of Jack’s already knee-weakening, cocky, shit eating grin, but David still hopes there’s truth to them.
It’s clear he has a lot to learn from Jack.
---
Jack pops in to Davey’s room once during his own lunch, and is delighted to find out Pulitzer High’s newest addition has the same period off.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Davey is smart as a whip, he’s passionate, he’s organized (which comes in handy on a Teacher Work Day. Davey spends some time helping Jack organize supplies, and Jack hangs up art and decorations he’d made for Davey’s room).
He finds out that teaching wasn’t always in the plan for Davey, it was just something he sort of fell into. And still, Jack can see the effort he puts into his lesson plans, the quick way he’s learning the ropes and never makes the same mistake twice.
Jack knows teachers who’ve been doing this for years, and don’t have the dedication to self-improvement that Davey has.
And not that Jack is into the habit of checking out his coworkers, but Davey sure as hell ain’t ugly.
He's got a smile that makes you feel like a winner, if you've earned one from him, and he's surprisingly strong (as Jack found out on the aforementioned Teacher Work Day, his mind sputtering and stalling like a dying car when he saw Davey haul out three huge boxes of art supplies from his closet).
Lunch together becomes a regular thing. Which means Davey has words to say about Jack's typical lunch--or lack thereof. One day, Davey unceremoniously presents Jack with a Tupperware of latkes.
“Eat,” he orders.
Jack side eyes him. “I got lunch right here.”
“Cup-O-Noodles is not a meal.”
“Lunch doesn't have to be a meal.”
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"Oh, so you've never heard yourself speak?"
"Shut up and take the damn potatoes."
They're heavenly and damn delicious.
In return, Jack brings him a tub of spaghetti the next week.
"Eat," he mimics. Davey gives him a withering glance and Jack clarifies. "It's my ma's recipe. You won't regret it."
"Ah, so you can be a functioning adult," Davey teases. "You just choose not to."
Because Jack's got exactly two brain cells, and both of them are focused on Davey taking an uncharacteristically messy bite of the meal Jack's prepared for them, he says, offhandedly, "I choose to, for you."
Davey nearly coughs up his spaghetti, but doesn't mention it again.
Other than that, things at Pulitzer High are great. Quiet, even. Easy.
And then they get The Memo.
---
“I honestly don’t see what’s so bad about becoming a charter school.”
“Davey,” Jack hisses. Even though Jack seems upset, it doesn't stop the warmth in his stomach at hearing the nickname. “Davey, Davey, Davey. Charter schools get public funding, but they get to decide which kids stay and which kids go. Those signs that say 100% passing rates of standardized testing? It’s because they kick out anyone who can’t meet it. Including kids with LDs and 504 plans. It ain’t right.”
“Shit, I didn't know that. That's fuckin' awful."
"On top of that, you don't have to be certified to be hired."
"I'm not certified," Davey points out.
"Yeah, but you enrolled in one of them ACPs--so you will be. Charter schools don't require the year grace period because they don't require certification. Look, I'm not saying that every teacher in this country is perfect, or hell, even at this school. But it takes a lot of effort to get certified--even if it's not a perfect system--and I don't think it's something we should bypass. If Pulitzer goes Charter, Admin determines your hours, not the board. And kids with lower income households and undiagnosed LDs are gonna bear the brunt of these so-called higher standards. They'll fall right through the cracks, and ain't nothing we can do about it."
A tense silence falls between them, and Davey isn't quite sure how to respond. He doesn't disagree with anything Jack's said, now that he's informed, but he's at a loss regardless.
"I... Sorry, this sorta shit just gets me all worked up. I feel so... so stupidly helpless."
"No, no," Davey says quickly, reaching across the table to clasp Jack's hand in his. It comes automatically, before his brain has the good sense to cross it. Jack looks down at their twined hands, lips parted in what Davey thinks (hopes) might be a breathless gasp. "I get it."
Clearing his throat, he tears his hands away and tucks them beneath the table. He faces away, training his gaze to the creepy portrait of their school's namesake that's hung in the Teacher's Lounge and--
Shit.
Davey has an idea.
A big, stupid, risky idea.
A big, stupid, risky idea that might just be big and stupid and risky enough to impress Jack Kelly, who almost prides himself on being all those things.
"You know about Joseph Pulitzer?" Davey finally asks.
“Yeah, wasn’t he some big time publisher or something?”
“He was. He also tried raising newspaper prices for kids who made a living selling them.”
“Sounds like a real sweetie. Taking advantage of a buncha kids like that.”
“I mean, they did fight back. Gotta give them that credit.”
“They fought back? Against a giant like Pulitzer? How’d they manage that?”
“Well.” Davey turns to meet Jack’s gaze. “They went on strike.”
#javey#javid#jack kelly#david jacobs#newsies 2017#newsies#I have…. more thoughts#livesies#so there might be a part two to this????#or I might turn it in to a full out fic lmao lmk what y’all think#bc this is just kinda *waves vaguely* there#no beta we die like men#also sorry ive never written javey before so dont be mean pls#i havent written anything except klaine in like. ten years lasdjfhdjfsd PLS BE KIND I AM A SIMPLE WOMAN-ADJACENT PERSON
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and just like the Rain...
it's the first properly cool night - it finally feels like fall. the tip of your nose even got a little chilly on your run in the Abbey grounds.
so you run the shower extra hot, and it stings a little when you get in, but it's a good sting, a warm water on cold skin and tired muscles sting, and you relax into it.
you go through the motions, tired and happy: wash your face, your piercings, your body. your soap smells comforting, familiar - it smells like bedtime, the end of a long day.
it's halfway through soaping your torso that you feel it. the droplets running across your skin almost feel like they're getting... thicker. more substantial? it halfway occurs to you to be grossed out - did some sort of creature die in your showerhead, this is a nightmare - when the laugh whispers across the back of your neck.
the Rain Ghoul has arrived, to enhance your shower experience.
warm, stinging drops ooze down your shoulders, pouring down your front, across your nipples, curving down each breast. your skin feels alive, red from the heat of the water and achingly aware of its every inch. the drops continue, over your belly, down your hips, clinging to the shape of your ass, down towards your center but falling from your body before it starts to really matter. other little rivulets course down your thighs, your calves, your ankles -
pushing your feet apart, insistent, stronger than you'd think shower water could be, especially in your ancient apartment. the sensation is so startling (not unwelcome, though) that you scarcely notice what the streams down your arms are doing.
they're gently, so gently, guiding your upper body down, encouraging your hands to rest on the edges of the tub, then keeping a constant pressure circling your wrists, reminding you not to move. wriggling will only encourage him. matching pressure traces your ankles, water kissing you with heat. as you lean forward, agreeing, Rain's water slides over your back, down your chest, agonizingly dripping from the peaks of your breasts. you moan softly, and Rain's voice drips past your ear.
"I've got you now," he croons. "But I bet you wouldn't move, even if I wasn't holding you spread like this, hmm? Tell me how I feel, pet."
Drops race across your eyes, lips, your throat. You open your mouth to answer him and water plays across your tongue. "You're- you're everywhere," you sigh, and he laughs again.
But he is. Between your thighs, licking across your nipples, biting at your hips, and trickling straight down to the core of you. Flowing across your asshole, between your lips, but always, always dropping off before it reaches your clit. He leaves you like that for some time, everywhere at once except for where you really need him but never quite reaching it
until
until the drops falling off your nipples start to feel like little bites.
until the water running down your back takes on the sensation of two hands, gently spreading you open. "Let me see you," he growls, and your knees want to buckle but can't - other "hands" grip your hips, your rib cage, circling you, keeping you upright. they eventually form serpentine bands, tracing like shibari. you make a truly ugly sound of pleasure and he growls again into your ear, delighted. "Slutty little thing, aren't we?"
it feels like you're melting, like the water is washing years of stress off you via edging. a little river flowing between your spread ass courses over your opening, then parting, one smaller stream over each side of your folds, once again avoiding where you need him most.
"Rain, please," you gasp out, but his water floods your mouth, never going down your throat, just washing across your parted lips, playfully preventing you from speaking. the river becomes another hand-sensation, tinglingly warm. a thumb circles your tight rim, making your back arc, the current-like "ties" around your wrists and ankles keeping you from moving too far out of the position Rain wants you in.
the thumb becomes a probing middle finger, long. he pushes it so slowly inside of you, the whole focus of your being flooding to that point of penetration, that delicious fullness. the middle finger is joined by the ring finger, his pointer and pinky fingers sliding across each side of your labia, reminding you of an aching emptiness elsewhere. the sound you make must clue Rain in, because the water ghoul laughs in your ear.
"Dew told me you were a little whore," he purrs. "but I didn't know just how much. are you so used to being fucked by all of us that just one of us isn't enough for you?" you don't get a chance to answer; the water flowing around you solidifies, pushing you slightly forward, and then Rain is standing behind you, so solidly present, but the water is still holding you face-down-ass-up, still swirling patterns across your belly and breasts.
the water-hand burying itself in your ass becomes a physical hand, and Rain hisses at the feeling of your tightness on his fingers. "Such a good little slut for me," he coos, and his thick cock is suddenly between your legs, sliding back and forth across your entrance. his free hand slides down your side, across your shoulder blades, then settles on the scruff of your neck, firmly keeping you in place.
he pulls his hips back, sliding his entire length from your clit to the base of his fingers in your asshole, and then his tip is at your entrance, and then he is stretching you open. he releases a guttural sound as he pushes into you, some unintelligible groan, then "so fucking tight like this," and then he's setting a rhythm between his fingers in one hole, his cock in the other, and his water is still running over you everywhere else.
and you hang like this, completely fucking covered in Rain, and suddenly your exhausted body gives up. your own fluid pours down your thighs and his, and he's absolutely roaring behind you, laughing and telling you what a good girl you are but his hips and his hand are working double time, keeping you squirting, making your legs shake
and then he's really roaring, the sound of his pleasure echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom as he empties himself in you, the water that is his essence and element washing your outside clean as he paints your inside. he is the only thing supporting your limp form, and he's still inside you and outside you and everywhere, and he continues to hold you even as he softens inside of you. his hands are gentle and his water warm, no longer stinging-hot, as he cleanses you of both of your juices.
there's a fluffy towel waiting for you once he's finished.
#no beta we die like men#raindrop ghoul#rain ghoul#rain ghoul smut#rain ghoul x reader#I didn't even dare to copyedit this myself sorry#my laptop is gonna die#it's a race against time#but I had to get this out for y'all#ok to reblog#encouraged to reblog even#female reader#though I do wanna rewrite this as mountain/rain and gn reader#dommy rain#monsterfucker adjacent?#dunno how to classify this one#rosie writes ghost
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Did I write a wall of exposition text for a character's backstory?
Yes.
Could the writing be improved if I incorporated the backstory into dialogue instead?
Yes.
Am I likely to change it?
No.
#no beta we die like Wade to Assassin!Spidey#repeatedly and with many snide comments#betaing my own fic (badly)#writeblr#fanfic writing#Spideypool#adjacent
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Sometimes I strongly question if there’s an omegaverse aficionado working in product marketing. “Light snacks, easy for your alpha to feed to you or to keep in your nest for when your heat is just too much to go make dinner.” I have read SO MANY fics with that as a concept.
#omegaverse#alpha beta omega#for your nest#accidental omegaverse#omegaverse in the wild#fanfic adjacent
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Kinkvember?
Greg x Maz
Chasing | Roleplay
Maz smiles down at Greg warmly.
The blond has his head resting on Maz's lap, being shockingly quiet for once with his gaze fixated Friday the 13th and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
He turns his head to look up at Maz. "You know, Jason is super hot, actually," he comments, eyes shining with mirth.
Maz hums. "Yeah? Want me to wear his mask during sex?" he asks teasingly, running his fingers through Greg's silky hair.
The blond perks up. "Yes! That's a great idea," he says brightly.
Oh my god.
Maz pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He never ceases to amaze him with his utter perversity. He bets his ballsack and five bucks that Greg would even like it if he held a knife to his throat, but he knows better than to bring that up. "Okay, I'll buy one then."
The boy grins, the same way he always does when Maz gives him what he wants. “You’re the best.” He croons.
The older man huffs. “You’re so fucking spoiled.”
Greg flutters his pale lashes. "Will you chase me around too? Catch me and have your way with me?”
Maz smiles again despite himself; how Greg manages to look cute while asking him to roleplay a murderer, he has no idea.
He nods. "Sure."
Greg brightens up more. "We should practice!" he exclaims, bolting up off the couch suddenly and dropping his blanket as he begins running upstairs, giggling.
Maz stays seated, processing the situation. Of course they couldn't just watch a movie like a normal couple.
"You better hurry up before I escape!" Greg shouts from upstairs.
"I'm too old for this." Maz thinks as he stands to chase, making it up the stairs just in time to see Greg enter the main bedroom down the hall and slam the door behind him.
He walks calmly towards the bedroom—there's no point in continuing a chase when Greg can't see him.
He turns the knob slowly and pushes the door open, scanning the room for pretty boys to snatch but seeing nothing.
That is until his eyes land on socked feet peeking out from under the bed. He snorts at the absurdity of it.
He carefully sits on his knees at the foot of the bed, then quickly sticks his hand under and grabs Greg's ankle. The blond squeaks loudly and tries to kick him with his other foot, but Maz catches it. He drags him out from under the bed and flips him onto his back, grabbing his wrists and holding them down with one hand, using his other to force Greg’s legs open so he can get between them.
Greg looks up at him and bites his lip as if to hold back laughter. "Took you long enough," he says brattily, then clears his throat and changes his expression to one of fear. "Oh no! You found me! What are you going to do to me, Mister?" he exclaims, not so subtly spreading his thighs wider.
He looks so adorable that it makes Maz want to lean down and kiss him sweetly; he wants to be gentle, and make love to Greg. But that's not what the younger man wants, so instead, he grabs the blond's throat and squeezes.
Greg whimpers and his hips twitch up, bulge pressing against Maz.
"I don’t think you want to know, sweetheart." Maz provides, grinding against his boyfriend’s ass.
He looks his boy up and down, taking a second to appreciate the view; his pupils are dilated, barely any blue visible, and he has a flush all the way down to his neck that Maz knows goes further. He's wearing nothing but a belly shirt and a tight pair of briefs, looking like an 80’s scream queen sexily awaiting her horrible fate and giving Maz a perfect view of his hard nipples begging for attention. His hard, leaking cock leaves a visible wet spot in the front of his underwear.
Greg bites his lip squirms.
On second thought, this is better than the domestic night Maz had in mind.
#No beta reader#had to rewrite this entire thing#Greg x Maz#Greg tolan#Maz#kinkvember#belated kinktober thing honestly#lawrusso adjacent
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Author and Artist Sign-ups Have Closed, Beta & Sensitivity Reader Sign-ups Are Now Open!
We are currently recruiting editors! Please sign up to read and beta some fantastic intimate brotherly stories for us via this Google Form.
SPN Gencest Authors will have access to the spreadsheet of responses and reach out to you if you seem like a great fit with their fic.
Thank you!
#supernatural#beta readers#sensitivity readers#spn#spn fandom#spn fans#gencest#spn gencest#sam winchester#dean winchester#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#samdean#deansam#wincest adjacent#genfic adjacent#fanfiction#fandom
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Took a little time to doodle up another gal of mine. Say hello to Devi, the Cambion Queen!
#oc artwork#OC:Devi#original character#original art#succubus character#inmon#womb tattoo#omegaverse adjacent#omega female#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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Judas Goat
have some old soti ;P er... i actually started all of this on before charlie appeared in dsmp itself
i had some more ideas for this one, but i just couldnt think of somewhere to end it on. seems to be a pattern with my stuff :(
TWs for dehumanization, hard vore
A bell rang below, just behind him. If Quackity were a stupid hunter, a foolish novice, he would’ve turned to capture the human who had stayed behind to ring it. But to an expert it was the sound of a clock starting, his time running out rapidly. With that bell all others would scatter and he would only have so long to catch them all. He pressed forward, towards the blip on the radio tracker, net at the ready, and was rewarded with a louder clash of hammer on metal immediately in front of him. Transmitting the signal of his arrival and distracting him all at once.
He ignored the bell. And the next one. As they got more desperate, attempting more loudly to announce the humans presence and draw him away from the nest. Like a bird feigning a broken wing to lead predators away from defenseless chicks.
He had only ever fallen for that one once. At least the sacrificial human that stayed behind while it’s hive abandoned it was sweet and young tasting.
He crashed out into the colony, foot smashing down into a fragile habitat, and the swarm of humans scattered in all directions. He could see a pattern to the mob movements, and cast a weighted net that took down more tiny buildings with it, trapping humans beneath the debris and tightly corded rope. It seems they only had barely begun running for the underbrush around him when he had arrived. Good, that meant he would get the lions share of this nest.
It was hard making sure he got every one of them. The first couple of times he tried this trick there were some that scattered and made even thinking about hunting in that direction worthless.
He taught Charlie how to count afterward, and he would proudly tell him the population of the human settlement just before he got to work.
He didn’t care for alive humans in his meals, to be honest. After the first attempt with a mesh cage he stuck to an airtight plastic tupperware so they could quietly suffocate for him. By the time he got home from such excursions it was hardly an issue handling them. They were all floppy and weird a lot of the time but. Well. Their meat was just as good.
Sometimes one of them survived long enough to revive just as he stuck them in his mouth. It definitely was a curious sensation, feeling it’s weak little kicks and gasps, but he wouldn’t say it was as intoxicating as Wilbur always described it. Really, he preferred the crunch to the useless begging. Plus, it reminded him too much of Charlie’s little voice, and he didn’t want to have to imagine his pet in among the limp bodies, no matter how weird nightmares he had about biting down hard on the defenseless little creature.
Quackity strung up the first net, twisting it neatly so it scooped up all of the humans caught beneath, before throwing it over his shoulder. He could hear the screams and cries and whines of anger and fear, some of it strange and warblingly close to Charlie’s own voice but wrong in such particular ways. They all kicked and thrashed like a net full of fish, but only succeeded in injuring one another. Bruises didn’t taste the best but it was a minor setback all things considered. He took a second to mentally count them - 14, not bad. He’d have to check how many there were in total when he found Charlie.
Now for the second net. No way in hell will they clump together like this group was, and traps won’t work when they already know he’s here, so he’ll just have to grab for it.
Using the other net he had as a bag, he quickly started grabbing any human within reach, breaking the remaining settlements to weed out the stragglers hiding in there. A few smaller ones fled, and he considered briefly letting them run off to grow larger for his next hunts, before deciding he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find them again and scooping them up.
It almost got mindless, combing the remains of the human colony for those frozen in terror or trapped by the debris of their home. He eventually stopped and recounted, happy with the amount he’d gotten. 21 in all - well, 22 if he counted the squalling infant one of them clung to, but they barely were even a bite-full so he didn’t.
He shook the second bag a bit to hear the collective wail go up for a moment, before pulling the airtight box out of his bag. It would be just big enough to fit both bags if he shimmied it around and the humans didn’t flail too much.
As it were, he had overestimated the box size a little bit. Cursing, he pulled the second bag back out again and fished through it for the human carrying a child. He could easily just crunch into them now, but he liked to be hygienic with his food and, plus, he didn’t care much for the scared and angry noises all the others would go into a flurry about as soon as he did.
So he dropped the two onto the remaining building that hadn’t toppled from his poking and probing, and finally got the bags packed properly. The yelling and whining from the humans was greatly muffled as soon as the seal clicked.
He half-turned and pulled out his whistle before noticing the released human was staring at him, apparently frozen. With a frown, he poked at it, shoving it in the other direction. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” For gods sake, how had they even survived this long in the first place? No wonder they’re endangered in the wild now.
He carefully retrieves charlie at this point, and the people trapped in the box start yelling and screaming. from quackity’s pov its just a bunch of panicking, and he puts the bag away carefully at that point. to charlie, its the screams of betrayal, the horror that someone they tried to help betrayed them like that. he seems entirely unaffected by the muffled hatred spat at him.
quackity pats him gently on the head, and returns him to his travel cage, already thinking about recipes he will have to try with this batch.
After that whole debacle with Tommy, Quackity was… torn. Because on the one hand he wanted to be a supportive friend, wanted to change his ways (he could go vegan right? Right?) in solidarity, but on the other…
There was Charlie, who he had been caring for for years at this point, who had started as this fun little project to see if he could train a tracker human and had become a comfort to him, a pet.
Tommy is a person and yet, despite him trying his best to convince himself otherwise, Charlie would always be a pet to him. After all, Tommy wouldn’t ever come to him wanting cuddles, or so blindly trust him when he lifted him up to a dark cupboard to ‘please please please smash that horrible bug I found in there I can’t do it myself’ or march proudly into a human settlement with the knowledge that he would end it.
Right? Right. That’s a pet thing.
He was sitting on the couch, scrolling unhappily through his phone as he tried to think. Under his cupped hand against his chest was Charlie, breathing softly. So small and fragile, yet so undeniably trustingly his.
(That possessiveness, that’s probably what stopped him from ever seeing Charlie as anything but a pet. The human was his and had been his for so long, and nothing could change that. )
What would happen if someone came over to his house one day and saw all of the little things he had added over the years for Charlie? The enclosure that had grown from that pathetic first attempt and now was the envy of human-keeper forums? Would they understand? Or would he be judged for it now that Tommy’s out?
Wait shit - had he ever talked about Charlie on stream? Quackity wracked his brain for a moment before remembering that no, he hasn’t, because he had decided early on he didn’t want to be seen as the kind of ‘crazy human guy’ to own a battalion of humans and only eat ‘home grown food’ with all of the euphemisms attached. So Charlie’s still a secret.
It would be so incredibly easy to make Charlie stay a secret. Take down the enclosures today and ‘accidentally’ crush Charlie underfoot. Or maybe even finally eat him, have one final taste of human before giving it up and taking the evidence with him. It would be so easy, he was literally within Quackity’s grasp.
… no. He could never do that. Not only does the idea make him absolutely sick to his stomach, he couldn’t imagine ever looking Tommy in his little eyes and saying that he was trustworthy with a clear conscience after doing something like that. Charlie was so small and trusted him so much, he couldn’t do something like that to him.
He let out a long breath, shifting his feathers, and Charlie groggily lifted a head in attention. Quackity hurriedly muttered out quiet nonsense words, assurances and purrs and Charlie tucked his head in again next to his heart.
Yea. He could never just kill Charlie in cold blood. He was about ten years too late for that to ever happen.
So what could he do? Continue hiding Charlie, consolidating all of the little additions to his house to a single room that he could lock when guests were over? It would be a fix, but the part of him that has now spent far too long moderating and commenting on human husbandry forums screamed at him about confinement. Stupid morals and good pet-care values.
In hindsight, there was only ever one solution to this issue. He would have to let Charlie go.
…
His hands fumbled on Charlie’s bright green collar like an idiot as he gingerly unclasped it. Charlie was sitting up straight, not moving at all like he was always trained to when Quackity was preparing him for an ‘excursion.’ He hesitated for a long moment, before handing the collar over to Charlie.
The human frowned at it and looked up. “Why are you giving me this?”
Quackity shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I just want you to keep it safe.” And, like a good pet, Charlie appeared satisfied by that answer. He carefully folded the fabric up and put it into an inside pocket of the custom-tailored jacket he had gotten a couple of years back. Quackity poked at the backpack, always too small for him to do anything more than fumble with the straps, but he made sure he could feel the little food packs and container of food pellets in case he was out too long and everything else was used up.
Maybe I should get him some more. He won’t be coming back after all, he’ll need it.
But then… he might get suspicious.
Why should I worry about him getting suspicious now? He’s leaving and he can’t do anything about it.
Still, it would break his heart to see Charlie get all sad about this before it was strictly necessary. He continued fussing with the backpack as the human laced his little boots confidently.
“The weather looks good for the rest of the week so take your time,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. “See the sights and all that shit, y’know.”
Charlie hummed, tugging without much effort at the bag in his grasp. Quackity gave it up easily, checking nervously that his claws didn’t leave scratches on the fabric. Humans were just so fragile right when he didn’t want them to be.
“You’ve been sad for a while,” Charlie said suddenly, not looking up from the backpack. “I’ll do a good enough job to help you out, and it’ll be ok. Promise.”
Quackity’s heart almost broke right then and there. Don’t think about it.
“Radio,” Quackity commanded, pushing through the hiccup in his throat, finally putting aside the bedding he was ineffectively tying for Charlie’s smaller and more nimble hands, and trying to absorb himself in the checklist for a little bit longer. Charlie turned his back to him, raising his shirt and exposing the radio transmitter sewn into a dark undershirt which, with the shirt and coat, would be entirely invisible.
Quackity carefully checked the battery life, that it was still transmitting, and nodded. While it wouldn’t be necessary this time… he would like to keep an eye on his pet for as long as he can. “You’re good, alright come on now.”
He held out a hand and once again like a proper and obedient pet, Charlie hopped on with little complaint. Quackity hoisted up the bag with his other hand, transferring it into Charlie’s grasp and bending down to pick up the travel enclosure.
Seeing Charlie holding his bag, sitting behind the bars of the travel enclosure with a hand half held onto one of the metal rods, Quackity steeled himself. This was the best option. This was the only option.
Then he grabbed his keys and got in his car.
He tried to make himself promise that he wouldn’t look back after letting Charlie out in the woods, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep it.
...
Quackity never made mistakes ever but… taking in these humans so soon after losing (leaving behind) Charlie definitely didn’t help that feeling of useless loss. It was just a favor for Technoblade (who absolutely TERRIFIED him so he would do whatever he said) to help out with a couple of rather discombobulated humans that had passed him by. Karl was sweet in many of the ways that Charlie is (was), and frankly distressing in a number of other ways. Begging to be killed? To be eaten and completely forgotten about?
(He spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling of his room, wondering if what he did to Charlie was any better than what the people did to Karl. He definitely didn’t check the radio tracker to see if Charlie’s signal was still active, definitely not.)
As would be expected of any farmed human, Karl took well to the remaining stock of human-grade pellet food that Quackity still had around, though he experimented with some of the weirder sauces in his collection and created rather disgusting concoctions as a result. It seemed that the variety of taste, rather than the quality of it, was what intrigued Karl the most.
God he missed Charlie. He could feel himself slipping back into that day-to-day existence that owning a pet human created. He almost wanted to pull out one of the old enclosures from the garage, except that would entirely defeat the purpose of leaving behind his pet.
He could get some of Charlie’s old clothes out though, couldn’t he? That wouldn’t seem weird, plenty of people had human clothes lying around, even if just for the novelty.
Karl took to the soft worn fleece jacket like it was made for him, even if it was slightly oversized-looking. Tailored for a larger frame, a more active lifestyle.
Quackity tries to come to terms with caring for Karl without immediately coddling him like he had for charlie. he finds it so very hard to solve the problem of owning and caring for someone that he needs to also think of as a sentient being who could be self sufficient without him if he so tried.
one day, further into the future, he logs on to check his old accounts, the ones he had when he had kept charlie, where he talked to other misguided giants who did the same thing. and there’s a message directed to him
its from charlie.
he wants to talk. wants to come back into quackity’s life, despite everything he’s done.
#SOTI content#my fics#vore adjacent#beta fic#mcyt vore#at one point in time i was considering making this one an epistolary fic too#but ah well
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i need sora to do some mask of my own face shit with the heart hotel gang. but like. not exactly that. something like in the parade people are cheering for the effigy of me which is me wearing my own mask, but at the finale i grip it and tear it away and leave them to consider who i really was
#idk im feeling strong things about faces in kingdom hearts as always#i do kind of have 2 distinct aus im working with rn and i think thats good#RN im thinking that in the more canon adjacent au sora's new face could be like. one of his old models or even maybe his beta design with#the undercut and everything. maybe not a lion though#kh
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fighting as flirting is my favorite trope and it's unfortunately uncommon so I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE but the problem with this trope is that if you go too hard on the fighting it reads as like abuse but if you go too hard on the flirting it reads as unrealistic s & m like the sweet spot is "you construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men" but that's a fine fine line
#does anyone else feel this?#like you've got to powerful people let them spare#like teaching each other to fight is peak romance#wrestling and horsing around only to realize that you're both breathing really hard and are so close#a kiss with a fist is better than none type of vibe#anyway going to need a beta reader soon ish for a spideypool team red adjacent fic
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closed. // @thuganomxcs
It’s no use ! No matter how many buildings or landmarks they drive past , Kaen s t i l l cannot figure out where Yusuke is taking them ( it solidifies what he said earlier , that he wanted to surprise them with their destination ) . Lips press into a pout , head cocking to press sulkily ‘gainst the chilly glass of the passenger-side window as they continue to make a near-useless mental effort of calculating his course. The anticipation works a NERVOUS KNOT in their gut , riddles them with some sort of excitable anxiety which makes their heart l u r c h each time they happen to hit a pothole.
❝ C’mon , Yusuke , dun’ ye think this ‘s a bit UNFAIR ? ❞ Kaen pipes up after awhile , shifting to turn and look at him as he drives. Hand lifts , gestures vaguely in front of them out the windshield , ❝ Ye say we’re actually goin’ on a date but ye didnae e’en tell me w h e r e we’re goin’ ! ❞ They slump back in their seat , arms folding with a soft h u f f . They’ve all the faith in the world he knows what he’s doing – they do – they just wish he would’ve let them in on the scheme beforehand. ❝ ‘S it really tha’ big o’ a surprise ? Ah told ye b’fore Ah didnae need anythin’ like tha’ ta’ be ‘appy. ❞
#❧ ⸺ how can ( queue ) say there is no story here ? ❞#❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | threads ❞#❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | verse i: main ❞#thuganomxcs#this is...#based off that ask i sent like 20 years ago#where kaen asked him out#consider this an adjacent continuation bc i do not have the link for it anymore ksjdcnds#plus i still think it'd be funny as a whole#also just as an aside#i only have access to the beta editor so if you could reply using that it would make this easier!!
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