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#but i kinda wanna write this one
woulddieforloki · 1 year
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I kind of want to write a fic where Odin is about to banish Thor and Loki's watching it go down and the guilt is eating at him and right before Thor gets yeeted through the Bifrost, Loki yells, "IT WAS ME!" and, because that's actually words (and interesting words at that), Odin actually stops what he's doing to listen instead of just yelling a keyboard smash out loud, and Loki explains that he manipulated Thor into attacking Jotunheim, but it was never supposed to get that far and he's very sorry and it will never happen again. and he thinks he's mitigating the damage but instead Odin just banishes him instead (and he'd banish Thor too but he needs someone to take the throne and tbh what would it say about him as a dad if he has to banish all three of his kids?)
so then Loki ends up getting hit by Jane's car, except he's not an idiot so he doesn't run around screaming at the sky about being hammered and Darcy never has to taze him so he never ends up in the hospital so they're off to a good start already.
and they get to talking (and they're all very confused and operating under completely different understandings of the situation) and Loki figures out he's in Midgard entirely because they don't know what the Nine Realms are and Midgard is the only realm stupid enough not to know that. Jane mentions that they're scientists and Loki just kinda scoffs at that because scientists on Midgard are like childrens' tutors in Asgard, and Jane is equally offended and impressed.
and I choose to think that Odin never takes Loki's magic away the way he did to Thor's because he can't take it away. if he could, he would've done that before they threw him in the dungeon in TDW. so Loki still has his magic so it's pretty easy to convince them that he's a god (and honestly they're more convinced than he is because he just found out that he might possibly be Jotun?)
so they end up taking Loki with them (against Selvig's better judgment) because he sounds like a know-it-all and he ends up pretty much being a know-it-all so that works well for Jane. and actually it kinda maybe works too well? because she starts to fall in love with him and surprise, it's a Lokane fic and he starts to fall for her and they have babies and live happily ever after!
no jk idk what would happen but I'm thinking Mjolnir would still be out there so maybe Loki would go to check it out and he'd probably have better luck with it because he's magic so it's pretty easy to get everyone out of his way but he's definitely not worthy so he can't wield it but it does get them both tangled up with SHIELD probably?
idk apparently I can only thing of Lokane fic ideas if they have no ending so that's all I got lmao
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bruciemilf · 2 months
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I love your idea of Martha and Thomas bring separated in death out of bitterness and spitefulness of both families but I have this idea of Thomas and Martha not being separated because Alfred would have threatened both the Kanes and the Waynes with his shotgun and everyone knew Alfred wasn’t a person that could easily reasoned with when it came to his family
I hear you, and both have such delicous potential for angst, and while I’m sure Alfred would rather eat thunder and spit lighting than give Bruce over, how fucked up would it be if Martha’s brother made him choose?
“Give me my sister, and you keep the boy.”
A ghost for a corpse seems even.
Philip already terminated his custody rights, — it’s the easiest choice he ever made; it’s the hardest choice he ever made, — so he has no say. Only calls Jacob a fucked up son of a bitch, and he can see their mother in him.
It’s not often Alfred loses, but when it happens, it’s fateful, and it’s definitive, and it’s never, never well for the other person. He can’t win, because there’s no winner.
Imagine Bruce, young and scarred and sleepless with grief, staying wide awake. He’s not haunted by his parents’ graves; He’s haunted by the fact they’re empty.
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wikiangela · 2 months
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several sentence sunday
tagged by @hippolotamus
sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol just to be clear, im still 10000% about buddie but im gonna enjoy this while it lasts bc I feel like this is exactly what buck needs rn lol I just wanna write him be giddy and stupid and flustered about a boy even if that's not eddie haha (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)
___
"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?
“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.
“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”
“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.
“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”
___
no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend
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marragurl · 1 month
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Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.
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Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.
Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.
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(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)
So imagine this:
Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)
Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.
Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.
Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.
If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.
As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.
Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.
It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.
One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.
(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)
There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.
Sunday couldn’t look away.
He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.
Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?
He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.
Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.
Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.
The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.
It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.
It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.
It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.
It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.
OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.
Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS
So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”
I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?
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tent-house-and-bees · 6 months
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Another doodle that people like in the discord server :D I hope to see more wings in season 3!
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harunefrog · 5 months
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I drew a thing!!! You know this one!!!
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megabuild · 2 months
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thinking about aro etho earlier got me thinking about a funny little song and dance near the end of s9 that goes like this: gem has been slowly getting closer to etho and has started to develop a little crush on him but plans not to do anything about it because he's in a relationship with bdubs > cleo takes note of this, gem complains about her stupid ass crush > cleo points out that actually while he is in a relationship with bdubs it's not necessarily exclusive (speaking through experience) > gem decides to get more bold, begins flirting with etho more outright > etho is oblivious > etho has always been oblivious > gem does not get over her crush but decides he must not be interested and lays back about it > s10 begins > joel smallishbeans arrives > joel smallish fucking beans arrives > joel flirts with etho > etho remains obliviousing > gem fuming > gem and joel begin a rivalry over which of them is entitled to etho's lack of affection > gem and joel are reprimanded for starting a fist fight after meeting outside the permit office > etho has been happily married since season 7
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"Murder is Werewolves" - Batman
I don't got the SPOONS to do this thought train justice, I have seriously been trying to write this thing for MONTHS so just, idk, have this half baked skeletal outline of the essay I guess:
I don't believe that Batman's no-kill rule is primarily about rehabilitation or second chances.
His refusal to believe that Cassandra could have killed someone when she was eight years old because "how could a killer understand my commitment not to kill" is absolute fucking MOON LOGIC from a rehabilitationist standpoint. No jury on the planet would think for even a second that she could reasonably be held accountable for her actions in that situation! Her past cannot condemn her to being incapable of valuing human life under a rehabilitation centering framework. However, Batman's reasoning makes perfect sense if he believes that killing is a spiritually/morally corrupting act which permanently and fundamentally changes a person, and that corruption can never be fully undone.
Dick Grayson killing the Joker is treated both narratively and by Batman as an unequivocally WIN for the Joker. The Joker won by turning Nightwing into a killer. Note that this is during a comic in which the Joker transforming people was a major theme! Batman didn't revive the Joker because the Joker deserved to live; he revived the Joker to lift the burden on Dick.
His appeal to Stephanie when she tried to kill her dad is that she shouldn't ruin her own life. He gives no defense of Cluemaster's actual life. Granted this is a rhetorical strategy moment and should be taken with a generous pinch of salt, but it fits in the pattern.
When Jason becomes a willful killer, he essentially disowns him, never treats him with full trust ever again, and... Well, we can stop here for Bruce's sake. Bottom line is that his actions towards Jason do not lead me to believe that he thinks Jason can become a better person without having his autonomy taken from him, either partially or fully.
The Joker is, for better or worse, the ultimate symbol and vessel of pure, irredeemable evil in DC comics now. He hasn't been just another crook in a long time. He will never get better, he will only get worse. If you take it to be true that the Joker will not or can not rehabilitate, then there's no rehabilitationist argument against killing him.
Batman does not seem to consider it a possibly that he'll rehabilitate. Batman at several points seems to think that the Joker dying in a manner no one could have prevented would be good. Yet Batman fully believes that if he killed the Joker, he himself would become irredeemable.
Batman's own form of justice (putting people into the hospital and then prison) is fucking brutal and clearly not rehabilitative. He disrespects the most basic human rights of all criminals on a regular basis. It is genuinely really, really weird from a rehabilitationist standpoint that his only uncrossable line is killing... But it makes perfect sense if he cares more about not corrupting himself with the act of killing than the actual ethical results of any individual decision to kill or not kill.
In the real world cops are all bastards because they are too violent to criminals, even when that violence doesn't lead to death. Prison is a wildly evil thing to do to another human being, and you don't use it to steal away massive portions of a person's life if your goal is to rehabilitate them. In the comic world, Batman is said to be necessary because the corrupt cops are too nice to criminals and keep letting them out of jail. I don't know how to write a connector sentence there so like I hope you can see why this bothers me so damn much! That's just not forgiveness vibes there Batman!!
I want to make special note here of the transformative aspect. You don't simply commit a single act when you kill, no, you become a killer, like you might become a werewolf.
The narrative supports this a lot!
Why did Supes go evil during Injustice? He killed the Joker. Why did Bruce become the Batman Who Laughs? Bruce killed the Joker. Why was Jason Todd close to becoming a new Joker during Three Jokers? Because he killed people, to include the Joker.
Even if these notions of redemption being impossible aren't the whole of his reasoning (people never have only one reason for doing what they do) it is a distinct through-line pattern in his actions and reasoning, and it is directly at odds with notions of rehabilitation, redemption, and second chances.
So why does he give so many killers second chances?
Firstly because this doesn't apply to all versions of Batman. Some writers explicitly incorporate rehabilitation and forgiveness into his actions. You will be able to provide me with examples of this other through-line pattern if you go looking for them. The nature of comics is to be inconsistent.
Secondly the existence of that other pattern does not negate the existence of this one. People and characters are complex, and perfectly capable of holding two patterns of belief within themselves, even when they conflict to this degree. You can absolutely synthesize these two ideas into a single messy Batman philosophical vibescape.
Finally and most importantly to this essay: he has mercy on killers the same way that werewolf hunters sometimes have mercy on someone who is clearly struggling against their monsterous nature, especially if they were turned in exceptional circumstances or against their will. They understand that they are sick, damned beasts, cursed to always be fighting against themselves and the evil they harbor within. It is vitally kind to help them fight themselves by curtailing their autonomy in helpful ways and providing them with chances to do some good to make up for their eternal moral deficiency.
I think in many comics Batman views killers as lost souls. Battered and tormented monsters who must be pitied and given mercy wherever possible. (The connections to mental health, addiction, and rampant, horrifying ableism towards people struggling with both is unavoidable, but addressing it is sadly outside of the scope of this essay.)
Above all, the greatest care possible must be taken to never, ever let yourself become one of them, because once you have transformed the beast will forever be within you growing stronger.
To Batman, it is the most noble burden, the highest mercy, the most important commandment: Thou shalt suffer the monsters to live.
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shartfinz · 7 months
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some princess bubblegum scenes and stuff as gumball I might pick a few and like draw them properly these were just like art block doodles
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dxckgrxsonx · 2 years
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Distracted
Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader Words - 1.1K Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Oral M!Receiving - Swearing. Notes - I’m in a mood. I’m a little drunk. This hasn’t been edited so if you see any mistakes shush, they’re totally not there. Also, I love you 💕
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MASTERLIST
**
You don’t know how he does it.
How he can make you twist your fingers around the sharpened edge of distracted. Sink neck deep into something desperate, something hungry.
You would have thought that you’d get this way from seeing him in action, from watching him use all his perfect strength and intellect to protect those who need it.
But for fucks sake, he’s sat on the sofa reading, and you want to sink your teeth into his jugular and never let go.
**
His legs are propped up on the coffee table, feet crossed at the ankle.
Jason holds his book with one hand, careful to rest it in such a way that he can flip the page with his thumb. His other hand absentmindedly plays with your hair, silently switching from twirling the strands around his fingers, to scratching soothingly at your scalp. The sensation has your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, goosebumps prickling up your arms.
Nimble fingers hook into the elastic waistband of his grey sweatpants and Jason quickly stops playing with your hair.
“What are you up to, baby?” He asks, there’s an accusatory note lacing his words and you fight to keep the self satisfied smirk from your face, even though you know he can’t see it.
“Shh, go back to reading your book, Jay.” You answer, voice thick, heated. “I jus’ want to take care of you, that’s all.”
He hums in response, clearly not fully convinced–you don’t exactly blame him. You know that he’s clever enough to catch on the slight hints you throw him, subconsciously or otherwise. This has happened before, except usually, you are the one on the receiving end of his wickedly talented mouth.
Tugging at the soft fabric Jason lifts his hips, allowing you to pull it down far enough to free his half hard length.
He’s not wearing any boxers and you feel your pussy getting wet.
Quickly taking the tip between your lips you suckle gently and dip your tongue into his sticky pink slit. The noise that leaves Jason’s throat is stuck halfway between a moan and a hiss, you can’t see him, but you know he’s biting his lip, eyes fluttering closed when your hand curls around the base of his thick girth.
You feel him twitch against your tongue, cock fattening up between your spit slick lips. The taste of him has you moaning, has you thinking you’re drunk, tipped over the edge of rational thought and falling fast into hungry arousal.
If you could, you’d swallow him whole.
Coming free with a wet pop you lick a firm stripe from base to tip and swirl your tongue around the fat, flushed head of his pretty cock.
“Read your book, baby.” You encourage, spitting on the tip and letting your drool slide down his length. Giving him a firm pump with your hand you revel in the soft gasp that slips out from between his teeth. “C’mon, Jay. Y’wanted to read, didn’t you?”
His reply is a garbled moan of your name, voice lost in his heaving chest when you take him into your mouth again and start bobbing your head, hand quickly pumping what you can’t make fit.
Under your hand Jason’s hips flex and you press against him firmly, shoving him back into place so you can continue sucking him off. Above you he groans, thighs tensing like he’s holding himself back from stuffing the entirety of his thick cock into your hot, wet mouth.
“Can’t exactly concentrate on reading when you’ve got my dick in your mouth, sweetheart.” He finally grits out, one hand sweeping your hair away from your face and the other still holding tightly onto his book.
Pulling off his cock again you press soft kisses down his throbbing length, tongue coming out to press against the thick vein running up the underside.
The elastic of his sweatpants sits snug under his full balls and you can’t fight the urge to lick and suck at them until he’s gasping and whining, hips trying relentlessly to shove up against your mouth for more pressure.
Swallowing his cock your lips split wide around his girth, jaw aching with the strain. You try to fit him all in your mouth but you can’t, he’s too big, too thick. The tip touches the back of your throat and you gag, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth.
Jason’s hand rests heavy on the back of your head, “C’mon, baby. Y’can take me all in that pretty mouth of yours, can’t you?” Trying again you sink down and your drool rolls down his flushed balls, soaking the soft fabric of his sweatpants. “You’re so messy, sweetheart. M’gonna have to change once you’re done.”
Pulling back slightly you settle into an easy rhythm, hand stroking what you can’t make fit in your mouth. Jason’s hips kick up to match your pace, soft little moans and groans escaping his lips when you suck at his cock and twist your wrist.
Settling with just his fat, weeping tip in your mouth you roll your tongue over the sensitive head and give a pleased hum when Jason jolts, throwing his head back, fingers making a tight fist in your hair. Licking into the sticky slit you moan when the heavy taste of him fills your mouth.
“M’gonna come if you keep doing that.”
Good.
Dropping your hand you play with his heavy balls, tugging and rolling them in your palm. Above you, Jason calls your name, voice almost breathless, in the back of your head, you think this is what he would sound like if he was drunk.
His thighs shake under you and you feel his balls pull up tight just before he comes.
The taste of him floods your mouth as his length twitches and throbs in your mouth, cock pumping out rope after rope of his sticky come. Suckling softly at the tip you swallow everything he gives you. Pushing against his hip as he continuously rocks steadily into your mouth you guide him down, cock softening against your tongue.
Tucking him back into his sweatpants you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Go back to reading your book, baby.” You smile, finally looking up to find Jason’s flushed cheeks. “Was just in the mood to suck you off, m’done now.”
Choking on a tired laugh Jason pats your head. “You’re something else, sweetheart.” 
Without a word, he goes back to playing mindlessly with your hair and thumbing through the pages of his book. If it wasn’t for the sweat beading on his forehead, or the flush high on his cheeks, you wouldn’t know you’d had his cock in your mouth moments ago.
Suddenly throwing his book onto the coffee table with a bang Jason twists until you’re flat on your back.
“My turn,” He grins, “I’m in the mood to eat your pretty little pussy, I bet sucking me off got you all wet and sticky, huh? Lemme take care of you.”
**
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tomurakii · 6 months
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My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).
- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?
- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.
- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.
- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.
- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.
- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.
I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?
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leftneb · 10 days
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Ghostsoap F1 AU
helmet designs for the sillies in a silly environment because my brain had a little too much time to marinate my interests and then this idea happened
an actual fic IS in the works and by that I mean I have like half a plot figured out and I've never attempted to write something over 5000 words in my life so I think we all know how well that'll go
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juustozzi · 1 month
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soccer club shenanigans! also, don't mind the alt uniforms, these were drawn while I was writing and while they're not exactly fic art they share the vibe
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mci-writing · 3 months
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Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified
I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞
Anyways, hope you enjoy
Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):
Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)
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"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."
He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.
When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.
Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.
"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."
"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”
The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."
Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"
"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."
He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.
Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.
To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.
Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.
She feels so out of place...
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The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.
Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.
She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.
It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."
"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."
His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.
Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."
"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."
(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."
She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.
"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."
"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."
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absurdumsid · 3 months
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So I have Converted you to loving Fell x Killer.. I like to imagine jealous dust and Killer fighting over Fell, who is incredibly confused
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whiteboards ur mttpolyfell (they make me ill)
Murder! Sans belongs to ask-dusttale
Killer! Sans belongs to rahafwabas
Horror! Sans belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios
Fell! Sans belongs to Fella/Vic
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moongothic · 2 months
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You think Crocodile's gonna blow his stack when he finds out how shitty Luffy's upbringing was? His baby boy repeatedly got tossed into the jungle to fend for himself against wild animals, as well as off cliffs and left to float into the fucking air on balloons all courtesy of Garp. He got left alone for long periods of time possibly as early as infancy, also cuz of Garp. And oh yeah, he was tortured by pirates, almost burned to death in a giant garbage fire, and went through the trauma of losing a brother.
Like, no matter how stern or distant of a parent Crocodile may be, I don't think he would be content to stand by and let any of that happen to baby Luffy. Also also, Crocodile witnessed firsthand Garp impeding Luffy's attempts to rescue Ace. The Cross Guild wants Garp for his bounty. Crocodile wants Garp for REVENGE.
With Garp I feel like it could go either way because like, let's be real for a second
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This is 100% played for laughs.
Like if we're being serious then yes, in the Very Real World this is absolutely child neglect and abuse, Garp's parenting would NEVER fly (🥁) in our Very Real World. But just like Nami can physically abuse Luffy and co for laughts and get away with it, Garp's "training" is very much the same tonally, a Cartoon Slapstick Gag (made even more obvious when Toei animated Baby Luffy flying off into the sky going "UGYAAAAA" (that clip lives in my head rent free it's so funny??)) and a reflection of how this ridiculous old man (who might've been through even more ridiculous training in his childhood) views how a small child can be trained.
And so like. I could imagine Crocodile being like "who the fuck does that to a small child, are you insane" at Garp if he found out how Garp had been raising Luffy, but I think whatever reaction Crocodile might have would be played just as much for laughs as Garp's original comments were
Like IDK if Crocodile and Garp did have a relationship I think it would end up being similar to how Zoro and Sanji interact. Like Crocodile would to some degree be indebted to Garp because Garp did look after his son when he couldn't, and Garp wouldn't have a precious grandson (whom Garp sincerely does love, deeply) without Crocodile, so like. I think there could be like this mutual respect and gratitude for the other. But also it'd be kind of a begrudging gratitude and they would also hate each others guts and what they stand for and probably bicker. Lots. But in a funny way. (Like Zoro and Sanji)
Also I feel like even if Crocodile personally hated Garp's guts I don't think Crocodile would ever try anything to harm Garp. Like he saw how Luffy absolutely shattered after losing Ace, so even if Luffy and Garp's relationship wasn't the strongest, if Luffy loves his grandpappy then I don't think Crocodile would want to take his son's only grandfather, his family, away. Crocodile isn't in any kind of position to "take revenge" on the man who did look after his son for him (even if his methods were questionable at times) (Same for Dadan and the bandits too arguably)
The convenient thing of me letting this ask sit in my ask box for 20 days before actually responding is that I managed to post this thing the other day, and I want to continue an observation from that post; While I do agree Crocodile would probably be horrified to find out about all shit Luffy went through as a child... In the end, what's happened has happened, and I think Crocodile might believe that if he had wanted to ensure his son wouldn't have to go through things like that, then he should've raised the child himself. That Luffy's childhood not being all sunshine and rainbows is kind of his fault.
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