#is he the villain here? not necessarily | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snekdood · 2 months

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here's the thing about writing villains-

you're never going to get ppl to stop writing villains who want to control everything, who are evil for evils sake, who are manipulative and liars or whatever. who are just bad people who seem irredeemable- most peoples idea of a villain is whatever they fear most.

and just because there might be stereotypes about certain demographics surrounding these ideas doesnt mean they are inherently bad to have in your writing in general. the reason those stereotypes exist is because people wrongfully assume that a certain demographic is a certain way either through their own fears or from propaganda/conspiracy theories they're cooking up or have consumed-- which are all built around fear.

its normal to fear someone who wants to control everything. the problem comes in on whom you're projecting that on to and whom you think wants to do that. it's prolly not a good idea to make a villain- who wants to control the world and all of its money- jewish. its probably not a good idea to make a villain- whos a controlling manipulative abusive liar who will do everything to get their way in spite of who they hurt- someone with npd. it's probably not a good idea to make a terrorist-y type villain a muslim or of middle eastern decent. it would probably be a good idea to try to avoid adding stereotypes surrounding whichever demographic you're concerned about your character being misread as to your villain if you're already worried they're gonna be misinterpreted by uncharitable people online.

in my case, im making a vampire villain who wants to control everything. it would probably be really fuckin dumb of me if i added a bunch of jewish stereotypes to him along with that, considering theres a lot of antisemitism in how a lot of vampires in different forms of media were conceptualized and a whole ass conspiracy theory that jewish people already do control everything.

i dont think "wants to control the world" or even "secretly does control the world" is necessarily a bad place to start when creating a villain, it's all about what you do after that point. and its also all about keeping in mind different stereotypes/conspiracy theories/tropes/etc. around that idea that have harmed different people. it only becomes antisemitic if you draw the character the way antisemites draw jewish people, or add a bunch of conspiracy theory fueled ideas to the character, or add a bunch of jewish iconography around the character, or just make him in some way readibly jewish or just straight up make him jewish. the more you educate yourself on stereotypes/conspiracy theories/harmful tropes/etc. surrounding whichever demographic you're trying to avoid making your villain be misread as and actually avoid trying to make that character that way, i think the better off you'll be.

remember that those stereotypes/conspiracy theories/tropes/etc. all exist because someone wanted to make whichever demographic into a villain. those fears already exist in peoples minds, they just want a place to put them, and a lot of people will find a scapegoat to place them on to. it's not that those fears at their basic level are wrong or bad to have or wrong to use as a jumping point in your writing, it's that people sometimes project those fears on to other people, typically marginalized people, and again, for propaganda's sake or bc of their own fears of other people or whatever. if you avoid projecting those fears on to demographics targeted by said fears and thus avoid making your villain of said demographic in every way that you possibly can, the better off you'll be.

people will be uncharitable and read things in bad faith no matter what you do. if you're a creative, you already know the internet spends no time (and hardly any actual critical thought) in dismantling something they've deemed problematic, likely because they dont even like the thing they're critiquing but need to make it seem like its somehow a Moral dislike of the thing. ya gotta ignore it and have faith in at least some of the people viewing what you create to actually hear what you're trying to say. you also gotta take into consideration actual constructive criticism of what you create, because you might have a blind spot in this regard. try to avoid listening to people who seem off the bat antagonistic and demanding bc they likely dont even have a justified reason to be mad at you over if they're acting that way. if they have something they want to say to you bc they actually wanna change your mind, they're not gonna approach you apathetically, dismissively, passive aggressively, as if they know everything and are above you and are the most moral person in the room- people like that dont actually care if you change whatever it is you're doing and just want a self-justified reason to be mad at you that makes them look good for critiquing you, if they did want to change your mind they would try to approach you in the least confrontational way that that particular individual can manage.

ultimately, listen to people actually effected by these things so you know what to avoid and figure out how to not hurt them.

#i am by no means an expert on islamaphobia or antisemitism or anything. i dont think anyone is but the closer you are to being #effected by whichever -isms i think the closer u are to being an expert. so if anyone effected by said -isms more than I am thinks #im wrong about this i'd like to know. if im doing something harmful I want to know. so- unironically- please tell me if you #think something about what ive said here is wrong. i want to avoid hurting people and can only do so if ppl tell me how im doing it.#otherwise- if no one has any real genuine concerns of what im saying here-- i said what i said.#tldr; villain who wants to control the world? probably fine to make.#villain thats readibly jewish in many if not most ways and you made his motive controlling the world? most definitely *not* fine to make #whether that 'readibly jewish' means he's stereotypically jewish. he seems like someone who is plausibly jewish. or that his jewish-ness #is informed by a shit ton of conspiracy theories- doesnt make a difference. dont make a villain thats read as jewish in any capacity #with that motive. i'd only trust someone whos jewish + a good writer to be able to execute that in a productive & harmless way.#writing #the question isnt 'is writing a villain whos horrible in these ways bad' necessarily. its more like. whomst are you ascribing those motives #i mean obviously if you make a villain thats indistinguishable from how an antisemite might but just say hes not jewish... theres prolly #a problem. but thats why i say you need to actually EDUCATE YOURSELF on the shit surrounding x demographic so you know what to #avoid. the difference is you actually care enough to try to avoid it. shitty ppl are trying to find a way to do it w/o getting caught.

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navree · 10 months

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vicki vale and deathstroke and task force x all set to be in at least one episode of my adventures with superman? one cannot help but wonder.......

#personal #listen i've said it before but i don't necessarily have a burning desire to see bruce in this show #this is clark's show and it needs to stand on its own two feet and i'm here for clark #and also lois and jimmy and the animation in general looks wonderful #but if bruce shows up for an episode i would not be opposed i'd actually be delighted #he doesn't even need to be batman just have bruce wayne show up cuz he owns the daily planet or smth #and then in the background there can be like 'oh yeah and that batman guy he's nuts'#this is all half joking tbf i'm sure it's just recognizable names and etc #but one of task force x's most famous characters is harley quinn #deathstroke is literally a titans/nightwing villain #and vicki vale is primarily a gotham reporter tied to the story mostly through bruce and her batman thing #peripheral batman (and batfam) wouldn't be the worst thing #but as i said: not something i'm hardcore gunning for. just smth i think would be neat. but not necessary. just neat.

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leatherbookmark · 1 year

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actually i have discovered the only true and correct reading of md/zs: wgxn are the true Evil Men of mdzs. just look at how they’re dealing with lxc post-guanyin

#'how' = not at all.#it's almost unbelievable how little wwx cares about lxc now that the whole case is over #it's just a fun puzzle for him to solve which isn't necessarily a criticism of him as a character because boy howdy do i Know that he's not #some kinda bleeding heart. but he just... basically explains everything at the end like a triumphant detective in a classic mystery novel #and you have lxc. having JUST found out that jgy was Obviously provoked into violence and that the only reason he went to the temple #instead of making a beeline to the nearest port was to pick up his mother's remains. he's heartbroken and confused #and even the narration is almost cruel in its 'well if jgy's best friend doesn't know then how could the others know?' and then wwx goes #'welp! gotta call people and take care of this coffin mess i think!'#AND THEN wgxn just casually decide not to reveal the VITAL (for lxc) information about jgy to him. because it would make him look #sympathetic. just tell him if he asks lz! i'm soooo tired of this bullshit u_u #what is he supposed to ask about you soggy banana. 'hey didi is there something you didn't tell me about jgy?' like this? like this?#bastards BASTARDS i say. and then they go on to fuck in the bushes without hearing the boring and annoying gossip from the jianghu!#brother? ah forget him. wwx's butt won't fuck itself we've got a busy day ahead #hashtag wgxn hateposting i do what i want it's my blog #like. i understand Dignity and stuff and lwj probably couldn't and wasn't even the type to hug his brother in public and go 'there there'#but he doesn't. he doesn't do a thing. at all #the only thing he says to lxc is 'jgy's killing intent.' that's it. at least in cql he leads him out of the temple and #physically supports him. here? nothing. lxc is repeatedly described as 'not realizing what had happened' 'lost in thought' 'startled'#and even 'in normal circumstances zewu-jun would have immediately understood it'. he is Mentally Unwell. but that's his problem because #he liked the guy we decided was a villain. 😬#shut up shrimp #(i know the bushes of love didn't happen /immediately/ post-guanyin (imagine that though.) but they're fucking haunting me)

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perenlop · 11 months

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Meta Knight should also be fat.

YOURE SO RIGHT ACTUALLY

#hes the same species as kirby and if u wanna argue that hes more ''active'' or something #u can say the exact same thing about kirby and meta is also heavily implied to eat a lot #and has a sweet tooth specifically #not that eating a lot necessarily correlates to being fat but idk #rubs me the wrong way that dedede is a villain who steals food from people in the first game #and hes generally regarded by most fans to be fat as a human as well tho some ofc refuse to #but like... hes that way to directly parallel with kirby who is the hero and also eats a lot #so it makes sense that theyd both be fat #mail #kirisakin #if my language here seems weird btw pls let me know bc i am not actually fat so idk if i come across #as patronizing or something sjdlfjsdklfds

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writingwithfolklore · 2 months

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5 Tips for Creating Intimidating Antagonists

Antagonists, whether people, the world, an object, or something else are integral to giving your story stakes and enough conflict to challenge your character enough to change them. Today I’m just going to focus on people antagonists because they are the easiest to do this with!

1. Your antagonist is still a character

While sure, antagonists exist in the story to combat your MC and make their lives and quest difficult, they are still characters in the story—they are still people in the world.

Antagonists lacking in this humanity may land flat or uninteresting, and it’s more likely they’ll fall into trope territory.

You should treat your antagonists like any other character. They should have goals, objectives, flaws, backstories, etc. (check out my character creation stuff here). They may even go through their own character arc, even if that doesn’t necessarily lead them to the ‘good’ side.

Really effective antagonists are human enough for us to see ourselves in them—in another universe, we could even be them.

2. They’re… antagonistic

There’s two types of antagonist. Type A and Type B. Type A antagonist’s have a goal that is opposite the MC’s. Type B’s goal is the same as the MC’s, but their objectives contradict each other.

For example, in Type A, your MC wants to win the contest, your antagonist wants them to lose.

In Type B, your MC wants to win the contest, and your antagonist wants to win the same contest. They can’t both win, so the way they get to their goal goes against each other.

A is where you get your Draco Malfoy’s, other school bullies, or President Snow’s (they don’t necessarily want what the MC does, they just don’t want them to have it.)

B is where you get the other Hunger Games contestants, or any adventure movie where the villain wants the secret treasure that the MCs are also hunting down. They want the same thing.

3. They have well-formed motivations

While we as the writers know that your antagonist was conceptualized to get in the way of the MC, they don’t know that. To them, they exist separate from the MC, and have their own reasons for doing what they do.

In Type A antagonists, whatever the MC wants would be bad for them in some way—so they can’t let them have it. For example, your MC wants to destroy Amazon, Jeff Bezos wants them not to do that. Why not? He wants to continue making money. To him, the MC getting what they want would take away something he has.

Other motivations could be: MC’s success would take away an opportunity they want, lose them power or fame or money or love, it could reveal something harmful about them—harming their reputation. It could even, in some cases, cause them physical harm.

This doesn’t necessarily have to be true, but the antagonist has to believe it’s true. Such as, if MC wins the competition, my wife will leave me for them. Maybe she absolutely wouldn’t, but your antagonist isn’t going to take that chance anyway.

In Type B antagonists, they want the same thing as the MC. In this case, their motivations could be literally anything. They want to win the competition to have enough money to save their family farm, or to prove to their family that they can succeed at something, or to bring them fame so that they won’t die a ‘nobody’.

They have a motivation separate from the MC, but that pesky protagonist keeps getting in their way.

4. They have power over the MC

Antagonists that aren’t able to combat the MC very well aren’t very interesting. Their job is to set the MC back, so they should be able to impact their journey and lives. They need some sort of advantage, privilege, or power over the MC.

President Snow has armies and the force of his system to squash Katniss. She’s able to survive through political tension and her own army of rebels, but he looms an incredibly formidable foe.

Your antagonist may be more wealthy, powerful, influential, intelligent, or skilled. They may have more people on their side. They are superior in some way to the protagonist.

5. And sometimes they win

Leading from the last point, your antagonists need wins. They need to get their way sometimes, which means your protagonist has to lose. You can do a bit of a trade off that allows your protagonist to lose enough to make a formidable foe out of their antagonist, but still allows them some progress using Fortunately, Unfortunately.

It goes like… Fortunately, MC gets accepted into the competition. Unfortunately, the antagonist convinces the rest of the competitors to hate them. Fortunately, they make one friend. Unfortunately, their first entry into the competition gets sabotaged. Fortunately, they make it through the first round anyway, etc. etc.

An antagonist that doesn’t do any antagonizing isn’t very interesting, and is completely pointless in their purpose to heighten stakes and create conflict for your protagonist to overcome. We’ll probably be talking about antagonists more soon!

Anything I missed?

#writing #creative writing #writers #screenwriting #writing inspiration #writing community #filmmaking #books #film #writing advice #antagonists #villains #writing antagonists #5 tips for creating intimidating antagonists

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soarrenbluejay · 2 months

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Supervillains for a community. (Well, except those jerks over in Gotham, insular lot, but they’re they’re one problem) Of course they do- supervillains are a group defined by strong opinions and a willingness to see them through, often with a healthy dash of societal failures and trauma as a catalyst.

The fentons, while not active even on the online message boards, are well known and explosive when they do show up, full of fascinating insights and hours long rants on mad science on hair pin turns courtesy of that ADHD attention span. Bit of the cryptids you feel honored to bump into kind of deal. Besides, like a good quarter of the community as it aged, they’d settled down and had kids (not necessarily in that order) and taken it very seriously! Out in the middle of nowhere, where even the most fearsome government outpost members, the local branch of the IRS, quake before them in fear. Out of the way.

Reveal gone okay-ish, Danny moves to Gotham still to get some air bc now things are Akward and he landed that engineering scholarship which is loads better than any other college would give him with his track record. So- the mysterious Fenton children are finally crawling out of hiding! Everyone is psyched! And roll in to Gotham en masse to witness the fireworks!

Except Danny is Determined To Be Normal. He’s had enough of the throwing himself into harms way shit for a lifetime- he wants to be free to peacefully built Rube Goldberg machines and unintentional increasingly complex bombs to his hearts content. JAZZ, on the other hand- the coveted token Normal One, has finally snapped! She’s watched her baby brother she practically raised throw himself into danger over and over and could do nothing, and now that she’s exposed to this whole network of superheroes outside of small town Amnity, some of those uglier emotions are coming out. And boy is she pissed! And can’t afford to show it much while filing the paperwork to have Arkham legally razed to the ground!

See I love this idea of like, niches in superhero society. A villain the heroes know they can plop their kiddo down with for an exciting afternoon brawl while they take care of a particularly grisly case and come back to a few hours later ranting about some new life lesson and a new move they really want to try. A villain who has a functioning moral compass despite their somewhat batshit long term goal and you can contact to fuck with another villains’s plan so they can laugh at them and you can have an easy afternoon. One who pries up hostile architecture and fills in pot holes, idk man. Get creative here, there’s such potential!

So Jazz becomes a Training villain- someone the heroes know their sidekicks will walk away from in a fight 100% of the time, usually with some new lesson to ponder and only a couple of bruises. Sometimes even snacks!

She also absolutely ambushes mentors to check that they’re worth the kiddo, which they appreciate once they get over being jumped in a dark alley by a 7 foot Amazon trained force of nature. They are not used to being on that side of the jumping, it’s a little unnerving.

(Yes, she low key adopts Shazam upon checking in with him on cursory ‘is the main hero of this city and asshole’ checkin. Yes, the super clones get yoinked out from under Superman’s negligent thumb to go have a blast with Ellie. What about it?)

This however only encourages more assorted weirdos to crawl out of the woodwork. It’s not often one of their own forfeits their potential spot for the running of the coveted Most Normal I Swear prize, but when they do it’s bound to be good! But jazz is off hounding various heroes and punching the faces in of pedophiles and shit whenever there’s no cape within easy reach, and so is a mite bit harder to contact than Danny, who has innocently gotten an apprenticeship under a clockworker for access to their workshop and is gleefully going about doing nerdy shit with great abandon.

Plus this is Gotham. No one gives a shit if someone in the Mad Alchemist uniform and still smoking from their latest experiment pokes their head in a window to bother the local shrimp teen- none of the usual social rules apply, everyone’s crazy here! So everyone drops any and all attempts at masking and just acts their genuine unhinged selves, much to the alarm of the Bats and frustration of Danny.

Bc he cannot get these mfers to go. Away. Even liberal use of the creep stick has little effect when the interloper is calibrated for an opponent with super speed or laser vision or whatever, and he’s trying to maintain his guise as a Normal College Student Do No Investigate.

So he calls in the big guns. He’s not super active in the supervillain kids group chat ever since things in amnity calmed the fuck down post becoming King and then immediately using a loophole that says he will not take the throne until he is grown, as defined by finishing learning his trade a la the medieval standards Pariah set up. So he can just take his sweet ass time with his graduate degree and out of inter dimensional bull shit that much longer! Point is, he hasn’t taken the chance to rant over there in a while, so his Crazy friends are getting a lil worried.

The change to come over and shout at their batshit crazy but (mostly) well meaning parent AND see Danny? Score!

The bats, however, are getting awfully suspicious about this one kid that villains from all over the country are flocking to, especially young and upcoming ones as of recently! And he’s acting his engineering course- all the worst rogues are known to have flown through their PhD studies prior to Cracking. They seem to have a real problem on their hands with this Fenton guy.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #mad science #supervillain community #bonus points if you can pull out some super niche comic villain #justice for kite man #local child of a crazy chemist: so you know that trick you showed me with the soda and the reaction that could turn into just like all foam #Danny: yeah and also back the fuck up #lcoacc: so it’s been like my comfort food right but like I started wondering what you could do #danny: oh no (he says while making what amounts of an overachieving smoke bomb)#lcoacc: so I was like what if I add more of a base to it so it could be solid and then maybe just like a LIL acid to see what happens #Danny: oh ancients #lcoacc: but then the killjoy supes came in a ruined everything from where I was ruining lex Luther’s day #Danny:… did you get in on camera #lcoacc: OF COURSE. oh also like everyone ever if coming over for a sleepover lol #Danny: WHAT I CANT FEED YOU MONSTERS #lcoacc: no worrries we’ll rob a bulk store or something lol #Danny: nO

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tusks-and-claws · 11 months

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Cold Love/Hot Blood

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: “Between teeth on a broken jaw/following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw”

Miguel is struck with something that he’s never experienced before

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, dubcon by way of pheromones, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, feral Miguel, biting, marking, blood drinking, paralytic venom

Wordcount: 3k

Ao3 link here

You opened your eyes, blinking at the soft light from the bleary haze. Wincing, you raised your hand to your head. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it definitely felt wrong. What had happened? You were on a mission. That's right. And it had been going so well, until… until the anomaly villain threw something at you and Miguel. What was it? It had such an awful smell to it. And, where was Miguel?

You traversed the rubble of the abandoned building you were in. You couldn't see him. You shouted out for him.

"Here, I'm here," you heard him from the distance. Following his voice, you found him under some pieces of sheetrock from a collapsed wall. He was pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask.

"Geez, Miguel, are you alright?"

"Been better." His voice sounded strained. "Got a transmission from Jess that she's got hands on the anomaly. We'll meet her back at HQ. You go on ahead of me."

"What? No, we have to-" you started grabbing at the rubble to pull it off of him. He caught your arm before you could keep lifting.

"Please," he said, trying to meet your eyes from behind his mask. "Just go."

"What the hell is going on, Miguel? You're not… you're not acting right. We have to get you out of here."

He brought his hands up, holding his head in frustration. "Please, just do it. Don't make me beg."

"LYLA, please check him," you said, the avatar popping up and saluting you.

"No, don't-!" He tried to catch her in the air but she evaded him.

"His heart rate is really elevated but he seems okay otherwise. I think he's being dramatic. I don't detect any major injuries," she reported. You thanked her and she disappeared.

You crouched down to where he was. "What's going on, Miguel?" Your tone was serious.

He tried to hold your gaze for a moment until he swore and looked away. "That bomb that the anomaly threw… it affected me in a way that it clearly didn't affect anyone else, alright? Are you happy now?"

You furrowed your brow. "I don't understand."

He sighed, his breath shaking ever so slightly. "Itwasapheromonebomb." He said it so quickly and quietly.

"...What?"

"It was a pheromone bomb. Just leave me here so I can wait it out. This is so shocking humiliating- I," he sighed again. "Don't make me explain any further."

You blushed, not sure what to say. But you couldn't leave him like that, half-buried and vulnerable. "Can I at least help you up…? I promise I won't make fun of you. I just can't leave you defenseless like this."

He seethed for a moment, considering your offer. "...Fine. Grab this stupid sheetrock."

You did so, lifting it off of him with some effort. He did his best to stand up quickly. Despite his best, though, you could see the source of his embarrassment. He had a rock hard erection, and a particularly desperate one, by the looks of it. It laid upward, reaching towards his abdomen and pushing up against the tight fabric of his suit, straining. The size of him was nothing short of impressive.

You turned your gaze pointedly towards the ground as he moved away from the pile of rubble. Don't react don't react don't react. Could you pretend like you didn't notice? Even though not noticing was impossible, even from a single glance? You swallowed a lump in your throat, your head swimming with unprofessional thoughts.

Miguel turned from you, crouching down, hissing out a slow breath. "Fuck, it's getting worse," he whispered to himself, his body starting to tremble.

You took a step closer, reaching a hand out to his shoulder.

"Your proximity isn't… isn't helping." He admitted without turning around.

You stopped, silently moving your hand away from him. Touching him would surely make things harder.

"Miguel, I don't think waiting it out is an option for you. You just said it was getting worse."

He swore under his breath to himself. "I didn't mean for you to hear that. This is- shock it- this is completely foreign to me. Never been hit by anything like this before, it's s-so intense."

You winced at that, you'd never heard his voice so pained. But, what was the other option? You shivered just to think about it, your body reacting in ways that surprised you. How could you possibly propose helping him without making him think less of you? Would he even want help from you? Across from you, he was in turmoil, on his hands and knees trying desperately to control his breathing.

“Miguel… how can I help you?” It was a foolish question, a loaded question.

“You know the answer,” he replied from over his shoulder, his tone cold. He cried out again. “I- I can’t- can’t do that to you.”

“What if I’m offering?” You asked, a little too quickly, pushing down your fear and embarrassment for even thinking such things.

He turned further to meet your eyes, though you still couldn’t see his from behind the mask. You didn’t even need to see his eyes, his body language was communicating perfectly on their behalf. His muscles were pent up and quivering. Every breath rocked his massive shoulders. “Why?”

You didn’t think he’d ask that question. You searched your brain for an answer. “Because it isn’t your fault. And I respect you enough that this won’t change my mind.”

His thoughts seemed to be diverting to his baser instincts, his voice becoming a growl. “Need you… to be sure. Don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“I’m sure,” you said.

In no time at all, he pounced, bringing you to the ground. He was on top of you, his taloned fingers caging in your wrists against the cracked concrete of the floor, your arms above your head. You landed with your legs apart and with him between them, his hips desperately close to yours. Your eyes widened at his feral energy, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. He brought his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling. His exhale was shaky. “You smell so good… always smelled so good.”

Your body grew hot upon hearing that. Always? Had he thought about you in that way before? You smiled to yourself as he nuzzled the nose of his masked face into your neck, his hot breath coming through and ghosting over your skin. You could feel his huge frame shaking around you. He brought his hips down to your pelvis, seemingly being as cautious as possible as he began to grind his hardened length against you. His breath quickened at the contact, and he met you again with fervor, stimulating himself on you. His cock was unbelievably hard and hot, the temperature of him coming through both of your suits to meet your skin and overwhelm you. The feeling of him against you was sending shivers down your spine, the pleasant pressure made even sweeter by the promise of more to come. He positioned himself on top of you in such a way that each rhythmic, grinding rock found your clit and teased it with clothed contact.

You moaned lightly, the sound of it causing him to growl into your neck. You lifted your hips up, meeting him with the same tempo so he could grind into you more thoroughly, your bodies now writhing in tandem. His heavy breathing became panting. "Need to… need to touch you." He picked up his head and released your wrists, one hand steadying himself on the concrete, the other reaching down eagerly.

You got the memo, quickly slipping the pants of your suit down and throwing them aside so he wouldn't rip them off for you. You had at least enough hindsight to know you couldn't go back to HQ looking so disheveled. He dismissed the gloves of his suit and retracted his talons as his fingers found you immediately, honing in on the wet heat of your sex. Two plunged inside as he loomed above you, his muscles shaking again as he wet his fingers with your arousal. You shook right alongside him, your reaction bodily, as your back arched and your legs closed instinctively to hold his hand in place and not let him go. His fingers hooked inside of you, already relentless.

"Soaked," he whispered, almost to himself. The word resonated with a deep, animalistic hunger. Without removing his fingers from your warmth, he sat back on his knees and used his free hand to pry your legs open. "Need to see," he said. He watched the length of his fingers disappear over and over. The large hand that kept your legs wide was squeezing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he seemed fixated on the way it was yielding to his rough touches. Nearly everyone was small compared to Miguel, but you… you were different. He had his hands on you, inside of you, the comparison was tangible. You were small, soft, and his. His mind swam with how he would take you, how he would sheath himself inside of you until he bottomed out, how he would desperately fill you with his hot cum and hold your hips up to keep any precious drops from leaking out. It took everything in him to not reach down and start rubbing his impatient cock through his suit, but his fevered brain convinced him to keep his free hand on your leg so he could watch you fall apart from his fingers alone.

He was delirious as your walls started to spasm around his fingers, white hot pleasure pooling in your core, threatening to overflow as he kept up his efforts. The constriction of your muscles bolstered him, and he began to go faster and harder, starting to overstimulate you. You threw your head back, hands wildly trying to grasp at something on the concrete floor but coming up short. He removed his hand from your throbbing sex to start teasing your clit with abandon, and you moaned as your body lifted up off the floor.

"H-holy shit, Miguel," you gasped out. "It's- it's so much."

His hand moved so fast against your swollen clit that you could hardly think. The feeling was electric, and your orgasm was dangerously close. Your legs started to shake and tried to close around him again, but he kept them forced open as he intently watched, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. You came and it utterly racked you, your body shuddering as you cried out, hot liquid spewing from you and drenching Miguel's hand and forearm. You squirted on him, because of him. You thought you should be embarrassed, but he gave you no opportunity.

As your head just started to clear, he recalled his mask into the neck of his suit. You quietly gasped at unexpectedly seeing his face. So strong, angular, and handsome. His red eyes looked wild, his mouth was open, his fangs fully extended. He studied his hand, turning it over so the mess you made could catch the light. As it started to dry down on him, he brought the two fingers that had been inside of you up to his mouth, and he licked them both clean. You gaped at him, almost fully unable to process what was happening.

When he was finished, he turned his gaze from his fingers and back onto you, as you sat up on your elbows to watch him. You saw that his cock was still as hard as ever, still pushing to break free. As if reading your mind, he recalled that part of his suit too as he grabbed your legs and yanked you toward him. He rested his cock over your abdomen, once again reveling in just how much bigger than you he was. The hot weight of his manhood on your skin set you ablaze once more and you eagerly awaited him. He thrusted but without penetrating you, sliding himself over you and wetting his cock on your cum. His exhales quaked with anticipation until he could wait no longer. Even on his knees, he towered over you, and so he needed to tilt your hips up further so your entrance could meet the head of his leaking cock. He shifted his grip to your waist, holding firm as you steadied yourself on your elbows and looked to him with bated breath.

He slowly pushed his hips into you, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. The steady penetration had you reeling. You needed to feel him, all of him. Every inch, all at once. It felt like it took ages for him to finally reach the hilt, but when he did, he waited inside of you for a brief, merciful moment. You basked in the feeling of being so full, so complete. He began to pull himself out of you, leaving you cold and empty for a split second until he slammed his entire length back into you, repeating and repeating at an unwavering pace.

Each powerful thrust reached so deep inside of you that it was nearly painful. Immediately, the head of his cock found your cervix and was hitting it with each hard pump that Miguel delivered. Your eyelids grew heavy as your eyes began to roll back towards your skull. His onslaught was so thorough, every smack of his hips against your pelvis reverberating through every inch of your body. The overstimulation of when he fingerfucked you had carried over, and you were already close to losing control all over again. He felt it too, as he growled in response to your pulsating walls.

"This cunt…." He snarled through his fangs. "This cunt is mine."

"Yours," you moaned, meeting his words a little too quickly.

"Going to mark you… so everyone knows."

"Mark me, Miguel." You agreed, not quite realizing what he meant. He started to lay you down onto the ground without removing himself from you, continuing to fuck you in missionary as he brought his face down to the crook of your neck. Your pulse quickened with excitement. He opened his mouth, his breath making your skin somehow even warmer. You wished that you could've seen the flash of his fangs before what came next.

He bit down on you, hard, and you could feel the course of his venom like molten lava through your veins. When the searing heat reached its crest, a soothing wash of warmth followed in its wake, leaving your muscles loosened and relaxed. Blood started to drip down your shoulder, the wet trickle quickly cooling as it made contact with the atmosphere. Miguel stayed latched to you as his tongue met your skin, lapping at the red stream, determined to consume it all.

You submitted to him fully, allowing him to position you how he saw fit so he could fulfill his feral need. His strong hands snaked around your torso to your back, lifting you up with him as he rocked back onto his knees. He helped you to swing your legs around his slim waist and to drape your arms over his huge shoulders. You let your face settle against his neck, the clean musky smell of him overwhelming your senses. His hands found your hips and he effortlessly lifted you up and down on his cock, fucking himself with your pussy like you weighed nothing at all. You moaned into him as you clenched around his cock, your limp body succumbing to the overpowering feeling of him. You started to shudder as your orgasm claimed you with a white-knuckled grip. You whined into Miguel's neck as it hit you with shock after shock, your vision going spotty while your cunt tightened around him.

He couldn't hold it any longer, and his cock jerked inside of you as he came. You were still getting hit with aftershocks of your own climax, your muscles bearing down to milk every drop of cum that he filled you with. He held you closer and he thrusted himself as far into you as he possibly could, instinctively trying to make sure as little seed would have the chance to leak out of you as possible.

Your muscle control started to slowly come back to you as you and Miguel were chest-to-chest, both of you sweating and heaving. You weakly raised your arms so your hands could tangle with the hair at the nape of his neck. You lingered there for a bit, his strong arms holding you in the place as you played with soft locks of chocolate hair. You finally leaned back to see clarity slowly returning to Miguel's expression, and he looked utterly mortified. He held your gaze as he turned red, removing one hand from your body so he could cover his face.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "What the shock came over me?"

You were struck with sudden fear. "Do you… not remember?" The fact that he was still buried inside you should've been a dead giveaway.

"No, I do," he said, nervously. "I remember getting hit with that stupid bomb, and you helping me, then me wanting to split you in half."

You couldn't help but giggle at that.

"I tried to make sure I wasn't too rough with you. I was still in there, the whole time," he said, taking his hand away from his face to smooth your hair. He stopped when he reached your neck, seeing the bite marks he left. "Guess I didn't do all that well, did I?"

"It's fine. I can take it."

"Clearly," he said, raising his eyebrows, mildly impressed. "Thank you. I… don't know what I would have gone through if you hadn't been so… generous. But… for God’s sake, let’s not go around telling people what happened. We have reputations.”

You agreed, the secret safe between the two of you, the puncture wounds on your neck a silent souvenir.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #smut #my writing #not beta read #this one was for me tbqh #i didn't really know how to end it so pls be nice to me #but dear god read the warnings on this one #also another sleep token reference? on my fics?? it's more likely than you think #im nervous to post this one ahhhhhhh

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takami-takami · 7 months

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Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments.

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?"

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth.

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel.

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case.

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire?

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening.

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here."

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support.

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind.

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course.

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart.

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it.

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth.

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core.

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem.

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs.

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could—

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips.

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity.

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan.

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half.

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms.

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive.

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation.

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," he warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you."

Keigo schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry.

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion.

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth.

Ah, it hits you.

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that."

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?"

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—"

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips.

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With him kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants.

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!"

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth.

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it.

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face.

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw."

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please."

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire.

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch him moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor.

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance.

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts."

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt.

"So wet for me," he reveres, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit.

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent.

Until you shut the fuck up.

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory.

Keigo wants to hear you moan.

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction.

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals.

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care.

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd.

Pulling out, that is.

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end.

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made.

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?"

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

#sorry i made jesus canon in this fic. I had to have him say it. Okay bye!#i know his quirk doesnt work like that its not an animal quirk but shhhhhh im having fun #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha thirst #mha x reader #bnha thirst #smut #x reader

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specialagentartemis · 3 months

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If I were in charge of rebooting Danny Phantom, the core theme it would keep coming back to would be idea that everybody has their own internal life and thoughts and feelings and opinions and desires, and they won't necessarily match the simplified image of them that you have in your head, and you have to accept them as complicated messy un-ideal people because the ideal image of them you have isn't real.

All the pieces are there. Vlad as the villain has given himself over to this fantasy world, imagining Maddie as the perfect wife and Danny as the ideal son and Jack as the corrupting influence, without ever bothering to know them as people. He's the ultimate villainous failure state of this.

But also, at the same time, Maddie and Jack have this image of who their son is, and he's actually hiding a lot from them about who he Really is. Everyone has their idea of who Danny Fenton is, and it's what makes them unable to see Phantom as Danny. But also, age 14 can be when you start to realize that your parents aren't all-knowing godlike figures who can solve all your problems and always know what to do, nor are they put on Earth to frustrate you specifically, they're just... also people. Also human beings, who can be wrong, who have their biases. And that can be a hard lesson to learn.

(Tie Jazz's interest in psychology in here: she's interested in learning how people think and why. She's the bridge. She's the way forward.)

And it all comes back to this idea, that everyone has a full and complex internal life, and you have to give them grace and space for that and meet them as they are and accept them where they're at, because you can't make them be who you think they are.

#Danny Phantom #THE THEMES ARE ALL THERE #or rather the RAW MATERIAL for the themes is all there!!!

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tyrannuspitch · 2 years

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they gave she-hulk (she-hulk) nine episodes but not loki :(

#space viking tag #nothing against the character just that #1. she's a new character. she does not necessarily need a long or complex first season #2. it doesn't look like they were trying particularly hard to write her well anyway :/#i guess there's a good chance she'll only get one season but like #my point isn't so much 'make she-hulk shorter'#as 'if 9ep seasons are on the table then why the fuck wouldn't you give loki one'#he is literally the most interesting villain in the mcu and they're just like 'idk a girlfriend will fix him'. i hate it here

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something-about-sunflowers · 8 months

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ALRIGHT, *cracks knuckles* let's get into that teaser, shall we?

Should I itemize this? I think I'm going to itemize it lmao.

So:

Starting here because this is a baseline for Stede, he's got no neckerchief here. This is likely early in the season, probably the very start.

Man's got a fuckin' ARM.

This is Ed. You can see the bare right arm in both shots.

Red neckerchief. Ed's scrap of silk? Beat to shit if it is, which, he did toss it out to sea so, it would be.

Ed's not wearing the knee brace. Or gloves for that matter. I know the knee brace being an actual mobility aid is unconfirmed canon/fanon but it does make me :(c to see him without it. Either it wasn't actually considered as a mobility aid or he's lost it like he's lost his gloves OR he's going without it because he doesn't care if it hurts.

Closer shot of the neckerchief.

I just wanted to point out all the knives stabbed into the table. Also, those look like bits of paper on the windows, did they keep some of the books to repurpose for window blocking purposes?

THERE HE IS!!!!!!!! Other people have already pointed out the makeup and his ring still on his tie, along with the whip on his hip cjizzy real. He's got a new baldric but I also think his clothes look. Darker? Than in season 1? This is a darker/heavier contrast setting but it carries into other shots of him too I think? Like they're less sun/saltwater faded or something?

Other thing to note: If I have my orientation right, this is to the right of Stede's bed nook and to the left of the library, which means this shelf is the one with the auxiliary wardrobe opening mechanism. Which I bring up because:

This little guy seems to be in the place of the mannequin. Ed kept the auxiliary wardrobe and gothed up the mannequin to justify it still being there.

SO much here. This is, I'm fairly certain, Benjamin Hornigold. This camp he's set up (along with what he's wearing) looks like it was made out of a shipwreck. Ed's barefoot and missing his jacket and gloves, and his shirt's torn up at the sleeves. Definitely where he washed up from his dip in the ocean.

Note the trees and the lighting, that comes up later. Ed shoots here and Ben moves with the shot but it doesn't look like he was actually HIT by it to my eyes.

'Wanted. |Blackbeard| Villainous Pirate. Murderer, thrice over. $400 Reward for the criminal responsible for: theft - brigandry - larceny - arson - tax evasion ➡' Presumably there are more crimes/info on the back, though we see the reverse side in the next cut and it's either blank or all in very small text, I couldn't quite tell.

The poster to the right says 'Port' something which has me wondering Port Royal but that's just the only 'Port' something I know, could def be somewhere else.

(Also, just for fun:

Here's how much abouts Ed's capture would be worth now.)

Wider pic than it needs to be but I didn't wanna cut out Olu lol. ANYWAY. Neckerchief again. Also the back of the poster, see what I mean about it either being blank or very tiny?

Babygirl. . . But also that Bride Ed figure kinda slays. Little bralette with the midriff showing, I see you Babygirl. When will he be allowed to just rest and do silly little crafts WITHOUT heartbreak looming over him?

Well. Four is not nine. So. There's that. The other five could be used or out of frame though, of course.

OH. He's back to his fingerless gloves! They might actually be different from his original ones though, they look different at the wrist to me, not quite sure though.

The BOYS!!!! Frenchie looks like he's having a GREAT time. Considering he suggested they turn the hostage into a table and complained about the Republic of Pirates being a bit gentrified I'd say this is more in line with what he's used to in piracy. I 100% buy he was going along with Stede's way because he knew it was an easy ride compared to real piracy. This wouldn't necessarily be a return to form for him but definitely something he's more used to? And he gets to be kitty :3c

And FANG!!! Look at him showing a bit more skin!! Good for him!!

Everybody say 'Thank You David Jenkins'. Right now. Look at this Mad Max shit. Fuckin' Imperator Jimenez right there. LOVE that tye added the 'beard' after the 'fuck's wrong with your face?' bit in 1x10. Full 'it looked weird on you but I slay' energy.

Jim

Izzy

Fang

Near as I can tell at least. I can't make out if Frenchie is in the shot and I'm pretty positive Ed isn't cause he stayed by the cake when they charged in.

Man, yknow I know we were all kinda clowning on it a bit at the end of 1x10 but this look really is so JARRING. Like, in the dark it's menacing but in the light? It's unhinged and that reads as more dangerous imo.

Also just for comparison's sake the pre-Ed-ified version of the bride figure. He really did full on customize that thing lol.

I DON'T THINK ANNE KISSED STEDE HERE. It feels out of character of the show to pull the 'It's fine if a woman does it to a man' kind of thing with regard to unwanted kissing. This is the frame the scene starts on in the trailer. She's leaning back from him and isn't nearly close enough to his mouth to say for certain that's where she was coming from. My money is on her leaning in to whisper something into his ear, maybe under the guise of it being an advance/intended kiss, which would also explain the annoyed look when she's interrupted. She either got ACTUALLY interrupted or it's part of the act. Stede doesn't look nearly as uncomfortable as he would be if she'd kissed him or tried to, he looks confused.

Izzy going for his sword when this guy tries to get the drop on Stede. He either is starting to care or he knows how much Ed needs him alive.

Also, this is the other potential source of Stede's neckerchief. Mr, Knife right here has a red one and Stede doesn't have it in this scene. I do think this one is a little less distressed than the one Stede has though so it could just be coincidence.

See? No neckerchief. He DOES have a sword at his hip tho! So this, I think, is after Izzy's started training him.

Also, he actually looks really good in red lol.

Baby. He's definitely missing the ring in this shot. It sits higher than the baldric is covering. I want to give him a little kissie on his ouchie and then let him have a nap, he needs that.

The pants match the coat. Also, black shirt. Stede is kinda slaying ngl.

Still missing her head :(c. Isn't that bad luck?

Maybe yall didn't hear me properly with the Jim pic. I'll repeat:

EVERYBODY SAY 'THANK YOU DAVID JENKINS'.

I can't get over how Stede's just standing there politely with his arms behind his back lmfao.

Also, Izzy's got his right leg up, he's putting his weight on his left. . . 'foot'.

I SAID EVERYBODY SAY-

I know tits and all but also. The belly. I would like to. Bite.

*ahem*

ANYWAY. On the left (our left) side of the barrel you can see the tip of his right boot so he's def got that leg off the ground. Perhaps someone is trying to relearn their footwork? Now that they've got a different balance than they're used to? And perhaps a difference in sensory input in the leg he's standing on? Possibly?

This is the same beach Ed was on when he did the fuckin' RAD takedown of the other officer but it definitely looks like different times of day. Having both in the teaser is def meant to be a red herring. He doesn't have the neckerchief in this shot either.

Bra för honom. (Is how google translate tells me you say 'Good for him' in Swedish.)

Is Jackie's hair the same here as it is in the VF pic with Ed? Or like, similar enough to be a 'later in the day after some Fun™ messing it up a bit'?

Roach!!! Fully sleeveless now, added a belt, got some flowers tied to the strings/straps of his apron. Looks like he's having fun lighting that cannon lol. Pretty sure this is the same scene as that one leaked photo of him dancing with Fang and Izzy's green screen sock. He had the flowers in that, right?

[Ran out of allowed images, please hold]

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harostar · 10 months

Text

Behind the cut because SPOILERS JUST SPOILERS that is all.

Barbie Movie really went:

-here’s a ton of jokes about some of the terrible canceled/discontinued ideas we’ve had over the decades

-Ken is both the villain and sympathetic, because he’s every lost young man with no sense of self that gets lured in by the promises of the manosphere. Toxic Masculinity and Patriarchy don’t make him any happier, just force him to play a role that isn’t him until Barbie defeats him and then encourages him to have his own journey of self-discovery because he’s “Kenough”.

-The real world is Barbie becoming uncomfortable and aware of threats all around her, while it makes Ken first confident and then arrogant

-The ghost of Ruth Handler is here to guide us, and also to VETO ideas about Barbie and Ken ending up together.

-Barbie’s person is the Mom, not the daughter. Because that doll represented their happy times together, and she’s stressed about work and her daughter becoming an edgy teenager that has discovered Baby’s First Social Justice (bonus using it to bully people and just throwing out buzz words!)

-Pregnant Midge makes everyone deeply, deeply uncomfortable

-Skipper got out once and did something horrible to children in Florida

-Allan hates Ken and just wants to escape.

-Barbieland, a utopia of Girlbosses living their perfect life every day, is not actually perfect or necessarily all-good, because it’s still not equal but hey the Barbies realize this and are working to let the Kens have “as much rights as women do in the real world” (LOL)

-DEPRESSION BARBIE. EXISTENIAL DREAD BARBIE.

-Narrator: Margot Robbie is not the person to cast for this point (about being ugly)

-Random old woman at the bus stop just rendering Barbie speechless, because “you’re so beautiful”.

-HER NAME IS BARBARA HANDLER AND SHE IS HERE FOR HER GYNO APPOINTMENT.

#barbie #barbie movie

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redstarwriting · 11 months

Text

the clash | vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you (sort of), you hating hobie, angry hobie, death, there’s a murder, SORT OF GRAPHIC death scene, injuries, ANGST, a plot twist!, sort of allusions to s*icide

a/n: ok y’all. this one’s a lil shorter, but this is where it starts getting whacky. the way i’m writing this is sort of like if i was writing a comic book, so this is a WHOLE ASS PLOTLINE that i could see being illustrated in my brain. i hope you enjoy, bc it’s about to get WILD. don’t worry tho the fluff will come bc i’m soft(ish)

previous chapter: v. ever fallen in love

now reading: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

next chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

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First thing’s first, Hobie needs to find out where the Prowler of your world might be. He could always call Miles and ask him where his Uncle Aaron lived, but that seems a little… insensitive. If there’s anything he knows about the Prowler, he knows that he’s a thief. So, Hobie snatches your police dispatcher and listens for some burglaries being reported. Getting any type of assistance from the police pains him to his very core, but he’s not about to wake you up and let you know what he’s about to do. He crouches on the railing of your balcony and stares out at your city. He hears calls about someone robbing a Bloodega, not the Prowler. Some kids snuck into a club, also not what he needs. “Come on, pigs,” he mumbles, “give me somethin’ useful here.”

That’s when his ears perk up.

“Reports of someone lurking around of Oscorp Labs, suspicions that it might be the Prowler. Units on standby for Spider-Goth, do not engage with the Prowler.”

Do not engage? What the hell? Isn’t he a villain? Hobie quickly understands what’s going on.

He works with the cops.

Fuck this assshole.

He leaps off your balcony, webbing his way through your city. It may not be his style, necessarily, but it’s a nice place. He can see why you like it so much. He’s actually been webbing through it more than he ever expected to with how much he visits you. He knows deep down that he’s visiting so much only to see you, but outwardly he likes to pretend it’s just to see Shadow. He knows more about your world than Miles, Pav, or Gwen’s which is interesting considering he’s known you only about 3 and a half months. Luckily, you live only a short web swing away from Oscorp, so he can’t get too lost in his thoughts about you and can end this guy faster. He lands on the top of the building and glances around. He notices a perfectly cut hole in the glass a few floors down, so he crawls down and through into the building. It’s dark. He tries to stay as quiet as he possibly can because he knows that’s how you would do it, but damn. He just isn’t good at stealth. And this is factual apparently, because he gets the feeling someone is watching him and just barely jumps out of the way from what looks like a whip covered in spikes. He lands on the ground in a crouched position when he hears a somewhat familiar sounding voice. “Who the hell are you?”

“Can ask you the same question, mate,” Hobie says, “The answer will make this whole thing so much easier.”

“You one of that freak’s friends?”

“Something like that,” Hobie responds. “I take it you’re the Prowler?”

“The one and only,” he says, and Hobie rolls his eyes under his mask. “Mate, do I have some news for you,” he snorts, and the Prowler flicks his wrist. His whip makes some mechanical noise and green and purple light starts shining through it in little places where the metal isn’t completely welded together. Hobie motions to it. “Bet you’re proud a’ that. What are you? A cybergoth? cyborgoth?”

“I’ll ask this one more time. Who are you?”

“Name’s Spider-Man, also known as Spider-Punk,” Hobie says, and the Prowler groans. “There’s another one? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“There’s a lot more than just me and them, mate,” Hobie crouches down, ready to leap out of the way if need be. “Why are you here? Where’s my insect at?”

Hobie doesn’t like the way he called you his. “They’re not yours,” he hisses at him. The Prowler is quiet for a moment before laughing. “Oh. I see. Didn’t know they had a boyfriend,” he says, before whipping towards Hobie. He jumps out of the way in time, but almost doesn’t because boyfriend? Excuse me? “Not their boyfriend!” he yells, landing on the ceiling and glaring down at the Prowler. “No? Then why are you here? I figured it was because of how badly I beat them. Their screams were so entertaining.” Hobie hates this man. He clenches his jaw. “Nowhere near as entertainin’ as yours’ll be, dickhead,” he grunts, jumping down and shooting a web at the Prowlers legs. Luckily, the Prowler wasn’t expecting that, and Hobie is able to yank his legs out from underneath him. He falls hard, and Hobie smirks. “Oh sorry, did that hurt?” Hobie says, and the Prowler growls, standing up faster than Hobie anticipated. “I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first, mate,” Hobie says, anger seeping out of his words. “A spider that willingly kills, huh? Is that why you came to find me?” he chuckles, “I feel like you and I could be good friends,” the Prowler’s chuckle turns into a laugh, and it pisses Hobie off even more. “I’d rather die than be friends with someone like you,” Hobie shoots another web at him, but this time the prowler dodges it. He flicks his wrist, and Hobie feels the whip make contact with his side. He grunts in pain. This must be what got you earlier today. “That can be arranged. You’re even worse than your little partner,” the Prowler says, and Hobie can hear the smirk. He wants to punch that fucking smirk off his stupid face. Hobie stands again, grabbing his guitar. If it’s a fight to the death this fucker wants, it’s a fight he’ll get. And Hobie will not be dying tonight. “Oh, what are you gonna do? Power chord me out of existence?”

“More like beat your ass until you kick it,” Hobie growls, “but if ya want me to do it with style, I’ll play ya a song over your dead body.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be the one dying tonight,” the Prowler says and uses his whip again. Hobie jumps out of the way, and his eyes widen as he dodges two bullets in midair. He lands on the ground and sees that the Prowler’s gauntlets are guns as well. He scoffs. “How much that suit cost ya?”

“Would have cost a lot if I didn’t steal it or invent it myself, but I did,” Hobie dodges two more bullets, but lands directly on the Prowlers whip, causing him to slip and fall. “Luckily my agreement with the police got me the state-of-the-art tech that I needed,” the Prowler confesses. “Fuck,” Hobie grunts, jumping up as quickly as he can. “I’m gonna love telling Spider-Goth I took down their boyfriend.”

“Not their boyfriend!” Hobie yells, jumping out of the way of his whip, and more bullets.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Look, how ‘bout we settle this without any gadgets, eh? See who wins then?” Hobie says, and the Prowler scoffs. “If you can’t beat me at my best, you can’t beat me at my worst.”

“Actually, yeah I can. Dunno if you’re realizin’, but I’m still alive and breathin’,” Hobie says, jumping out of the way of his whip yet again. This time, though, Hobie was prepared. He webs the whip and yanks it as hard as he can. The Prowler is airborne as Hobie swings him to the other side of the room. He lands with a thud, and Hobie webs over to him, doing a flip to land a kick directly to the face. The Prowler manages to get his whip wrapped around Hobie’s ankle and flings him back across the room. He crashes into some glass wall and groans. “As much as I fuck with your ‘fuck the establishment attitude,’ Spider-Goth ain’t gonna be too happy with me if I destroy another buildin’,” Hobie says, shaking his head, hearing some glass fall down next to him. Then, the alarms start blaring. ‘Great, probably broke somethin’ important,’ he thinks before noticing a piece of glass stuck in his arm. ‘Gotta make this quick,’ he thinks, grunting as he pulls the glass out of his arm. “Like I give a fuck what makes them mad,” the Prowler says, running towards Hobie. He leaps out of the way, webbing his leg again and causing him to slip and fall. Hobie then delivers a blow to the side of his face with his guitar, but thanks to his armor, it just hurts him more than anything.

Then Hobie hears hissing. He leaps up onto the ceiling just before a mechanical snake was about to sink its stupid metal fangs into him. “Made yourself friends ‘cause ya ain’t got any? I’d be gutted for you if ya weren’t such a dick,” Hobie says, webbing the snake and jumping off of the ceiling. He does a flip in midair, swinging the snake with him and throwing it at the Prowler. He dodges just in time, but Hobie is able to deliver another blow to him. This time, Hobie goes for his leg. And he hears a crack. Just as he wanted. The Prowler shrieks out in pain.

Hobie lands next to him and bends down. “Hope that hurt, fucker,” he spits, striking his other leg in the same fashion. He dodges the mechanical snake again, grabbing it and using his strength to break it in one squeeze. He throws it to the side and dodges more bullets from the Prowler’s gauntlets. Unsurprisingly, Hobie goes for both arms next. He stops when the man is rendered completely useless, rolling the Prowler over on his back. “I win,” Hobie says, and even he is taken aback at how menacing his voice sounds. The Prowler grunts, “You sure you’re a good guy?” Hobie ignores him and stands beside his head. “I do what I want. Any last words?”

The Prowler is silent for a moment before speaking. “Tell them that their boyfriend would have been able to save–”

Hobie doesn’t let him finish.

In fact, Hobie has trouble stopping even after he knows the deed is done. He didn’t even give Osborn this kind of disrespect. But this guy is different. All Hobie has to do is think about the state of your back, how you still blame yourself for what this motherfucker did to someone you cared so much about, and he’s swinging his guitar again.

He only stops when there’s nothing left to hit.

He breathes heavily, observing what he’s done in the flashing red lights as the alarm blares in the background. He walks back to the window, glancing back at what he’s done before leaping out and webbing away as fast as possible. He hopes no one saw him. Doesn’t want anyone confusing you for him.

He lands on your balcony and sees Shadow waiting for him inside the doors. He opens them and hears the cat meow at him. He leans down, giving him a few scratches, before opening a portal to his world. He goes home, falling on his bed. He groans, feeling the injuries he got for the first time. The adrenaline was keeping him going that entire fight. He gets up, and begins mending his injuries. Halfway through the last set of stitches he has to give himself, he gets a call on his watch from Miguel. He rolls his eyes, ready to get yelled at for, ‘interfering with the fate of the multiverse, yaddah yaddah yaddah blah blah blah boring boring boring.’

“Yeah, what d’ya want?” he answers, finishing up his stitches. “Get to Spider Society immediately.”

“I’m a little busy here, mate can it–”

“NO! It can’t wait, Hobie! Get here now!” Miguel screams, hanging up. Hobie groans. He was supposed to go back to your world so when you wake up, he would be there and explain why he did what he did. He could just go back… but then Miguel might show up in your world. And he sure as hell doesn’t want that. Sighing, he opens a portal to earth-2099, walking through and ending up in Miguel’s multi-screened research room. “Do you know what you did.”

“Killed a bloody villain, what of it?” Hobie asks, already annoyed. Miguel pounds his fist on the desk. “You interfered with (Y/n)’s timeline, Hobart!”

“I was protecting them!”

“YOU CREATED AN ANOMALY!” Miguel screams, and Hobie frowns. “How did I–”

“You killed a villain not a part of your own world, a villain who played a role in a major canon event of (Y/n)’s and now–”

“Would you come off it with the fuckin’ canon events?! Whatever it is will be resolved in one way or another!”

“Hobie you don’t understand–”

“He hurt them! Was I just supposed to stand around and let it happen?!”

“YES! We’re Spider-People it’s part of the job,” Miguel screams, and Hobie rolls his eyes. “I thought you hated them anyways, why did you want to protect them so bad?!” Miguel asks, and Hobie freezes. That… is actually a good question. He sees your injuries in his mind again and his frown deepens. Why did he want to protect you? Surely, he doesn’t… like you? No, he wouldn’t have done what he just did for a just a friend, though he would have still hunted the Prowler down. But the thought of him hurting you drove him to do unspeakable things… which he did. Is it… does he like you romantically?

His eyes widen. It would make sense if he felt that way. He was around you 24/7. These past two days were torture. He likes the way you challenge him. He likes the way you look, he likes the way you speak, he likes– “Hobie. Answer me.” His thoughts get cut off by Miguel, and he swallows hard. “I… I actually can’t answer that right now,” he says, and Miguel frustratedly runs his hand through his hair. “Hobie. What you just did…”

“Is bad, I know–”

“It’s not just bad. It’s detrimental.”

“What do you–”

“Do you know who you killed?” Miguel asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Obviously. I killed the Prowler, probably some variant of Aaron Davis or–”

“The Prowler on Earth-666 is not Aaron Davis,” Miguel says, frowning at him. “Did I kill Miles? You know his voice did sound kind of familiar…” Hobie asks, feeling a little worse about the way he handled the situation. “No. It wasn’t Miles, either.” Hobie looks up at Miguel, who takes a deep breath. “The Prowler on Earth-666 was Hobart Brown.”

Hobie feels like he just got hit with a pound of bricks. This is too much for him to process in one night. “I… what?”

“You just killed yourself.” Hobie shakes his head. “I–”

“He sounded familiar because he was you. Just without the English accent,” Miguel says. “Did (Y/n) know?” he asks, less concerned with the fact that he technically killed himself, and more concerned with the fact that he did all of those things to you. Miguel shakes his head no. “They didn’t. They were never supposed to know,” Miguel affirms, and Hobie lets out a shaky breath. He unclenches the fists he didn’t realize he formed. He feels the indents his nails made on his palms, but he doesn’t care. He was genuinely scared for a minute there. How would you react towards him if you know he was the one torturing you for so long? He nods. “Good.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you, Hobie,” Miguel says, and Hobie looks at him. “You changed a canon event. So far, the world seems stable… but you’re not going to like what will happen next,” Miguel says, turning away from him. Hobie jumps up to the platform Miguel is standing on. “Will (Y/n) be okay?” he sounds a little too frantic, and Miguel glances over at him. “You care too much for them.”

“Bollocks,” Hobie retorts, and Miguel sighs. “I knew you would like them,” he mumbles before pulling up information on your Earth onto the monitors. Hobie sees the Venom symbiote pop up and frowns. You haven’t had to deal with that yet. “The Venom symbiote was meant to bond to Hobart Brown on (Y/n)’s Earth. Now, the symbiote is going to bond to (Y/n), which is bad. This symbiote is unlike the other Venoms. It’s angrier. Deadlier. He would have been the worst enemy they ever had to face. I’ve been mentoring them as a secret way to help them train to be able to defeat him because… well…”

“Cause what?”

“Hobie Brown with the Venom symbiote would have been unstoppable,” Miguel says, turning to Hobie and delivering information that makes a chill run down his spine.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

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