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obliviouscxnt · 4 months

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Control Azriel x Reader

a/n: I'm so lost, i don't know what I'm doing. Still learning how to use tumblr but in the meantime, welcome to the first fic i feel like posting.

synopsis: feyre's growing curiosity about you sparks some personal questions.

Warnings: mentioned SA, fluff, hints of sexual activities

pt.2 | pt.3

One of the first friends Feyre made in the Night Court was you. You reminded her of the twin wraiths in a way. Never saying much, if anything at all. Maybe that was one of the reasons she liked you so much.

You didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s presence. Feyre had as much fun sitting in silence with you as she did on a night out with Mor.

But as time passed, as Feyre became a constant in the Night Court, she had grown curious. She wanted to know more about you like she did the others.

So she started asking you questions, and to her surprise, you would answer her. Your answers weren’t clipped, or vague. You never sounded annoyed with her, you were completely open and honest with her.

“How long have you known everyone?” Feyre had asked while you gently played with her hair, her scalp tingling at your touch.

You thought about it for a moment. “Over two hundred years now.”

She tilts her head, so apart from her you were the newest member of the inner circle. “How did you meet?” She asks, shivering as the tingles travel down her spine.

You start braiding a few small strands from the front of her face as you speak. “My kind are far different from other Fae.” Feyre practically perks up at the words. She knew you weren’t high fae but she never bothered saying anything about it, she barely even noticed it most of the time not nearly enough to warrant a discussion. “They hail from no court, and bow to no lord, not even the Mother is with their thoughts.”

Feyre tried to imagine what that would be like, how they would act, what traditions they’d carry. She thought of your features, the ones that stood out among other high fae. Your ears didn’t point, your nails were like claws, and your teeth bore long sharp canines on both the top and bottom of your mouth, but the features that stood out the most were the ones you kept hidden.

Feyre saw them once, your wings. The first time she met you. Like they were just there for a formal introduction. They were big, beautiful, and intricate. They looked like moth wings, and fluttered like them too. Opening and closing slowly when you were lax.

Immediately when Feyre saw them, she felt like painting again, she could barely keep her eyes off them, barely keep herself from reaching out a hand to touch them. Maybe that was the reason for their absence in the next visit; all that remained of the glorious appendages was precise ink that lined the whole of your back, a tattoo of folded wings.

From the way they folded, they almost formed a natural cape. She wondered how far your tattoo ran, the extravagant fabrics of the dresses you wore only showed so much.

She pictured a whole colony of people that looked like you and immediately felt like painting again.

“It’s why nobody can do anything about their backward ways, they listen to nobody but themselves. Believe no one but themselves.” All preconceived thoughts of your people turn sour with your words.

“The things they’ve done, they still do…” You release a shaky breath as you finish the small braids and set them aside.

Feyre turns to look at you when your delicate hands part with her hair. She finds you sorting through a box of hair ornaments, but your eyes are clouded. Not even the most glorious of diamonds could shine through that fog. “You don’t have to...“

You blink out of your daze and wave her off as you pull out a few gem-encrusted pins and show them to her. Waiting for her to give you a nod of approval before pulling out a stunning bejeweled silver comb and repeating the same process. Your collection was truly marvelous.

“When I was saved, it was my first Flowering Night.” You spoke the words with barely concealed bitterness. “A night where all mature unpaired females are sent into the woods for any participating males to hunt down and take as they please.”

You tuck back the small braids with the sparkling pins. Feyre listened as you continued, she wanted to say something but what would she say?

“No one could run very far from our community, the woods of the Middle hold no mercy. It was either hide and hope you make it till dawn without being spotted by a male. Or die to the other horrid creatures that live in those woods.”

Feyre’s heart ached for you, her sorrow a tangible thing able to be smelt in the air. And you squeezed her shoulder, you comforted her. Her sorrow only increased. You never deserved any of it.

“I chose the latter.” You carefully place the comb into her hair, finding it in yourself to smile at the final product. You still fiddle with a few strands until you feel pleased. “A close encounter with death led to the discovery of my gift,”

Dreamwalker, Rhys had called you. An ability so rare even Helion’s exquisite library had very little information on it.

Feyre loosely understood that you could enter another person's dream. Could manipulate it as you wish, to serenity or to a blood-curdling nightmare. But what made you so powerful, what made you such a valuable asset to the Night Court was your ability to bring dreams to life. All manner of dreams.

However, your ability was sparsely used for court matters, and only necessary people knew of it. You were their trump card. Something nobody would see coming.

Feyre would never forget the time you had a nightmare, sending half the court in preparation for battle. She’d also never forget the way Azriel had fought off the nightmare incarnate to get to you. How he charged forward without an ounce of hesitation. While Rhys had stood protectively in front of Feyre, and Cassian’s siphons flared from beside her, providing a shield around them.

Feyre had realized then that Azriel would go to hell and back for you.

Feyre turns to face you, to look you in your enchanting eyes now that you are finished playing with her hair. “I was barely a woman, I didn’t know the first thing about defending myself. I didn’t know what this gift was.” She watched you raise a hand, small stars forming and trailing your fingers, blinking and shimmering as you played with them. “What good is a gift this powerful if you don’t know what to do with it? It’s as good as a broken blade.��

Feyre’s breath leaves her body when you pull down the shoulder of your elegant emerald gown, revealing a long jagged scar running diagonally across your chest. The skin puffed up from how deep the gash was. “I would’ve died if it weren’t for Azriel.”

The high fae’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“He heard me screaming. And he came for me.” You pull the shoulder back up and smile. Actually, smile. Feyre had never known someone like you, someone able to flip such a horrid memory around. Someone so able to pick out the good amongst the bad. “It wasn’t until a century later that I finally accepted his invitation to the Night Court and met everyone else.”

Feyre found herself grabbing your hand and squeezing. So grateful you had accepted his invitation.

You squeeze back.

“You’re so strong.” Feyre says, furrowing her brows when you laugh like she had told a joke.

“It wasn’t strength that led me here, Feyre.” You tell her. Once again she wanted to paint you, but she felt like she wouldn’t be able to do you justice. “It was fate.”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Come in.” Feyre calls and you both look to the opening door. Two incredibly attractive Illyrian men stand at the doorway.

Rhys smiles at the sight of you two, eyes raking over the hairstyle you’d given Feyre. “You look lovely, Feyre darling.” Her face heats as you smile in triumph.

“Say goodnight.” Comes Azriel’s voice in that tone he only used on you.

You obey his command without a second thought, giving Feyre a light hug and giving Rhys a small bow before scurrying toward Azriel’s waiting arm.

You fall into step with him as his hand lands on your lower back. But before the two of you could disappear you tug on his shirt, prompting him to stop only long enough for you to turn back toward Feyre and say a final goodnight. “Dream well Feyre!” Then he continued leading you away to your shared chambers.

The mated pair watch you two travel away. Rhys with a look of content for you and his brother. Feyre with a new curiosity.

She couldn’t help but be curious about the dynamic you and Azriel had. The way that dynamic bled into the interactions you had with your friends. How you always asked for permission before doing something and always jumped up whenever anyone asked you to do something. Rhys seemed to catch on to that curiosity.

He decided to save you the embarrassment of Feyre asking you herself. He had enough of an understanding of you to know when something would make you uncomfortable, no matter how much you said otherwise.

You’d always answer any questions asked of you openly and honestly, whether you wanted to or not. It was one of the reasons many were at first against your visits with Feyre, himself included. The newly turned fae was far too oblivious to your situation to recognize when she was taking advantage of your obedience. But you assured Rhysand repeatedly that Feyre never bothered you with her questions. That you enjoyed her presence just as much as she, hopefully, enjoyed yours.

Much to everyone’s delight, Feyre regarded you with gentleness and awe from the very start. It was the effect you had on people. It was the reason Azriel didn’t put up a fight about leaving your visits unsupervised.

“[name] was raised by cruel people, they taught her that in a relationship the male's word is law. Her people think a female is expected to give up any and all control to her male. It’s one of the few things she never was able to condition herself out of, Azriel helps her by providing that control she needs.”

Feyre thinks about that, face heating at the images it created. She wondered what that would be like, to surrender herself completely. “So if he told her to jump off the nearest bridge…?”

“She’d do it, with zero hesitation.”

Rhys smirks, knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze runs over the blush that coated her face.

“But he’d never ask something like that of her. He knows her inside out, knows when something is too much or not enough.” He steps closer to her, delighting in the way her breathing picks up. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think your interest in this topic was more than innocent curiosity.”

“Well, do you?” Feyre asks, making his eyes narrow. “Know any better?”

Rhys’s gaze becomes dark. “Nope.”

****

“Did you enjoy your time with Feyre?” You sigh at his voice, the comfort it brings you. You find yourself leaning into him, and he allows it.

“It was nice.” You say truly. It felt like it was easier to breathe now that Feyre had more of an understanding. “She asked about how we met.”

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him as if he were remembering that day. Remembering what you looked like as that hideous creature held you down, slicing into you. The way you flinched away from him after he’d slayed the creature. The sheer dress that you wore, If it could even be called that. He could still picture everything so vividly.

How you eventually submitted to him, and how that made him sick. How he carried you out of the Middle and into the lands of the Night Court, never taking you into the cities. How for the next century after that he would visit you at the little private cabin only he and his brothers knew about, how he took care of you, and how he grew to love you. How you grew to love him in return.

He shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind as he opens the door to your shared chambers, walking you inside before shutting the door behind you.

His hands move to your shoulders while he guides you to sit on the edge of the large bed, big enough to fit at least three winged beings. Hands brushing down your body as he kneels before you, settling on your ankle. He brings your foot up and rests it on his thigh before slowly unraveling the straps of your heel. Once finished he continued with the right heel, his touch nothing but confident from years and years of practice.

A hand pats your thigh, letting you know he’s finished. Your eyes trail him as he heads toward the bathroom, you’d be happy to just look at him for the rest of your immortal life.

You help Azriel, though he had no problem doing it for you, by taking off your jewelry one by one, setting each extravagant piece on the nightstand. By the time you're done Azriel’s waiting for you next to a full bath.

“Come.” He beckons from beside the large clawfoot tub. Hand outstretched and waiting for you.

You saunter toward him, sighing as you let your brain just rest. Let him do everything for you.

His hands are strong, and gentle, and secure all in one as they guide you out of your gown, his clothes following not long after. You sigh as he brings you into the tub. Positioning you so you sat between his legs, back to his front.

Your eyelids slowly fall shut, coaxed by his soothing touch. Feeling nothing but content when he pushed your head back to lay on his shoulder, a gentle kiss pressed against your temple.

You were soon in a state of barely there, just teetering on the side of sleep but awake enough to move when he told you to.

“Lean forward.”

His hands rub up and down your back, cleaning and massaging the skin there. You shudder in pleasure and he hums soothingly. Like cooing at a pet. You straighten up a bit when he taps the marked skin a few times, moving forward just enough for your wings to slowly peel away from your back. What was once ink on your skin, now real moving wings.

“Spread.” And you do so, wings unfolding and stretching out completely.

You shiver as his hands brush against them, making them twitch both away and toward him. As if they couldn’t decide whether the feeling it brought you was too much or not enough.

As always Azriel handled them with utmost care, humming when small noises of pleasure escaped you. When he was finished he tapped your shoulder to let you know, but you were too tired to summon the magic needed to conceal them.

Though, not tired enough to remember it was his turn.

Slowly with lethargic movements, you turn to face him. Wings folding up again, forming a natural cape on your back. “Can I-“ You begin but catch yourself before you can finish. His narrowed eyes crinkled into a smile. Happy he no longer had to remind you of such a simple fact.

Don’t ask to touch what is yours.

So instead you reach for the soap in his hands and begin to wash him. Taking satisfaction in the way his wound-up muscles, tense from hours of work, relaxed under your touch. The way his hands rested on your hips, squeezing every now and then appreciatively. The hums that left his mouth, no longer with the intent to soothe you but to let you know how pleased you made him.

Your touches became increasingly distracted, sleep slowly leaving your system as your mind filled with nothing but him.

He smirks, a mix of amusement and attraction. Allowing his own touches to become less innocent. His hands move to wrap around your wrists, dragging your hands down, down, and down his body. Soap long ago discarded.

“Touch me.” He commands.

And nothing could keep you from satisfying him.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron

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bonefall · 2 months

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Clear Sky is a Monster.

Of all the characters in Warrior Cats, I think Clear Sky was the most heavily mishandled.

At every turn, the narrative begs you to sympathize with him, to "understand" the "misunderstood." To this end, his brother Gray Wing is used to "keep faith" in his inherent goodness, his abused son, Thunder, is forced to go back to him over and over, and his second dead wife is completely lobotomized in death to absolve him of all sin.

Because of this, of all this set-up for the "redemption" arc they're trying to tell in the last three books, DOTC is Clear Sky's story. Everything primarily exists to benefit and serve his arc. Thunder and Gray Wing might have POVs, but HE is the character who truly drives the plot. So in order to HAVE conflict for that back half, two evil foreign cats, Slash and One Eye, are summoned to act as contrast.

Their narrative purpose is to display "true evil" to make Clear Sky look less bad in comparison. Unfortunately, Clear Sky is the most malignant, deadly character who has ever blighted Warrior Cats.

The "pure evil" examples they summon aren't effective contrasts because they're flat. Clear Sky is what real abusers look like.

His rhetoric is what it sounds like when a cult leader is trying to keep control over a group. He lies when it benefits him, justifies his actions with his tragic backstory to assuage his guilt and manipulate others, and violently lashes out when his feelings are hurt before blaming his victim for making him angry.

He only made "some mistakes" in that SOME of his actions were accidents-- the vast majority of them were malicious, self-absorbed, intentional choices to punish, hurt, and kill others.

I've spoken about Bumble. I've tallied his body count next to Tigerstar. I've talked about how his infant son's death was his fault in sequel books, and called attention to the infected wound face shoving scene that no one talks about. I can't fit every detail into a single post-- because he's so rancid that I would practically be posting entire books.

So what I want to do here is tackle the heart of Clear Sky. Everything he does, everything he's motivated by, is absolute and utter control over other people. He leverages his "trauma" to evoke empathy from his targets to make them easier to manipulate. He's a dirty liar. He breaks down to physical violence when all other tactics stop working.

He's one of the most severe and realistic abusers I've ever read about outside of very adult literature-- and when I read the reasons why he's attracted to Star Flower, my stomach immediately lurched.

The Killing of Misty

Starvation Rhetoric and the Memory of Fluttering Bird

Aside; a question

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation

Exoneration arc

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

I think that index is an evocative content warning. But to say it again; this post contains child and domestic abuse, physical assault, public humiliation, incestuous grooming implications, and a lot of murder.

I need to start with the death of Misty. I see a few people saying that Clear Sky killed her for "being on his land" or trespassing, but this is actually a misstatement that I feel is important to correct.

Misty and her children were on their own land. It was her house. Clear Sky killed her to take it.

This is one of the most important details to remember about Clear Sky, that this is the consistent end point of his obsessive need for power and control. By harassment, by violence, or by death, he will brutalize anyone who does not give him what he wants, or who makes him feel bad, and find some way to justify it.

This territory expansion was for no logical reason. There was plenty of food and plenty of land. Any aggression that's happening on this territory is in response to how he's been stealing land and mauling people.

When it's found out she was fighting to defend her children, Clear Sky's immediate response is to slaughter them too.

Petal doesn't have milk either. It wasn't about the logistics. He wanted to kill the kids, because looking at them made him feel bad, and she just managed to stop him.

Starvation Rhetoric and the Image of Fluttering Bird

It is often said that Clear Sky is doing this because he's "traumatized" from how his little sister, Fluttering Bird, starved to death in the mountains. That the emotion came from wanting to feed people. That's incorrect. It wasn't about food. Fluttering Bird's death, and all the "starvation" he's faced, are used as manipulation tactics to guilt, influence, and control other characters, particularly when he might meet resistance or be held accountable for something.

It was always, ALWAYS, about control.

He does not care about actually helping people; "Starvation Rhetoric" through Fluttering Bird is an image he can invoke to justify the actions that are as bloody and cruel as the one this post starts off with. Either in his own mind, or in the minds of the cats he's manipulating.

He does this to Falling Feather, before slicing her face open in anger when she doesn't buy it. He does it to Rainswept Flower, before he strangles her to death. And he does it in the chapter just before Misty's murder, both to his Clan and then to Thunder,

Clear Sky climbed up in front of an entire crowd and gave a grand speech about hunger and "adjusting" the borders around territory he plans to conquer. When he gets to "forgiveness" he feigns pain to make his point because he is performing. If the sentiment is not a total lie, then at bare minimum, he is intentionally playing this up for the crowd.

He is rallying the Clan to support his violence against the cats whose land he wants to steal, and selling it with his life's hardships.

The audience is clearly well-trained, because several cats recognize the cue, particularly Frost who is praised for loudly comforting him. This signals "loyalty" because showing your sympathy towards his "suffering" is how this type of emotional manipulation works. It creates a persecuted, righteous in-group.

He's also apparently used this tactic before, since this entire crowd knows what "I Would Never Forgive Myself " means.

He's made sycophants out of his followers. Like a cult leader.

His abused son, however, hasn't been fully indoctrinated yet. Seeing Thunder uncomfortable with the idea of expanding the borders for no reason, Clear Sky calls him over for a personal propaganda session.

Clear Sky begins the exchange by calling this a "duty" and a "great honor." Immediately framing what he plans to do as righteous.

He puts on the act when Thunder shows resistance, dramatically pausing to let the guilt trip sink in.

"Thunder waited, realizing that he said the wrong thing."

And then Clear Sky launches into infantilizing Thunder, talking down to him like a child who's too inexperienced to see the "signs of starvation," acting like he's being "patient" in "explaining" it.

And then we get it. "I know what starvation looks like (so stop trusting your own eyes) because I have been through more than you (so shut up and do what I tell you), and I'm being a HERO for what I'm about to do (so opposing me would make you a bad person)."

Thanks to these crocodile tears, looking "moved," the act works. The victim is immediately wracked by guilt because the abuser seems genuinely emotional.

He even lovebombs him over the corpse of Misty in the next chapter, making Thunder feel threatened.

Thunder doesn't have the words to describe what is happening to him, but he knows that this sudden snap to praise isn't natural. That something is very wrong.

A Question.

Before I move on to show that this IS an act, and that he is lying about how important avoiding starvation is to him, I will ask a question. Please think about it, because I promise I mean it genuinely;

Why does it matter if Clear Sky actually believes this or not?

The victims are just as dead either way, yes? Thunder is just as abused and guilt tripped. The entire Clan has been driven towards violence while coddling and cooing at their Supreme Leader. Clear Sky is slowly annexing the entire forest. If you have ever accepted that he had "good intentions" as an excuse for the harm he did, or that abuse and murder was what he imagined was "the right thing," or that his trauma justifies the way he leverages his own pain to make cats do what he wants... why do you think that?

Why does that make it morally better, as the narrative concludes? Would you accept the same for every other WC villain or antagonist? Tigerstar? Slash? Tom the Wifebeater? Brokenstar? Rainflower?

How could you tell the difference, if you couldn't read their actual thoughts on the page? ...are there any other "good intentions" you've accepted, somewhere else?

Don't share that answer with me. It's a question for you. Sit with it.

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation.

...but, regardless, Clear Sky is not deluded about starvation. It's a justification for his obsessive need for control, and always has been. There was no shortage before stealing Misty's land and kits, he is fully aware that there's more prey than they can eat.

He punishes Falling Feather with hunger and harassment for thought crime, by briefly thinking of leaving. But first, he invokes Fluttering Bird at her like he did before, flying into a screeching fit of rage when she doesn't buy it,

"I'm sorry I hurt you... BUT" is THE wifebeater phrase. THE stereotypical line of a domestic abuser. "I'm sorry I hit you... but it's your fault for making me so angry."

She went through the same exact starvation he did, calls out that he's just framing his greed as being for the collective benefit of his subjects, and is assaulted for that.

When we're in his head, we see his REAL concerns are not about hunger. He invoked Fluttering Bird to try and make her shut up and bow down to him; what he's focused on is her "gossiping" and "whining" about the open wound he left on her face. He's still furious at Fircone and Nettle for how Thunder QUESTIONED him. So he will "strengthen their commitment."

When "starvation" DOES enter his thoughts, it is to assuage his own guilt and JUSTIFY what he already did. What he already WANTS to do. It's post-hoc.

He had to suppress his own guilt at how his greed and ambition made these children into orphans, completely unable to admit that he's ever been wrong or has a change to make, so he invokes the starvation rhetoric at himself to excuse it. So he feels less bad.

Everything, EVERYTHING, in this confrontation is about his pleasure at being able to torment his subordinates. To continue the abuse when the initial confrontation is over. If it isn't pride in his power and control over them, it's plain sadism.

He invokes starvation in front of the crowd, again, after being pleasured at the guilt in her eyes, hoping that everyone sees her writhing with shame and embarrassment. Fear wasn't at the root of why he assaulted Falling Feather; rage was, and now he feels better that he got to humiliate the person who offended him.

Starvation Rhetoric is a manipulation tactic.

It goes RIGHT BACK to his twisted idea of "loyalty." Obedience.

A cat who's actually, primarily concerned about starvation wouldn't encourage other cats to steal her food if they feel like it. He wouldn't be using it as a weapon to retaliate against her because she hurt his feelings.

This is paired with the fact he restricts and monitors the diet of his cats. They eat when he allows it, and only what he gives them, in spite of there being piles of dead animals rotting, going to waste.

We then find he personally doles out food from these piles, plucking carcasses off them and flinging them at his cats, one by one. Probably so he can watch how grateful they are to him and make sure they stay a little hungry-- and definitely because it means he can control WHO gets to eat at all.

If Clear Sky chucked a mouse at Falling Feather and someone took it? She would have gone hungry. For not groveling to him. Like when he decides to starve her brother; a hostage who he promised to feed and care for.

He's a dishonest snake. He lied about abandoning baby Thunder, calling it a "test of strength," he lied about Bumble's death, he lied about keeping Jackdaw's Cry fed.

And he lied about starvation to Thunder, because he was just making up an excuse to steal more land.

He wasn't "seeing the signs" of starvation when he moved to "adjust" his borders. Even FURTHER into this so-called "delusional slip" into tyranny, he's freely admitting that it takes months for a person to starve when it benefits his sadistic need to punish undeserving cats.

"Dumb moor cats, always expecting more than they DESERVE."

Not need. DESERVE. It's not a delusion about starvation and it never was. STARVATION is how he CONTROLS SkyClan, and once again he's angry that his pleasure has been sullied.

The massacre at Fourtrees was started over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat after being starved, on land that Clear Sky has decided RIGHT NOW that he also owns, because it mades him think about being disobeyed.

The bat is forgotten as Clear Sky pivots into a tantrum, wanting to make his family HURT for being 'disloyal' and 'ungrateful.' For leaving him. He LIKES seeing people grovel, cower, and beg, getting PLEASURE from watching how he can hurt and command other cats, and if you don't give him what he wants he will kill you.

Which, make no mistake, is what the "First Battle" actually is. Clear Sky attempting to murder those who don't worship him or swear their undying fealty to him and his twisted dictatorship. Particularly his own son, the most prominent victim of his emotional abuse.

It's not about the bat. It was never even about food or starvation. It's about retaliation for any perceived lack of control.

Once again he breaks out starvation rhetoric to try and manipulate someone, and when Rainswept Flower doesn't buy it just like Falling Feather didn't, he murders her in another fit of entitled rage.

Exoneration arc.

At the end of this battle that was entirely his own fault, we're introduced to the hollowed-out ghost of Storm. She has been flushed of all personality, so that she can be the perfect narrative mouthpiece.

She accepts yet another Fluttering Bird Invocation in spite of how we saw it's not sincere. He was lying the entire time and using starvation rhetoric as a manipulation tactic to get control over his victims.

And that's it.

That's the consequence. Storm's a little mad at him until he says "Buttering Flird" and she swoons.

He doesn't have to be ""afraid"" anymore because the cats just invented an afterlife to believe in. He keeps all of his power and influence and gets off scot-free, because "guilt" (which we SAW him repressing anyway) is supposed to be the best consequence for murder, abuse, and tyranny.

The husk of Storm even materializes again at the end of book 5 to say it outright; he "never drove anyone away." Not even after Book 4 where it's also his fault One Eye took over his Clan for 5 minutes. It was just destiny.

His "redemption arc" is just an exoneration arc. The narrative doesn't think he really did anything wrong.

EVERYTHING about Clear Sky has ALWAYS been about making grabs at power, but since the narrative didn't see a problem with him extorting his personal tragedy and the death of a child, his own sister, he continues doing it. As if these behaviors are normal personality 'traits'.

Even when that sister COMES OUT OF HEAVEN TO YELL AT HIM DIRECTLY,

He finds a way to COMPLETELY miss the point, so he can interpret her words in a bizarrely specific way that will conveniently end with him being the supreme dictator of the entire forest. Just like he ALWAYS does.

It's the entire 5th book. Clear Sky trying to convince everyone, including himself, that it's Fluttering Bird who wants him to grab at power, NOT himself and his own ambition, that THIS time, he promises, for realsies, it's actually about keeping everyone safe.

But just like ALWAYS, because he does not change, when this tried and true tactic manages to work on Thunder, during ANOTHER exchange where he's dramatically pausing and using the cold shoulder to make his pitiable act land harder,

He lapses right back into bullying his child, creating situations where Thunder will have difficulty or be put in pain, so that he can have an excuse to mock and belittle him.

And this all comes to a head when Clear Sky takes romantic interest in Star Flower, his abused son's previous romantic interest.

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

Direct parallels are drawn between Thunder and Star Flower. Star Flower contrasts her loyalty to her father to Thunder's "disloyalty" to his own, in an appeal to Clear Sky.

Clear Sky brushes it off for now, citing that he cannot accept her because of who her father was.

But then, Thunder makes the connection between himself and her, because he knows what it is like to be a victim of parental abuse and correctly clocks that they have this in common,

On his vouch, Clear Sky accepts her into the group. She starts trying to offer himself to him; hunting twice as hard as the others, self-imposing harsh conditions like taking a wet sleeping spot. In their second interaction, Clear Sky begins to take interest in her.

Thunder himself points out that Star Flower is seeking an abusive tyrant to replace her own father, which reads like he's deflecting the stress of how his father is abusing him to deny a connection he already made. As if Thunder sees so much of himself in Star Flower that it makes him (rightly) feel sick that his father is romantically invested in her;

Thunder then goes on to follow his own advice and form his own Clan, because Clear Sky IS like One Eye... while Star Flower remains here. At Clear Sky's side. Because she feels like this is what she "deserves," that she "understands" him, truly believing that her crime (warning her father that Clear Sky brought an ambush in case he lost the 1 on 1 death match he requested, which he did) are on the same level as his abuse and murders.

Clear Sky is attracted to Star Flower because, in his own words;

She is young.

She will not betray him.

She won't question him,

and she obeys him.

We've seen what "betrayal" is to Clear Sky-- not taking his excuses or his beatings. To "disobey" is betrayal. To "question" is disobedience.

These are ALL things he's tried to drill into Thunder. We saw him happily exploit their difference in age to tell him he can't have an opinion. He constructed humiliating games in retaliation for ever being questioned. He tried to murder Thunder and his friends for their "betrayal." Even now, being disobeyed causes explosive reactions.

He was previously grooming the things he now identifies as attractive in a young woman into his child.

If your body becomes too useless to serve him, like Frost and Jagged Peak, you're thrown out. If you don't unquestioningly follow his bloody commands, like Falling Feather or Thunder, you're subjected to abuse and public humiliation. If you're in his way, like Misty or Rainswept Flower were, you die.

If you meet all of his expectations...

You will be in a horrific position where you will never have agency over your own life ever again. Every move, every word, will have to be carefully crafted so that he feels like you're "loyal" to him by the arbitrary standard he feels that day. Never step out of line, never doubt his decisions, never live for anyone except him and the children you will give him, not even for a moment, because then you will not be "worthy" of his grace.

Star Flower would be in serious danger if this series wasn't written by abuse apologists. They accidentally wrote a perfect reflection of how child abuse victims often find themselves in unsafe and toxic romantic relationships with large age gaps which mirror what they went through as kids; but this team doesn't clock it, playing this relationship as wholesome and genuine.

He finally has someone who ""understands"" him. Because they think the character they wrote is misunderstood.

but reality is plain to see.

Clear Sky is a monster. The most realistic monster in all of WC-- far, far closer to real life predators and domestic abusers than the "born evil" rogues like Slash and One Eye. The Erins seem to believe that what separates Clear Sky from One Eye is "fundamental" good and "fundamental" evil, when the truth is that they'd be separated by very, very little.

If they had realistic motivations, they would be exactly like the character their existence is meant to excuse.

Slash and One Eye HAD to be kept flat and one-dimensional. If the book was more earnest, the only difference between Clear Sky and One Eye would have been that One Eye is stronger. So strong that Clear Sky needed to manipulate the other groups into helping him.

While anyone can change, not everyone will, and Clear Sky has no reason to. He sees no consequences. He has everything he wants; power, a pretty and obedient young mate, and unchecked authority over a brainwashed forest cult. There is always a victim on a leash, a naive enabler, or a bunch of desperate and gullible marks somewhere in his proximity to bully into doing his dirtywork

Whether his "intentions" were sincere or not (evidence points towards not) at its root it was always about control. Power is something he perpetually keeps, and continues to violently use.

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attyattlaw · 3 months

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cross posting yesterday's rambling thread for posterity and because tumblr lets me edit things. anyway this is a sorta long thing and i might add things i forgot to mention in the twt thread

i tend to draw on-model canon because im a coward + just personal preferences. but the way i convert the canon designs into my artstyle is that i take the distinct features oda gives them and then combine it with personal headcanons to complete what should look like a unique human. Starting with Trafalgar Law, who is unfortunately a bland-ass conventionally pretty boy

someone commented a while ago the law hat drawing tutorial i made a while ago didn't make much sense and i realize its bc of the specific way i draw law's face: heart shaped (ba-dum-tss). That meaning, a narrow chin widening into a mild defined jaw, wide cheekbones, and up to his know-it-all brain dome.

given that, the pudgy guitar pick shape of his head i mentioned here should make a lot more sense.

i don't think this design point is unique to me, as most conventional pretty anime boy gets given jaws like this. a lot of law artists tend to veer into this head shape. just how life be sometimes. other points: flat, thick eyebrows is bc im a hairy gal and i need to feel better about myself.

Killer gets to be more interesting, because he shouldn't be considered conventionally attractive. my idea behind killer's is that those individual features is smth he would be insecure with enough to hide himself in a helmet but i draw him with all the love in the world actually. i'd like to think its how kid sees him or yknow, law, bc he's my kin assigned blorbo and maybe you ship lawkill as a guilty pleasure too i mentioned before (and ruined people's days) when i said whenever i draw killer he looks like griffith before i put on his goatee. the upper half of his face is distinctly feminine, with the lower half kinda over compensating. other than that uhh...idk. stan killer

Kidd is the bane of my existence, i feel like i can never draw his face consistently. yet at the same time he's so damn fun to draw everyone gotta try it.

my problem with kidd is that this mf does have eyelids. most kidd painters out there interpret this as him having deep set eyes (think Matt Smith or jeffrey star) . and yeh skill issue on me i should practice that. other notes, i try to make him younger than canon makes him look. he is my babygirl and he deserves to look cuddly. my band au kidd version has the honor of being allowed some chubs. he's just tries to look older and more menacing with edgy makeup. also i try to give him dimples when i can because, well i can.

Rosinante last bc i lost steam after kidd. the thing abt cora is that aside from not having eyebrows, everything is structured with the generic one piece man template. which means i gotta do everything myself doffy is there bc the way to figure out how to draw these two is to give them minor differences from each other, that being doffy gets slightly sharper features. in canon, these two are also rly wide boys (more of an oda style feat tbh) but i make them long. though bigger brained donquixote artists know that of these two brothers, doffy should be the wiry-er built. anyway that's it. in conclusion, i need to draw more girls actually i feel like im becoming misogynistic by osmosis from oda's style and now i draw girls all looking the same too.

#one piece #trafalgar law #eustass kid #eustass kidd #op killer #massacre soldier killer #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote doflamingo #was gonna do robin and perona too at least but like...i have a job and stuff

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guppydoll · 7 months

Text

This Isn't Barbie Land: Chapter 1

Ken x Fem!Reader

You are working away as a waitress at a night club when the oddest man came up to you after your shift and accidentally swept you off your feet. Yet you don't know if you are ready for another relationship after the disaster that was your last one. You just hope everything goes nice and easy.

Ken is your doll and he wants you to teach him how to be human and help you through the pain you've been feeling.

This first chapter felt rushed to me a little but it's all the world building setting up the plot of the story and what's to come. Enjoy this little dabble and I promise I have a ton planned. It's also my first time writing in second person. Forgive me if there are some grammar errors and feel free to leave any critique on this story! I wanna always improve and I love feedback!

I also did a quick once through for editing cause buh, I hate editing and I just wanted to post it. Also I wanna say I got inspired from the heart beat part of this story from Nothing Natural by @interpolanticssuperfan . Their fanfic is super amazing please also check them out

This story is 18+ but I'll add in the warnings if there is any smut in the chapter.

Warnings: None for this one aside from mild swearing, alcohol consumption, and jokes about sex/mentions of sex. (Ken is virgin so get ready for Reader having to teach Ken about sex soon enough)

Words: 1893

You knew it was always a bad idea to stay for a drink after your shift ended, but after the night you had it had become a necessity. Another rough night of running around on your feet in heels that could qualify as an OSHA violation. You pulled your skirt down, trying to give yourself some modesty. Not that you disliked mini skirts, you loved them! You just hated the feeling of eyes burning into your skin and longing looks drunk men would give you as you brought them their drinks. At least the tips made it worth it.

You downed your cocktail quickly, scanning the crowd of partying people. You noticed a very tall blonde with women huddling around him until you would see their faces scrunch up after he spoke and they would walk away, only for another woman to try her shot at the blonde. He had a complete look of innocence and just the biggest smile, not seeming to understand when a girl would run her hand up his chest. It made you giggle, he was nothing like any of the regulars.

He was stunning, even though it was hard to see him in the dull light of the club. His big blue eyes danced all around the place. He would smile like a child as a waiter would walk past holding a tray filled with sparkling drinks. When he suddenly made eye contact with you, you felt a rush of chills. He was similar to a doll, staring back at you with a big bright smile and glossy eyes. You shifted nervously as he raised his hand to you and waved as if you were an old friend. Your hand twitched, wanting to wave back at him. He had to be waving to someone else as you glanced back to the bar you were sitting at and raised your hand for another drink.

“Seems blondie likes you.” The bartender brought your refill, just a plain vodka cranberry. Simple but it tasted good and you enjoyed the little buzz.

“I’ve never seen someone like him before.” You turned to your coworker. She was the other reason you stayed after. Claire was fiery and always soothed your nerves. She had been there for you when no one else was. “He’s got quite the crowd around him.”

“He’s had the crowd since he’s walked in here but no girl has seemed to have won him over.” Claire laughed, stealing a sip from your drink.

“Hey, people are allowed to be picky.” You swatted at your friend, taking back your glass. The chills hadn’t left. It was the feeling described as seeing your soulmate for the first time. The air knocked out of your lungs, goosebumps running over your skin but deep warmth flooded your entire body. It had to be the vodka.

Claire grinned like a cat and winked, pointing behind you. You gave a swift glance behind you, bringing the glass to your lips not expecting your view of the entire bar to be blocked by the chest of the blonde you had been staring at before. Fuck. He was hot from a distance but up close he was godly.

“Hi! I really love your dress! You look beautiful!” The blonde smiled brightly as compliments kept tumbling from his perfect mouth. “I’m Ken!”

“Hi…” You stared blankly at him, the blonde- um- Ken, who waited attentively for your name. “I’m y/n, and thank you. This is just my uniform, I work here.”

It was a tight pvc mini dress, uncomfortable to wear but it matched the theme of the night club. Every waiter and waitress was meant to be eye candy for the guests.

“It’s something Barbie would wear!”

You cringed a little at his comment, he was right. This was like a cheap doll outfit, leaving little to the imagination.

“I love it y/n!” Ken beamed so brightly you thought you would go blind.

“What?”

“I love it!” The man took your free hand in his. “You’re the prettiest girl here! I don’t understand it, you just took my breath away. All of the Kens would be so jealous if I brought you back to Barbie Land but I made a bet with Ken that I wouldn’t come back to Barbie Land cause I could make it in the real world just has Barbie had.”

He was either insane or the drunkest person here, but he was stupid hot. You just nodded your head slightly, sipping more from your drink. Ken was still holding your hand and pulled you up quickly, your drink spilling over both of you. You could barely react as he pulled you through the crowd.

You shot a panicked look at Claire, only for her to give a toothy smile and a big thumbs up. She was gonna pay for this, she had been trying for you to get back into the dating scene ever since… he had left the city. You placed your cup on a tray of a passing waiter and you tugged Ken to a stop.

“Where are we going Ken?” Taking his other hand in yours, his hands were massive… the alcohol had definitely gotten to you. Images of his hand wrapped around your throat or holding your hips to his, danced in your brain.

“The beach, y/n! I’m way better on the beach! You’ll love me on the beach!”

Better on the beach? What did that even mean? If this had been any other man you would have started screaming bloody murder but something about Ken was enduring. You know it was stupid to trust some random stranger but you knew he didn’t have the ability to cause harm to even a fly.

“What? For beach sex? I’d recommend taking me to dinner first.” You knew your inhibitions were lowered but that had slipped from your mouth without you even thinking.

“Sex?” Ken paused and looked down at you, still smiling dumbly. “What’s sex?”

“You don’t know what sex is?”

“Well, of course I know what it is.” Ken’s whole demeanor changed instantly and puffed out his chest. “Just seeing if you know what sex is.”

“Yes, I know what sex is.” You answered as he looked you up and down.

“Well good then yes that is what we are gonna do. Sex on the beach. I’m good at everything Beach.”

It was obvious he had no idea what he was talking about. You started to giggle. Who on earth was this man?

“Hey!” Ken had panic written all over his face, “Please don’t laugh at me! Y/n!”

His whining was adorable and you led him out of the club, feeling the humid air of the outside hit your skin. This was a first but you were the experienced one here even though he appeared far older than you. You didn’t get it but this odd man was pulling you in.

“It’s okay if you don’t know what sex is. I was kidding anyway.” You smirked. “Let's just go to the beach Ken.”

His blinding smile returned and began pulling you to the sandy shore.

“That’s a relief! I have zero clue what that is. We don’t have that in Barbie Land.”

It was hard to walk in the soft sand in heels so you kicked them off and left them behind. You’d find them later, right now the very handsome and even stranger man in front of you was more important.

Ken had started talking again, something about Barbies and plastic waves. It was absolute nonsense spilling from the blonde. You finally understood why all of the women that had approached him turned away absolutely appalled.

You plopped yourself on the warm sand, entranced by Ken’s bizarre story. He was waving his arms around, explaining about how once he tried to impress Barbie by surfing the waves but got thrown into the air. He didn’t break anything because he is super cool and super strong. Then he started about how after Barbie left Barbie Land some of the Kens started putting him down for being “Barbie-less”.

“But I’m Ken!” Ken huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m enough! They just don’t understand it! Some do but Ken always has to one up me!”

“You are all named Ken?”

He paused and focused down on you, scrunching his brows.

“Yes. It’s what Mattel named us.”

“Mattel?” You sober upped after hearing that. “The toy company?”

“Yeah! I’m a Ken! Or I was, now I’m Ken. Just Ken. Not a Ken.” The blonde gave you a million dollar smile. “I’m my own man, tiny baby.”

You just sat there, gaping at the weird man. He was telling you he was the boy doll that came along with the popular Barbie doll. You only had one Ken as a kid but you had at least 10 Barbies. The craziest part? You believed everything he was saying.

“You’re a doll.”

Ken flopped down right in front of you, nodding his head vigorously. He took your hand again and compared its size to his.

“Not just a doll.” Ken was entranced by how petite your hand was compared to his. “When I saw you, I had this feeling. I’ve never had this feeling before, but I know you Y/N. I think I'm your doll.”

“My doll?”

“Yes!” Ken laced his fingers with yours. “Weird Barbie told us that every Barbie and Ken have someone that's playing with them. Even Allan and Midge have someone playing with them.”

“I haven’t played with a doll in years. How does that even work?”

“I’m not sure how it works either. All I know is you’re my girl.”

You were thankful it was dark outside so Ken couldn’t see how flushed your face had gotten. This had to be a dream. You stared at your hand being held by Ken’s, you felt oddly complete.

“Can you help me, Y/N?” Ken’s voice was soft, timid almost. “I wanted to find you, the one who had been playing with me. It wasn’t because Ken dared me. I’ve been feeling lonely, unlovable. I thought it would be fixed after I realized I wasn’t just a Ken but it didn’t go away. I went to Weird Barbie and she told me it was the feelings of the girl who had played with me. You are feeling like this and I don't get it!”

Ken forced your hand to his chest, his skin was warm. You expected to feel a heartbeat but his chest was entirely still aside from the rise and fall of his chest from breathing. The lack of a thump in his rips killed the rest of your doubts.

“I want to become like you. I want to be human. Then I can help you.”

“You feel what I feel?”

“Not everything, just the feelings deep down.” He squeezed your hand like a vice. “Please, Y/N. There is so much I wanna learn about. Then I can help you not feel lonely and unlovable!”

“Okay, Ken. I’ll try to teach you.” You smiled gently and it startled you when you felt a beat in his chest. Ken was also alarmed by the new sensation he was feeling.

“You have a heartbeat Ken.”

“I have a heartbeat... you gave me a heartbeat.”

Next Chapter

Tag List! Lemme know if you wanna be added in the comments!

@stanfanfiction

#ryan gosling #barbie #ken x reader #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling x reader #barbie 2023 #fanfic #ken doll #ken x you #ken x fem reader #ken smut #the barbie movie #barbie movie #barbie the movie #ken barbie #guppydoll #ryan gosling fanfic #fanfiction

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cuoredimuschio · 11 months

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a little start of something that may end up being Something, expanding on this post about eddie teaching steve to play guitar

(3.1k - no upside down, but still set in the spring of '86)

now on ao3 | part two

---

Jenna Burke is the girl of Steve’s dreams.

Yeah, yeah, he’s made that claim before. A few times.

About Nancy. About Robin (he was half-right that time). About a dozen girls in between.

But Jenna’s different. Jenna’s the real deal.

They haven’t even been out on a date yet, but he knows. He can tell. He can feel it in the air every time she comes in to bring back her rentals. Which she always does when he’s working. Never on Tuesday when he’s off.

And let him just say, real quick: he knows how crazy that sounds. How crazy he sounds. But there’s something there, some kind of connection that sparks every time their eyes meet, something just waiting for the right moment to happen. And honestly, he’d have to be even crazier than crazy not to be completely mad about her.

Because she’s everything anyone could ever want. She’s everything that Steve has ever wanted, and more. Intelligent, funny, sincere, kind, movie-star cool but still firmly planted down on Earth, confident, artistic, athletic, a heavenly laugh, a knockout smile, sun-kissed freckles, hair like caramel honey, gorgeous enough to blow Phoebe Cates clear out of the water: he could go on.

And he has.

He’s talked Robin’s ear off about her, shift after shift after shift, until she threatened to cut his tongue out, julienne it, and feed it to her cat if she had to hear one more time about Jenna’s dimples and how the left one is just the slightest bit bigger than the right one—as if she wasn’t ten times worse when she was crushing on Vickie. Steve was once treated to an entire sermon about the way the fluorescent lights of the band hall reflected off her pearl barrette. But anyway, that’s beside the point. The point being that, threats of violence aside, even Robin’s had to admit that Jenna is—by all accounts and in every way—perfect.

There’s just one problem.

Steve is not the guy of her dreams.

She’s always flirted back with him—or at least, she’d always seemed amused by his attempts to flirt. Always met him halfway, played along and giggled at all his jokes and lame lines, definitely checked out his arms when he leaned on the counter, even twirled her hair a few times. He could’ve sworn it was all there, every sign lit up green and pointing to ‘go’. But when he’d finally laid it all on the line and asked her if he could take her out for dinner and a movie on Friday, she’d hit him with the worst eight words in the English language: you’re really sweet, but you’re not my type.

And what is her type? Springsteen, Bon Jovi, rockstars and their wannabes, apparently.

“There’s just something about a man with a guitar,” she’d said, her sea-shine eyes dancing with starry mischief. “Drives a girl wild.”

Then, she’d taken her movie, dropped a smile and a twiddly wave over her shoulder, and swept out the door with Steve’s heart stuck to the bottom of her Keds, leaving squelchy, sappy stains on the sidewalk with every step. And that was that. A beautiful flower, nipped before it could even bud. He couldn’t even really be surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything different given his recent track record.

It wasn’t until he was locking up that night, ready to go home and wallow, chalk up another failure in the books and look for comfort at the bottom of a beer or two, that it had hit him: the obvious solution, the one she’d handed right to him, with a wink and a nudge.

He’s not the guy of her dreams, but he could be.

All it’d take is just one little change. And he’s more than willing to make it.

Which is why he’s now slinking back to his old stomping grounds, picking his way through the grey, gnarled trees huddled behind the track, and hoping with all he’s got that Eddie Munson didn’t get busted at some point in the last year and move to another neck of the woods. And that he’s in a generous mood.

Steve should probably explain. Because ‘obvious solution’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ don’t often belong in the same metaphorical sentence. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

There’s just no way Steve can teach himself to play guitar. He wouldn’t even know where to start, and he’s always learned better when he has someone to watch anyway, when he can see, step by step, what he needs to do before he does it. And Munson…Still doesn’t seem like the obvious choice, granted. But he was always hanging up those messy, handmade posters for his weird band, plastering them all over the school, talking big about their gig at The Hideout every Tuesday; even though Steve had never caught one of their shows, never heard Munson play a single note, he figures if an actual bar hired them and let them keep coming back, week after week, he must be pretty good.

Plus, with that whole rock-n-roll, long-hair-denim-and-leather thing he’s got going, he’s honestly not too far off from Bon Jovi. Steve’s not sure either party would appreciate that comparison, but the fact is, Eddie Munson is the closest thing to a rockstar that Hawkins has to offer. If he’s going to learn from anyone, Munson’s his best bet.

It’s quiet as Steve approaches the clearing—nothing but the birds squawking up in the branches and the weak crunch of the leaves under his feet. It’s so quiet, too quiet, and all wrong. Because ‘quiet’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ have never belonged in the same sentence either; they don’t even belong on the same planet. If he was here, Steve probably would have heard him before he even got out of his car. So he must’ve switched spots or maybe he’s busy with his nerdy club. This was always a pretty damn long shot, but preemptive disappointment closes around Steve’s stomach anyway.

He almost turns around. It’s a good thing he didn’t.

Because he steps out into the clearing and there Munson is: holed up at that same rotting picnic table, squatting on the bench, hunched like a gargoyle as he scribbles into an old, tattered notebook, stopping every few seconds to gnaw on the end of his pen, twisting his hair around and around his finger. It’s warm enough that he’s ditched his signature vest and jacket, thrown them down on the table and pushed his sleeves up, showing off a select few of his ghoulish collection of tattoos. Steve can hear now that his watch—the same dorky kind Dustin wears—is beeping, softly, incessantly, but Munson doesn’t seem to hear it. And he doesn’t seem to realize Steve is there either, too absorbed in whatever he’s cooking up in his notebook, mouthing something to himself over and over again.

Steve clears his throat. “Hey, Munson—”

“Fucking sh—” is all the further Munson gets before he topples; he flails, arms striking out, trying to keep his balance and save himself, but gravity wins this round, and he lands, hard, on his on his back in the dirt.

Not off to a great start.

Steve steps forward, a hand ready to help him up, an apology brewing on his tongue, but Munson pops right back up, breezily brushing dead forest junk from his shirt. His eyes widen slightly when they land on Steve, a brow starts to twitch up, but he tosses on that smarmy, showman smile and slips into his usual act seamlessly.

“Ah, salutations, your majesty.” He doffs an imaginary cap and tucks his arm in against his stomach, bowing so deep the tips of his frizzy hair brush the leaf litter. It’s a damn shame, to have a killer mane like that and not even know how to take care of it; he clearly overwashes it and uses the exact wrong shampoo for whatever his hair type is; his curls are so limp he looks like a cocker spaniel after a night left out in the rain. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe such an auspicious honor? What brings you back to my humble shop on this fine afternoon?”

Alright, here goes nothing.

“I need a favor,” Steve says. Short, simple, and to the point.

That brow inches up a bit higher. “Well, unless ‘a favor’ is what the cool kids are calling an eighth these days, I regret to inform you that you’re a bit S-O-L, sire. My supply—” He raps his knuckles on top of his battered lunchbox “—ain’t what she usually is at the moment. Had a bit of a Spring Break blowout sale on Friday, everything must go, you know how it is. But…” He wedges his hands in his back pockets and sighs, as if Steve’s really busting his balls and twisting his arm here. “If you know what you want, I can try and get it for you, but I make no guarantees, and it probably won’t be ‘til next week.” His eyes pick their way up and over Steve, all the way up from his shoes, and a smirk spreads, like a fungal infection, across his lips. “Usually don’t take special orders, but I can make an exception for the king.”

He says ‘king’, but it’s pretty obvious he means something more in the realm of ‘jackass’ or ‘douchebag’. And that the offer’s not exactly coming out of the kindness of his heart. So, things aren’t boding well for Steve.

But whatever, he doesn’t need Munson to like him; he just needs Munson to teach him. And besides, he can’t really blame him for being less than enthusiastic about helping Steve out; it’s not like he would be Steve’s first choice either, if he had a better option. Or any other option, really. The guy’s weird. And loud. And abrasive. And a lot. Not to mention, they have next to nothing in common, and he means ‘next to’ as in ‘on the negative side of’.

“I’m not here for drugs,” he says.

Munson’s face darkens, something hardened in his eyes that almost makes him look as dangerous as concerned parents say he is.

“Then you’re in the wrong place.” He drops back down on the bench and picks up his pen again, pulling his notebook close. “Despite what your lovely friends like to say about me, I don’t offer those kinds of services. I’m not that desperate.”

It takes a second for Steve to realize exactly which friends and which services Munson’s referring to, but when it clicks, a bucket of gooey heat dumps over his head, searing his ears and turning his stomach. “Jesus Christ, you really think I’d—No. God no. Believe me, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be coming to you of all people. I wouldn’t need to.”

Munson props his chin in his palm, and now his eyes literally twinkle, catching a shard of the patchwork light that falls through the scraggly canopy, as he leers up at Steve. “Tell me, Harrington, have you ever asked somebody for a favor before? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is a unique approach.”

Right. Probably shouldn’t be insulting the guy who he’s throwing himself at the mercy of.

If only Munson weren’t so damn good at being so damn annoying.

“Look,” Steve says, gingerly sliding onto the bench across from Munson, praying his jeans will protect him from getting a splinter up the ass, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let me try again: you play guitar, right?”

“Yeah?” Munson narrows his eyes and slams his notebook shut before Steve can spot much more than a few choppy doodles. “What, does his majesty require entertainment for one of his soirees?”

“No, I want you to teach me.”

That brow disappears up behind his bangs. “How to tie your shoelaces or…?”

Steve pauses, takes a deep breath, pictures Jenna’s beautiful, smiling face. She’s worth it, he reminds himself, do it for her. “No,” he says again, nice and calm and level. “How to play guitar, asshole.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you know how to play and I don’t?” He’s totally doing this on purpose, being deliberately contuse or whatever the word is. And Steve can’t help himself. “I would’ve thought someone who’s been in school as long as you would understand the concept of teaching by now, but I guess maybe that explains why you still haven’t graduated.”

“Get fucked,” Munson snaps, but it’s dull, all bark and no bite, more of a reflex than anything. “I meant why do you wanna play guitar, dickhead.”

“Oh.” Yeah, okay, Steve deserved that one. He’s burning bridges, and fast, but Munson hasn’t walked away yet, which means he’s still got a shot. And he’s gonna take it. “Jenna Burke.”

He can’t even say her name without cracking a smile. That’s how he knows it’s real.

Munson is decidedly less enchanted. He twirls his pen once, twice between his fingers and starts sketching a spider web around his knuckle. “Care to elaborate?”

“I’m into her. She’s into guys who play guitar.” Steve pauses, letting that information sink in. “Can you put those pieces together on your own or do I need to spell it out for you?”

Something surprisingly bitter curls up in the corner of Munson’s mouth. He laughs, but it’s not really a laugh at all. “Nah, I hear ya, loud and clear, your majesty. And the answer to your humble request,” he says, “is no.”

Steve blinks. “What? What do you mean no?”

He hates—a little bit, a lot—how much he sounds like a spoiled child, but this isn’t just not getting some stupid toy he wanted on Christmas; it’s potentially missing out on the love of his life. He needs this.

“I mean no,” Munson repeats, nice and slow, dragging out the ‘o’ and puckering it off. “N-O? Commonly known as the opposite of yes? As in ‘not fucking happening’?” He tilts his head to the side. “Huh, I would’ve thought somebody with a brain in their thick skull would be able to understand such a simple concept.”

Steve crosses his arms; definitely not helping himself on the ‘spoiled child’ front, but it’s the best way to stop himself from punching—or strangling—that smug smirk off Munson’s smug face. “Why not?”

“How many reasons you want? ‘Cause I can give you a few.” He sticks up his middle finger, adorned with a flying pig’s head. “One: learning guitar takes a shitton of practice, patience, and passion. It’s not something you just pick up one day to impress a chick. It’s serious shit. If you’re not doing it for the pure, honest love of the music, then you have no business even breathing in the same room as a guitar. And it’s my sworn duty as a defender of the faith to hold the line and keep the rabble—” He jabs his middle finger in Steve’s direction, in case it was unclear who the ‘rabble’ was in this scenario “—back from the gates.”

“Jesus, who do you think you are? Some kind of musical messiah?” Steve scoffs. He shouldn’t, he needs Munson on his side, but something about the guy just gets under his skin and itches. “How about you get off your fucking high horse for two seconds?”

“Hey, man, you came to me. If you wanted sympathy, you should’ve knocked on a different door. And I wasn’t finished, alright? Two,” he says, lifting his other middle finger, “I have no interest in helping you get your rocks off. I, frankly, don’t give a fuck about the state of your rocks. And call me uncharitable or inhumane or whatever you like, but I think your little fella will survive if he has to stay in your pants this one time. Three—” He raises his left pinky “—I don’t fucking want to. It may not have occurred to you, my liege, but I have better things to do than listen to you butcher Hot Cross Buns over and over again until you inevitably give up because you’ve never actually had to work for anything in your life.”

Again, Steve probably deserves that, but still. “Jesus, man, you don’t have to—”

“And four,” Munson says, even louder. He lifts his right pinky, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “No, actually, that pretty much covers it. So if you’re done wasting my precious time—” He pushes up from the table and sweeps his arm toward the tree line, his smile more plastic than Barbie’s “—you can kindly return to the Hell from whence you came, your majesty.”

“Munson, come on. I’m sor—”

“Buh-bye! Thanks for coming!” He turns his back, as if not being able to see Steve will make him disappear faster. “Don’t let the door kick you in the ass on the way out!”

Fuck.

Steve blew this.

He blew this so hard. In every way he possibly could’ve.

But there has to be something he can say, something he can do—

“I’ll pay you,” he blurts, before his brain can catch up and think better of it.

Munson stills. Just for a second before his I-don’t-give-a-shit act kicks back in, but it’s enough. Steve knows he’s got him on the hook. Now he just has to reel him in.

“Twenty bucks a week,” he offers, wincing even as he says it. “I just need you to teach me the basics and help me learn one song. That’s all you gotta do. And after that, we go our separate ways, and we never have to talk to each other again.”

Munson mulls that over for a second, a long second, fingers fiddling at his split ends, before he spins around. There’s something almost hungry in his eyes: the kind of hunger you see on a stray dog waiting by the dumpster behind a butcher shop. “Make it thirty.”

Two years ago, Steve wouldn’t have blinked at that number, would have forked it over happily. Now, it hurts, physically. Now, he can barely get the word past his gritted teeth, but he finds a gap and shoves it out. For Jenna.

“Done.”

He can’t, technically, afford it. Not on his skimpy paycheck. But he’s been saving up, squirreling away whatever cash he could spare so he can put this town in his rearview someday; it’ll set him back a few months, maybe a year, but he can dip into his savings a bit, maybe pick up a few shifts to cover the extra. It’ll be fine. Jenna’s worth it. More than.

“Well, shit, Harrington.” Munson shakes his head, and he doesn’t look or sound any more enthusiastic about the whole situation—he actually looks kind of seasick—but he sticks his hand out. “I guess you’ve got yourself a deal.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is in really rough shape but thought i'd post it anyway #my writing #(also just to clarify: eddie's 'i'm not that desperate' is meant to be disdain towards the men of hawkins not the concept of sex work)#(don't ask me about my other au idea where eddie does offer those services and steve does partake)

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 28 days

Text

My memory is terrible so I wanted to do a breakdown of my stuff every once in a while. Might be monthly, might be whenever I feel like it.

QL - Currently Watching

🇹🇭1000 Years Old [10/12] - This is dragging and I am incredibly bored.

🇹🇭23.5 [4/12] - This show is incredibly cute and I'm smiling through the whole thing. Aylin is my favourite and I'm hoping against hope for the teachers to become a couple. Make it happen gmmtv!

🇹🇭Deep Night [6/8] - The long shots are killing me but the story is moving fast. There's a surprising amount of good communication and the throuple is almost inevitable a this point.

🇰🇷Jazz for Two [6/8] - This is the first bl show where I read the source material before the show and I wish I hadn't. The changes that were made just don't make sense to me, because I don't see how it serves the story. But putting that aside, the story feels rushed and the pacing is weird. The second couple doesn't read believable with this time frame. Anyway I might edit this post when I watch the last 2 episodes. [EDIT] Completed. Final thoughts here. 🇯🇵Love is Better The Second Time Around [4/6] - Why must you do this again Japan? 6 episodes for this one? I'm not happy about this. This show is so good. I love how the mains communicate, not to mention they are beautiful to watch.

🇯🇵My Strawberry Film[7/8] - I have no idea what this show is about nor it seems does it. Do I care at this point? Nope, not really. Let it be over.

🇹🇭To Be Continued [6/8] - This is getting into The Promise territory and I'm not amused. Another one that is dragging and I like the second couple but they barely have any screen time. I'll finish it because there are only two episodes left but I'll be sprinting to the finish line.

🇹🇼Unknown [7/12] - It hurts so good. The songs were killing me this episode. I really liked the separation, I think it was necessary for them. Yuan seems more mature and it will be interesting to see how it changes the relationship.

QL - Finished

🇹🇭Cherry Magic Th – What a wonderful surprise this was. Tay and New are beautiful together and their chemistry was on point. I really liked how the source material was used here.

🇯🇵Cherry Magic Anime – It was quite faithful to the manga with only a couple of deviations and of course it didn't cover everything but I really enjoyed watching yet another version of these characters.

🇹🇭Dead Friend Forever – It was quite a ride. I specially enjoyed the communal watching of this one and all the theories as more people tuned in. Didn't love the ending but it was better than I thought. Still not over White though. 🇯🇵Although I Love You, and You? - Started great, the middle was meh, and by the end I wasn't invested enough in the couple so even though it ended happy, it didn't make up for the rest of it. 🇯🇵Perfect Propose - Great all the way through. I loved this characters a lot and still think it's amazing how well the time was used here. 🇯🇵Ossan's Love Returns - It's Japan at it's finest. Love, food, chaos, found family and cherry blossoms. What more can I ask for? 🇯🇵She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat - My heart grew.🖤

🇹🇼Anti Reset - This is one of the most frustrating shows I've watched in a while. This started off strange and most of the show doesn't seem to know what it wanted to say about the AI part of it. It drove crazy on a weekly basis. But I thought their chemistry was really good and they are just an adorable couple. These 4 VBL series [Stay By My Side, You Are Mine, Vip Only] were a mixed bag for me. I think Stay By My Side is my favourite overall.

🇨🇳The Spirealm - First of all, Ruan Lan Zhu is absolutely gorgeous and his outfits are always perfection. The visuals are really good. This was definitely not a cheap production. The sets for all the doors are incredible. Talking only about the game, I gotta say the second door was my favourite. The bromance toes the line, but I'm not surprised this was taken down. I think if they'd kiss it would be less obvious than some of their scenes. I'm not going to spoil the ending but if you're thinking about watching here's your warning. A bit after the halfway point it gets incredibly sad and the ending is just heart-breaking.

Dropped 🇹🇭A Secretly Love [3/10] 🇹🇭Kiseki Chapter 2 [2/6] Also haven't started Two Worlds because I'm waiting to know if I should bother. I'm experiencing a bit of Thai bl fatigue so we'll see.

Rose Watches OJBL

Takumi-kun 1: And The Spring Breeze Whispers (2007) - The editing is choppy as hell and it gets hard to understand the characters motivations. And the acting is not good. Yeah, not a fan of this one. Udagawachou de Matteteyo (2015) - This one is weird. I recently watched Life as a Girl so I admit that the comparison doesn't help this one at all. The idea is interesting but the execution is poor. There's a couple of scenes that are a bit hard to watch. In this particular story I think if we had a bit more insight to the characters motivations it would've helped me connect and feel more invested. In the end, for my particular goal it was fine I guess.

Other - Watched

🩷Tengu's Kitchen (2023) | Fudanshi Bartender no Tashinami (2022) Formula 17 (2004) | Mars: Zero no Kakumei (2024) | 🩷Joshi-teki Seikatsu (2018)

1 Year of Rose-Tinted Glasses

It's been a year of Rose this month. And it's been kinda great. It took me a while to get over my shyness here and I still feel intimidated but it's gotten better. The people in this space have been really kind to me and I appreciate it so much. Thank you so much for the space.

That's it for right now. As usual my ask box is open for gif requests and any other questions. Happy Easter to all who celebrate.

Have a good week💜

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oddballwriter · 9 months

Text

Made with Love

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: A blurb where you cook Steven some traditional hispanic food because he's curious about how it tastes.

Warnings: No actual warnings that I actually know of. Reader is meant to be read as hispanic or be of some hispanic/latin background. Steven centric but Marc and Jake are also mentioned.

Author’s Snip: Listen I just wanted to make something kinda cute and wholesome that also involves a bit of some culture that I have from my hispanic/Mexican heritage, I also just wanted to fully embrace latino Jake because I just wanted to.

Notes: I'm not translating the dishes just look it up if you don't know what they are. Also this wasn't proof read before posting

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

One of Steven's, and the rest of the system's, favorite things after a long day of working is coming home to your cooking. You taken on the role of being the one to make dinner after you saw that the boys could barely scrape together good food for themselves thanks to their short free time and deemed their boy dinners unacceptable.

You had a knack for making their favorite foods and keeping track of their varying palates and preferences. Of course there was Steven being vegan, but the other two had their own preferences. Marc didn't really have much of any preferences but you did find that he was a big fan of the french onion soup recipe that you make.

Jake wasn't all that picky either since he hardly came out and would just eat left overs. But after a while you found that he loves himself some hispanic foods, and by god were you happy to accommodate. When he came back from missions he would usually crash on the bed and let the others wake up in the body afterwards, but you would somehow figure out that he's the one fronting and make him some traditional dishes which he couldn't help but stay just to eat it.

You made him all kinds of dishes. Tamales. Pollo y arroz con mole. Chilaquiles. Ceviche con tostadas.

You did feel a bit bad since you knew Steven didn't like meat. But Jake would beg you to make the dishes how they're usually made, which commonly involves meats, and Steven never held it against you if you did feed Jake using the traditional recipes.

Though Steven did mention that he always wondered what they tasted like. Just he's had a vegan taco but at this point everyone in the world's had a taco and the like. He wants to try the food that actually comes from and is made with their original recipes. But he knew that hispanic food often had meat in it and he didn't want you to have to go through the trouble of making a new recipe just because of him.

But when Steven set aside his bag, took off his coat, and sat down at the table he found what looked like food that was intended for Jake. It was what he learned was called ceviche and tostadas, which often contained shrimp. He opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

"Don't worry. It's completely vegan." you smile. "Love," he mutters, "Thank you. But you really didn't have to go through all this trouble just to make me something tha-" he continues, but you stop him again.

"It wasn't that troublesome. It's the same process. I just changed the shrimp out for something else." you explain. "But," you add, raising your finger. "That's the only thing I changed about it. Everything else is authentic to the original, like you said whenever you mentioned you wanted to try some food, so I held back no spices." you warn.

Steven smiles and nods as you go and grab some drinks before sitting in your chair. "Thank you then." he chirps. "I know that it shouldn't be that spicy. At least by Jake's standards since he douses his in hot sauce." Steven comments. You giggle, "I always tell him that if he wants something spicy then I can just make him aguachile." you remark.

As it turns out Steven held up just fine and even said that he enjoyed how much flavor the dish had to it with an added"I understand why Jake likes it so much.".

#moonknight #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #hispanic reader

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i6keis · 1 year

Text

teach me

haitani rindou x reader

warnings: just rin teasing u :P

i havent posted for a while ???? so hello hehe

is the tokrev fandom still alive? 😭

“teach me how to ride a motorcy—“

“no.” rindou straight up shut you off with no hesitation. his face devoid of any emotion as he lays down comfortably on your lap, your fingers gently stroking his messy locks.

“why not?” a pout formed in your face, clearly upset with the fact that your boyfriend just turned down your offer when in fact he rarely does that.

to be completely honest, it was not a problem for rindou to teach you, he in fact can do that anytime as long as you can and want to.

but the thing is, this man already reached miles away overthinking about the possible outcomes of your innocent request. he already thought of your constant rejections to his offers to ride with him since you already know how to drive yourself.

and he didn’t want that, not even a bit. he wants you to keep relying on him when you need someone to pick you up or just to randomly take you anywhere. but then again, he wouldn’t admit that, at least not within your range.

“just because.” he answered, his eyes still closed to avoid looking at your face that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last resisting. “and what’s the point anyway? it’s not like you’re buying yourself a motorcycle. can’t even buy herself a bottled water”

upon hearing that, you feigned an offended expression with matching hands on the chest. “excuse me?” you scoff at him earning a hearty laugh from the male below you.

“kidding. but come on, why are you suddenly asking for things like this?” he now opened his eyes, orbs staring right up you with a sulky expression hiding behind it.

he was hoping you would get his message and just drop the subject but knowing you, you’re a passionate one who never backs away from anything especially after you’ve made up your mind about your desire to do something.

“rin, please. just wanna learn a new hobby” with pleading eyes, you looked at your boyfriend in hopes of him finally giving in and agreeing to teach you.

it was true in all means. there’s not a concrete reason for you to suddenly want to learn it, just want to try something new is all. so you’ve felt unfair how your boyfriend is depriving you of that. petty it is.

“what can i earn from doing it?” he challenged, close to setting aside his worries and just giving you what you’ve been wanting since the past hour.

“hmmm.” you pretended to think, already has an offer in mind, your index finger tapping your chin continuously. “what about a kiss?”

you caught sight of the obvious scrunch of his face in disgust. “not even worth my time at all,” he joked, earning a smack on his chest from you.

“i’m asking ran then.” you’ve fired your last bullet, looking at the man on your lap with a cocky smirk knowing this would be his final straw.

“like hell you would. he won’t even agree knowing there’s a high chance of a ‘brokencycle’ at the end,” he replied smugly.

you gently moved his head away after hearing that because of how lightly he had placed it on your lap, crossed your arms over your chest, and let out an "i hate you" while rolling your eyes.

he laughed for the nth time of the day. you're on the verge of concluding that this guy's true preferred pastime and means of amusement is to annoy the hell out of you, and you could just be correct.

rindou adjusted himself in a sitting position, twisting his body lightly to have a good look at you, amusement still evident in his eyes.

out of nowhere, the blonde (w blue highlights) haired guy suddenly leaned in giving you a quick peck on the lips, his arms engulfing you tight as he looked at you intently.

because of the close proximity you have with him, you didn’t miss to get a good huff of his manly scent that you oh so love a lot. suddenly, the feeling of annoyance you once have are slowly fading away, your attention now fully set on him.

“okay, fine. i’ll teach you,” he whispered, fully aware that, given your proximity to one another, you would be able to hear him clearly.

upon hearing that, you let out a tiny scream and mentally jumped up and down in victory. so he can’t resist me after all, you thought.

“but,” your mini victory party was cut short as the guy, who is still tightly pressing you against his chest, spoke. you looked at him in confusion, already sensing something fishy and you suddenly had the urge to back away.

“but?”

“i’ll teach you in one condition,”

despite being reluctant, you slowly nodded at him to let him know it was okay to go on.

“you’ll pay for the g-a-s” rindou made sure to give emphasis to each letter as he spelled it out. if it weren't for the realization you had after hearing what he just said, you could have laughed at the expression he had on his face.

“on a second thought, i think i’m good with you being the driver. don’t you think so too, rindou?”

#[ ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄ : i6keis’ fics ]#imagines #tokyo revengers headcanons #rindou haitani #tokrev imagines #haitani x reader #haitani brothers #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou fluff #haitani fluff #tokrev hcs #rindou imagines #tokyo revengers x reader

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robthegoodfellow · 7 months

Text

No Romeo, But He’s My Loving One-Man Show

Mirror Sex, Roleplaying for Days 9/10 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental praise kink, edging, fledgling D/s dynamic, cum play, slight feminization

(roommates, kink experimentation, billy is a femme fatale but really just a very good boy, nsfw)

Handy Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Steve had expected Robin to have some pointed feedback after coming over for dinner and a horror movie—a longstanding tradition Billy had inducted himself into a couple days post move-in by rescuing the pizza from a crispy demise because someone forgot to set a timer—but when Steve met her for coffee later that week, all she talked about was the mirrors.

Why are there so many? Why are there more every time I visit? Do you know how many years of bad luck you’re risking? That old one with the fancy frame is definitely cursed—I saw something moving in it. No, it wasn’t us—something else. Like, out of the corner of my eye. It’s haunted, Steve—you should get rid of it. Don’t break it, though, whatever you do.

Finally, after much redirection and pointed questioning, she’d given her assessment on the Billy situation, specifically how Billy seemed to feel about Steve, from an outside perspective.

Mostly you both seemed normal, aside from sneaking looks at each other constantly. But even that’s normal, in a way. Her eyes narrowed. Is that why so many mirrors? More opportunity for sneaky looks?

Which—what? No. That wasn’t why—though he’d be lying if he said he’d never… But what did she even mean, that even that’s normal?

Well, like when we watch movies and something funny happens, you always look at Billy to see his reaction. And when the special effects are corny, he always looks at you and rolls his eyes. And when we’re all three hanging out, half the time it’s you and me trading knowing looks from inside jokes, and half the time it’s you and him. So, like—the looking isn’t new, I just caught you guys doing it without the other realizing it. Like a bunch of times.

Rather than deny it, Steve found himself asking, pathetically, how Billy looked. When Billy looked at him.

Like this, Robin said, and made the biggest, dopiest cow eyes, complete with dreamy sigh, reverent tilt of the chin.

Steve told her to fuck off, but couldn’t repress the grin splitting his idiot face, and Robin cackled.

Ask the haunted mirror, if you don’t believe me! It’ll totally back me up.

It’s not like they’d planned to make the apartment a fun-house mirror maze, but after the divorce, Steve’s mom went a little nuts selling off stuff from the Hawkins place, all of which was apparently unsuitable for her townhouse in Chicago, and when his dad made a stink about her disposing of hideous heirlooms intended for Steve, she’d promised to forward their son the remainder.

Which was how he ended up with the couch, complete with decorative throw pillows, and… about six ornate mirrors of varying unreasonable size. And sure, he could’ve sold them himself, because his dad didn’t actually give a shit, but then he’d sorta grown used to them, and Billy had never complained, so… yeah. Made the place feel bigger, or whatever.

Over time, the arrangement had shifted here and there—except for the one in Steve’s room over the dresser, the one in the bathroom over the sink—anyway, however it happened, Steve had noticed, one day, that he’d subconsciously mastered where to position himself throughout the sitting room to see a reflection of the kitchen, the bathroom corridor, and… Billy’s room, if the door was open—and, these days, it usually was.

Did he feel like a creep? Well, yes and no. Yes in that he was aware he should feel like a creep, and therefore did, and no in that he was almost certain Billy knew he was watching and didn’t care. Not only didn’t care, but… liked it.

After his conversation with Robin, though, he threw all subtly to the wind, staring fixedly at Billy’s reflection as he puttered around in the kitchen, as he left the bathroom, as he lounged in bed reading a book… silently daring Billy to call him out on it, until Billy did.

“Feel like a bug under glass,” he called, turning a page. “You gonna pin me down?”

Humming, Steve resettled against the arm of the couch, didn’t bother turning—just kept admiring him in the mirror leaning against the wall, almost floor to ceiling. The bedside lamp cast warm shadows, limning his hair in gold. Steve wondered if Billy got tired, holding the book above his face like that.

“I was thinking more like a spy tailing a mark.”

Billy laughed—a short bark of sound. One of Steve’s favorites. “Be dead so fast—made in seconds.”

“You saying I’m more Get Smart than Napoleon Solo?”

“Dunno,” Billy mused, thoughtful. Rolling, he made a pillow of his arms, crossed over the closed book. Leveled Steve a filthy smirk. “If you were 007, I could be your Bond Girl.”

That got Steve to turn around, meet his gaze direct, then cooed, all sympathy: “You wanna be tied up, babe, just ask.”

Billy bit the inside of his cheek, unwillingly amused, so Steve dialed up the cheesy charm.

“C’mon, that was good—Bond Girl? Like bond—”

“I got it,” Billy drawled, levering himself up only to flop against his piled pillows in supposed disgust, book cast aside. “Just call me Pussy Galore.”

“Dick Galore.”

Billy frowned. “Randy Galore?”

“A Bond Boy would have to be Randy Something,” Steve acknowledged. “Or… Something Hancock.”

They paused, then, in unison: “Randy Hancock.”

“And I, James Bondage, am tailing you,” Steve went on, as Billy snickered. “And haven’t been made, because I’m an experienced, accomplished spy—”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” With a final snort, Billy folded his arms behind his head, semi-reclined, and pondered the ceiling, unfocused. “What next?”

Steve mimicked him, only on the couch, back to watching Billy’s reflection. “I use my handy spy-glass to peer around corners, and I catch you unawares—getting ready for bed.” Billy hummed, polite interest, and waited for more. So Steve gave him more, mind whirring, pulse already on the rise. “I watch you take off your shirt.”

Absently, only shifting enough to complete the action, Billy peeled his shirt off. Dropped it on the floor.

“Then your jeans.”

Those required a more aggressive shimmy, but soon they joined the discarded shirt.

“And then I can’t stop—can’t look away. Like I’m glued to the sight.” Steve’s throat clicked as he swallowed, trailing his palm down his stomach—indulged in a firm rub. “So pretty, spread out on the bed.”

On cue, Billy spread, thighs parting to reveal white briefs, the cotton worn thin, pink showing through where his bulge stretched the fabric. Sighing, a lazy hand skated south, fingers brushing the waistband. Slipped under, but no further. The fingers seemed to press—stalling the hips, an aborted twitch.

“Shit.” Steve wagged his head, corralling what remained of his wits. “I—uh, I figure…” He chuckled, let one heel drop off the couch to rest on the floor, his hand working a steady rhythm. “Figure I’ll learn what you like, use it to seduce you later. Learn how you like to touch yourself—”

Billy grunted, lashes stuttering as he shoved past the elastic, made a fist around the handful. Spoke soft, musing: “Haven’t, you know.”

“What?”

“Haven’t been—touching myself.” Eyes still on the ceiling, Billy’s lips quirked, just as soft. “Not without permission.”

That landed like a punch, loosing a long, meandering moan: “Baby.”

And the baby blues drifted down, met a reverent stare in the mirror. “Yeah?” So innocent, solicitous.

Steve rolled his hips into his palm, arching clear off the cushion. “I like that.”

Billy’s head lolled sideways, downcast—bashful as he squirmed, bulky knuckles straining the front of his briefs.

“My good boy,” Steve murmured. And he meant it with every fiber of his being: “Show me what feels good.”

His eyes fluttered closed. The hand slowed. “You.”

Simultaneous hits—to the heart and the heat low in his gut. A vicious press brought himself back under control.

“God—killing me.” Could barely huff it, all of him locked on the hand that had tugged free of clinging briefs to caress the red weeping cock, featherlight, through damp cotton. Steve’s pulse pounded so loud in his ears he more saw it than heard it—pink lips shaping You. You. You.

As though hypnotized, clumsy because he was so hard it fucking hurt, even sweatpants chafing awful against skin throbbing tender, Steve stumbled to the bedroom door—caught himself on the frame, panting, light-headed from the sudden vertical, essential bloodflow coursing elsewhere.

Billy choked off a whine, fisted the coverlet to either side, legs splayed as his spine bowed, sank back. “Please.”

In a blink, Steve was at the foot of the bed, crawling to him, over him, hips forcing Billy’s legs wide. “I got you.” Long, dragging grind, the rub exquisite. “I got you.”

The moan vibrated through Billy’s flushed chest. He hadn’t let go of the bedding—wouldn’t, Steve realized, winded anew. He wouldn’t let go unless Steve told him to.

“How long?” Steve panted, reaching down to rub Billy with the flat of his palm through the briefs, this jerking, gentle pressure that worked him piecemeal to the peak, a maddening build. “How long you been waiting for permission, baby?”

“Luh—” Billy coughed, swallowing spit. “Long.”

“So good,” Steve crooned. “I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

The flush had spread up his neck to his cheeks, temples pulsing red. He was nodding, mindless. “‘Kay.”

“All right.” Steve brushed the bulbous crown with a teasing thumb. “Tummy or panties?”

Muffled throaty sound—like he’d been stabbed. Delivered on a whimper: “Panties.”

Steve resumed his kneading rub, coaxing, fine tremors wracking the body at his mercy. “One day I’m gonna get you a nice pair. Maybe something with lace?”

Billy gulped, trembling nod.

“Lace for your pretty cock, a thong for that pretty ass?”

Half-lidded, head craned back, lip bitten raw between his teeth, Billy shivered.

“Make a mess in your panties,” Steve whispered, bending low. “And I’ll make a mess in them, too.”

A burst of guttural gasps, almost hiccups, borderline sob, and he convulsed beneath Steve’s hand, sticky wet seeping through the fabric.

Steve dropped a good boy with every kiss—on cheek, neck, sternum. Lifting up on his knees, he brought out his own cock, stripping it with a loose fist.

Half-boneless, Billy hooked lazy fingers in the back of his briefs, tugging them past the curve of his butt, the front pulled snug against his spent dick, and rolled onto his stomach. Arched, presenting himself, bare ass exposed, and Steve found his groove between plush cheeks, rutting with enough force that he could feel his cockhead rub against that tight hole.

It didn’t take long—short pumps, short of breath—brutish grunt as he finished, coating the pert cheeks in ropes of slick, deploying one hand to catch runaway drips, pet the clenching hole with wet fingertips, tease the entrance.

Billy cut off a whine, squirming, grinding into his own mess, pushing into the pressure behind.

“Soon,” Steve promised. “I’ll give it to you soon.”

An unspooling sigh, and Billy went limp, face turned away.

Planting a kiss at the base of a shoulder blade, Steve drew up the back of Billy’s briefs, smoothing a hand over the sodden fabric—with a wave of heat, imagined the trail of his come oozing toward the taint.

Shifting, Steve curled up along Billy’s side, nose to nose, arm looped around his sloping back.

Billy blinked, placid, as Steve drew a lock of hair away from his eyes.

“Ruined it,” he mumbled, mouth quirked. “The spy scene.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “A good spy knows when to change plans on the fly—switch it up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Warming to the idea: “What happened was—I realized I could offer you what you needed. In exchange for what I needed.”

Billy’s gaze was lulling as a lake in moonlight. “What did I need?”

Steve let a smile twitch, nerves singing. “Me.”

An echoing twitch. Lids lowered, a hitch in his tone: “And… what did you need?”

Steve dipped near, heart in his throat. “You.”

Billy hummed, a short burst trapped behind teeth. He nudged close, and Steve’s eyes slid shut.

Press of lips, lingering soft, on the edge of his chin.

“Steve?”

They’d been drifting awhile, lying flush, occasional brush of roving hands, warm gusts of breath. Belatedly, Steve hummed, enquiring.

“Itchy.”

He snorted, stretching like a lazy dog. Shower didn’t sound half bad, but there was something else he’d been wanting to try.

“How about a bath?”

Brows raised, pensive duck lips. Steve called his bluff—bowled him over, rough nuzzle, and hauled him upright.

Now with added next chapter: What He Does, He Does So Well

#harringrove #harringrovekinktober2k23 #roommates in love #sub billy hargrove #dom steve harrington #steve is a spy #billy's his mark #all fun and games #mirror mirrors on the wall

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clumsyraccoon · 5 months

Text

OK, here it is...

Kusakabe Atsuya (JuJutsu Kaisen) x AFAB!reader

Reader is afab but I tried to keep anything else as gender neutral as possible, so description of body should be ambiguous. "pussy", "cunt" and "clit" used to describe genitalia. No pronouns used.

Adding details: reader is a foreigner sorcerer, mentions of previous make out session (I said it was self indulgent… >.>”), mentions of alcohol

Smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THANK YOU): fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Words: 2630

[I swear to the gods I don't know what (or who) possessed me while writing this O_O It's honestly my first time ever finishing a smut piece, so if you have comments and/or constructive criticisms, as always I will be more than welcome to hear them! ^^]

[Ah, yes, not beta read, minor edit just to not post a complete mess XD]

The now empty boxes of your take-out are set aside in a corner of the table, to make room for all the preparatory paperwork for the mission. Forms, applications, and all the paperwork required: you also had to learn all the bureaucratic minutiae in order to become a full-fledged sorcerer. You flanked several professional sorcerers since you arrived at Tokyo JuJutsu High, to better understand all the various processes and to see how every individual had their way of doing the work, and for the mission at hand it was Kusakabe-san turn.

After the end of class for that day, you both opted go to the home of one of the two: as much as JuJutsu High provided rooms and offices for their personnel, the both of you wanted somewhere more cosy and relaxed, as winter was fast approaching and being in the office when it was already so dark outside spoiled the mood of the man paired with you.

In that first year in Japan, you had the chance to meet a variety of exceptional and extravagant people that left you almost without breath sometimes, first above anyone else the person that scouted you: Gojo Satoru. But Kusakabe was somehow...different. He was indeed a powerful and skilled sorcerer, a Grade 1 nonetheless, but his demeanor was so in contrast with people like Gojo or Mei-Mei that he seemed almost...normal. And that was kind of a relief, especially for a foreigner that has been oblivious about the jujutsu society for most of their life. He was a good teacher and when he came to you, he used the same patience and tranquility in explaining things: just as he didn't treat any of his students as stupid (maybe apart from the occasional times when they drove him nuts), he never made you feel inferior, putting you at the same level of every other sorcerer and explaining things calmly and clearly.

“Now, we begin with filling the Prearranged Team Management Form.” his low voice takes you out of your own thoughts, bringing you back to the delightfully bureaucratic filled present. He slides a blank folder under your nose, pointing with his finger the protocol number. “It serves to organise who will be in the team and leave a track of which exact people will be at which exact location. Obviously 99% of the time it is filled out after the mission is over, due to the lack of advance notice...but I have to teach you properly, so here it is.”

As much as he hates missions, he is a very thorough individual. Every paper is neatly placed in front of you, a small semi-transparent differently coloured post-it at the corner of every folder, a way to categorise them depending on their function and who they should be delivered to in the office. You nod, trying to memorise number and use of said form, while Kusakabe lends you a pen. “Experience is the best teacher – he says, a small grin appearing on his lips – so I’ll let you do the honor” Another nod from you, while you put all the concentration you’re capable of into filling the form out. He snorts at your face, a smile tugging at he corners of his lips “Don’t worry, you’re not under exam.”

---

A couple of hours later and the atmosphere is far more relaxed, thanks to the majority of the papers being taken care of...and also to the couple of bottles of red wine you had brought from your country.

“There - you say, stretching and lying on the floor, since sitting on a chabudai for too long was something your body was still not that used to – should be the last one, right?” The wine in your system is not that much, you would not call yourself drunk right now, but it leaves a pleasant buzz throughout your whole body, your senses slightly enhanced by the alcohol. There’s also a pleasant warmth that radiates form you and, even if you’re wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you feel it slowly increasing. Turning your head towards him, you take the chance to glance at Kusakabe while he’s still preoccupied with checking papers: your gaze start from the hand on the floor he’s putting his weight on, then slowly trails up his hairy forearm (when did he took of his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up?!?), the slightly unbuttoned shirt, revealing just a hint of his also hairy chest…

“Yep, everything seems fine to me”

...his neck and jaw, idly moving whenever he turned his lollipop around in his mouth...(his neck and jaw that you explored oh so well in an half-drunk yet very aroused state after Ieiri’s birthday party...)

“Y/N?”

You snap out of your trance and meet his questioning gaze, the warmth inside of you making a sudden surge. But, somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed nor guilty. You never felt like that with him, always making you feel at ease, as if he was something solid, something certain that brings stability in the frenzy of life.

“Yes?”

“Are you drunk?”

A heartfelt laugh escapes your lips, while you pat the futon at your side, inviting him to join you on the floor. “No, just happy we finally finished all the boring stuff.” you answer, while he lies on his side near you, propped up on one elbow, hand supporting his head. You look up at him, trying to ignore the warmth that heavily radiates from his body as well.

“Thank you, Kusakabe-san” you murmur.

“Ah, I’ve already told you – he retorts, a small grimace on his features, while he takes the stick of his now finished lollipop out of his mouth – you can call me Atsuya.”

“Well, then... thank you, Atsuya.”

The way you say his given name is not even consciously intended, but it slips out of your lips nonetheless, taking down the raising heat by a couple degrees...but not in an unpleasant manner. Your own voice send a shiver down your spine, the way you said his name probably giving away way more than you had intended to, and you search his gaze, to see and assess how much damage you have done. His brown eyes are instantly locked into yours, a flick of hesitation already fleeting away to give space to...to… You don’t know how to describe what you see, you just feel the warmth of his body raising again and his already wide pupils taking over his irises completely, two dark pools you’re sure you’ll drown into, if you’re not careful. He doesn’t say anything, just exhales a tad too loudly than normal, while still not breaking eye-contact with you. His free hand slowly reaches for you and you don’t notice, still too enthralled by the soft, welcoming abyss of his eyes, until his fingertips brush against the exposed skin between your t-shirt and jeans, fingertips so hot they threaten to burn holes into your flesh, so hot they send another, more powerful this time, shiver up you spine. It’s your time now to exhale loudly, anticipation already making you squirm under his touch.

“Atsuya”

His name rolls out of your tongue another time, more shyly yet more pleading, a whisper that becomes a prayer on his ears and in his heart. How can he deny you, resist you anymore when you say his name oh so nicely? How can he find the strength to stop the both of you once again when you’re here, on his futon, looking up at him with that gaze, calling his name with that tone? How can he withdraw from your warmth? How can he suppress all that turmoil you cause in his heart every damn time he sees you?

He, simply, can’t.

So, finally, instead of fighting back what he now knows to be unbeatable, he surrender. He surrender himself to your smile that goes with your every “Good morning!”, he surrender himself to electricity that surges every time your hands brush by accident, he surrender himself to the optimism you sport every time you go on a mission together. He surrender himself to you, completely and undeniably.

The fingertips on your skin become a palm, sneaking under the hem of your t-shirt and gently caressing what’s underneath it. Your answer wants to be a soft gasp, but there’s no time for it to form before his lips descend on yours. The kiss is so sweet it is almost chaste, that first contact delivering all the feelings the both of you have tried to store away in the depths of your hearts, finally revealing what you have always been afraid to say. It feels liberating to finally let go, and you feel Kusakabe’s muscles relax in sync with yours, months of pining quickly dissolving from your bodies and souls.

One of your hand finds its way to his hair and gently tugs at it, with the result of making him part his lips and moan into your mouth, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. The flavour of his lollipop floods your taste buds and you devour each other, almost like teenagers at their first shot at kissing, and your body already ask, no scream for so much more that you try to turn on your side to have a better position, but Kusakabe’s hand keeps you firmly in place. He pulls away just enough to look at you “Please, let me…” he murmurs against your lips. And in his tone there’s a plea that sink right into your heart and turns it into jelly. Replying with a nod you let yourself relax again on the futon, while his hand lifts your shirt all the way up, leaving your flushed chest exposed to him. He takes a moment to feel your erratic beating heart, palm pressed right in the middle of your chest, before resuming his exploration of your skin.

Despite the callousness of his hands, his touch is gentle, almost feather-like. Fingertips lightly brush against your skin, trailing around your nipples, but never touching them, down towards your navel, to your hips, up your sides. No haste nor hurry, but taking their damn time into exploring every inch of you, as if they were explorers into territory unknown to mankind up until now. They then skim just above the hem of your jeans, goosebumps now covering the entirety of your body, while his mouth descends to leave warm kisses on your chest. They are almost shy at first, sealed lips barely touching your skin, but as soon as your hand find its place in his hair again, they become more bold, tongue poking out to wet the path.

It takes a few minutes of kisses placed with utter adoration all over your exposed body, before Kusakabe muster the courage to latch on one of your nipples. And when he does, you start to sing. A moan finally fall freely from your parted lips, your body arching into his touch, craving him not only there, but everywhere on your burning body. Your free hand joins the other and entangles itself in his brown locks, instinctively squeezing every time you feel his teeth grazing against your sensitive flesh and receiving a pleased grunt from him in exchange.

There’s a trickle of saliva connecting your nipple to his tongue when he parts from you, and you look at it glimmering in the room’s light, almost enraptured by the vision, before your attention is diverted from it by the man’s hand. Slowly, he’s unbuttoning your jeans, his gaze fixated on you and, as you reciprocate his look, the thought that crosses your mind is that he’s insanely handsome. A blush covers the majority of his face and the tips of his ears, his hair is ruffled by all of your toying, and in his eyes you can see the real feeling he always nurtured for you.

Warm fingers slip past the waistband of your panties and push the clothes down enough your tights to leave your core exposed, the sudden chill air against you heated skin sending a shiver up your spine. Cupping his face with your hands, you kiss Kusakabe deeply, pulling him closer to you, while his fingers start to roam your tight like they previously did on your chest. Your focus shifts from his mouth to his neck (god how you missed it) and you unbutton his shirt, trying to spur him, but his touches are painstakingly slow, fingers too far away from where you wanted them most. Undaunted, you continue your attack, tongue tracing pathways of pleasure into his skin, teeth scarping and sinking, lips comforting and eliciting.

Circles are drawn on the canvas of your skin, smaller and smaller, until he finally reaches your cunt and you start to loose track of time, his fingers teasing your folds but never entering, caresses on your clit that never turns into that something more enough for you to finally cum. Squirming and whimpering through the sweet anguish he persists in doing, yet you hear the first signs of capitulations in his own grunts and moans.

Yet he persists.

Your breaths are hot and short against each other, the temperature of both your bodies so high now you might have a fever. Your face nuzzle in the crook of his neck, his ministration starting to make you see stars in your vision, while you desperately cling to his now exposed chest, hair soft under your touch.

“A-atsuya...p-pleeease…”

Deft fingers continue to caress your sex, eliciting a new series of moans and cries out of your mouth, his tongue trailing from your ear down your neck, leaving the skin burning in its wake. And you know that, if he continues to torture you like that, it’s no long before you come undone under him. So, with the last remnants of your will, the leg trapped in between his tries to grind against his hard, still clothed, cock, while one of your hand tries to get a hold of his forearm, in a futile attempt to slow him down or hurry him up, you’re not even sure of what you want to do anymore. You just now that you will not resist a second more.

As if he reads your mind, Kusakabe finally finally push a finger past your folds and inside your aching pussy, your lewd cry of pleasure making his dick throb in his pants. There’s no need for a second digit, as your orgasm hits you suddenly and violently, leaving you shaking so bad you cling to him for dear life.

You stay like that for a couple of minutes, but as soon as the shivers start to subside, you look up at him “Need you...inside...pl-please…” is all you manage to say in between your broken breaths. A soft kiss on your temple “Are you sure?”

Just a nod from you and he’s unbuckling his pants, letting his cock finally free. Impatient hands pull him closer and he’s already lined up to your entrance and ready, but he takes his time to smile down and then softly kiss you, before entering in one go in your wet hole. It’s your turn now to moan into his mouth, while he hooks your legs over his arms, a mating press the best way to deal with all the too many clothes you two still wear.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to reach your peaks, pent-up as you are, moans and cries being swallowed into hungry kisses, bodies trembling in unison. And as your breath slowly come back to normal and you both descend from your high, the way Kusakabe embraces you tells you everything you wanted to hear from him.

#JuJutsu Kaisen #Kusakabe Atsuya #JuJutsu Kaisen x reader #Kusakabe Atsuya x reader #x reader #re-reading this it feel a lot like an attack of word vomiting >.>#I genuinely have mixed feelings about this text #oh well I guess brainrot for this man is too strong rn to care XD

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nineinchclaws · 8 months

Text

🦇⠀ash williams & nsfw headcanons

fandom⠀evil dead

characters⠀ash williams (army of darkness)

warning(s)⠀sexually explicit content

tags⠀dom!ash, sub!reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, female reader, male reader

note(s)⠀this ended up being.. so much longer than i anticipated. i did plan to include sub!ash hc's as well but because this is so long i think i'll make a separate post for that. same goes for giving and receiving oral, there will be separate posts for those, too!

divider⠀firefly-graphics

*⠀it's no surprise that ash is possibly one of the horniest people on earth.

*⠀it really doesn't take a lot to get him in the mood; just a kiss on his jaw or a look at him through your eyelashes and he's already semi-hard.

*⠀he will do anything, anywhere: against a wall or door frame; over the counter, desk, or table; in the bathtub; on the couch, the floor, and, of course, the bed.

*⠀calls you every pet name under the sun: honey, baby, babe, sweetie, sweetheart, buttercup, doll/babydoll, sugar - he never runs out of things to call you.

*⠀teases you to no end. he'll touch around your genitals but never directly on them. and if he does, it's light touches or kisses that never last more than a few seconds. he teases to the point where he has you begging, and he doesn't even stop there. he'll give you what you want, but there'll be multiple points where he'll slow his movements or stop entirely, all with a smug grin. he just loves to make you squirm.

*⠀he wants to hear you loud and clear when you beg. he won't give you what you want if he isn't completely satisfied with your begging:

*⠀"use your words, doll. i know you can do it." "what was that? speak up, y/n, i can't hear you." "louder for me, baby."

*⠀he loves boobs. enough said.

*⠀but really, the first time you two have sex together and he takes your shirt off, he stares for a good 10 seconds, practically drooling over the sight before him until you have to pull him out of his trance. and even then, it takes him a little longer to fully snap back to reality and he still can't help but sneak glances of your chest.

*⠀that being said, he has trouble prying his hands and mouth from them. he'll have one hand kneading and massaging one breast while his mouth is on the other, biting and sucking and licking and doing whatever he can to your chest.

*⠀loves nipple piercings, too. if you have them, and they've made you more sensitive, he'll give your chest extra attention.

*⠀he's also a big fan of thighs. any size and shape, he'll be squeezing and massaging, kissing and biting them. if you wear thigh highs or stockings around him, he will not be able to keep his eyes or his hands off of them.

*⠀he's secretly a little insecure about his metal hand, and he won't let onto it until further on in your relationship, either until you catch on or he bashfully admits it himself, attempting to keep it vague. he continues to use it most of the time, and other times, he'll take it off and set it aside. he grows a little more confident about it if you give him some reassurance.

*⠀equally into praise as he is into degradation. and of course, he mixes the two:

*⠀"what a pretty slut you are." "such a good whore, just for me." "you look so beautiful when you take my cock, baby."

*⠀"good girl/boy." "atta girl/boy."

*⠀definitely has a praise kink himself - he literally called himself "the king" at the end of army of darkness, and it's obvious his ego is a bit inflated.

*⠀he'll say things like, "tell me how good i'm making you feel." and "that's right, let me hear those pretty sounds you're making for me, baby." both because he wants some praise himself and because he just loves hearing the noises you make.

*⠀tell him he's doing a good job and it could make him cum on the spot.

*⠀takes pride in knowing how good you feel and that it's him making you feel good:

*⠀"no one else could fuck you like this, could they, honey? no one else can make you feel this good."

*⠀this also includes him marking you and taking pride in all the little bites, hickeys, and marks he leaves on your body. and he'll leave them everywhere.

*⠀loves to fluster you and leave you with your whole face burning and being unable to look him in the eyes.

*⠀incredibly into dirty talk. he will talk a lot, always commenting on how he feels or how hot you are, asking if you like what he's doing and praising you for how well you're doing, as well as degrading you for how much you're enjoying it.

*⠀this man is STRONG. expect him to use that to his advantage.

*⠀he's able to hold/pin you to any surface and pick you up with ease.

*⠀especially likes to hold your wrists with one hand while he rubs/strokes your clit/cock with the other, all while he thrusts into you. either holding your wrists above your head, in front of you, or behind your back. he loves how vulnerable it makes you.

*⠀he loves getting to cum inside you, holding you close as if you might vanish in his arms as he finishes, then watching it drip out of you when he pulls out.

*⠀he equally loves cumming on your body. his favourite parts of your body to finish on are, to no surprise, your chest and thighs, as well as your stomach. the sight of it is enough to get him hard again.

*⠀usually goes for 2 rounds at least, but if he's had a particularly hard day either dealing with deadites - or worse: rude s-mart customers -, he'll be too exhausted to go for more than one round and will collapse in bed to rest for a minute or two before doing aftercare.

*⠀isn't the biggest fan of sex toys. however, he wouldn't turn down the opportunity to watch you masturbate with one as foreplay. though, he wouldn't be able to help himself for very long and would take over within minutes, and, depending on how he feels, might continue to use the toy on you.

*⠀especially not fond of dildos, because when you have him, why would you ever need one of those?

*⠀he's not against them and of course, he lets you do what you want, he just doesn't fully get it.

*⠀he's quite partial to vibrators though, because that's one thing he can't do. he likes to hold them on your clit/dick while he's fucking into you himself.

*⠀he likes to have the vibrator on the first or second lowest setting while he's slowly gliding the tip of it around your body, circling your chest, tracing your ribs, drawing patterns and shapes on your stomach, edging along your bikini line and dragging it along your thighs, slowly inching inwards before he gives you what he knows you're desperate for.

*⠀kisses and traces his fingers along your stretch marks, scars, and freckles, muttering about how beautiful and sexy you are and how he just can't wait to feel you around his cock.

*⠀his favourite positions are missionary, doggystyle, and pronebone.

*⠀during missionary, his eyes will be flickering between your chest and your face, watching as your breasts bounce and gauging your reaction to every stroke of his cock.

*⠀in doggy, he'll have his hands in two of four places: stroking along your back, gripping your hip, squeezing your ass, or holding a fistful of your hair.

*⠀and in pronebone, he'll keep his front against your back while he kisses, licks, and bites your ear and shoulder, whispering dirty things in your ear as he makes love to you.

*⠀loves to hold onto your waist and hips while he thrusts into you. can either have a very gentle or a very tight grip.

*⠀loves to smack your ass. all the time. he is relentless with it.

*⠀shows you off every chance he gets and teases you everywhere. if you work at s-mart with him, he'll pinch your ass as he walks past and try to steal kisses if the place isn't too busy. during breaks, he'll talk with your coworkers with his hand on your waist or hip, giving you firm squeezes now and again.

*⠀ash loves going down on you. he's more experienced with eating pussy than he is with sucking dick, but he won't back down from either.

*⠀a big fan of fingering. his fingers are long AND strong so expect to cum on them a good few times.

*⠀when he's done fingering you he might get you to suck his fingers...... maybe..

*⠀this is also good for when he gives handjobs. he is good at it and he'll never pass up the opportunity to watch you squirm while he's stroking your cock.

*⠀tells you to look at him while he's pleasuring you. he really likes to tease you by having you look at him, otherwise he'll stop if you take your eyes off of him.

*⠀obviously he's a little bit of a dork at times and sex isn't always completely serious, so he'll crack a few jokes and make a playful comment once or twice.

*⠀he is into light bondage and owns a pair of body-safe handcuffs. he loves getting to see you so helpless and at his mercy.

*⠀he jumps at the chance to join you in the bath or shower, and it doesn't take very long for you two to forget about getting clean in there.

#nic after dark #headcanons #evil dead #army of darkness #ash williams #ash williams x reader #gender neutral reader #female reader #male reader

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charcubed · 6 months

Text

Look, I personally lose nothing if Lokius doesn’t become explicit canon. And if that were to become the case, I’d also have no regrets for saying for years that that would happen in the show by the end ¯_(ツ)_/¯

I’ve said it before, but by now it would be Disney/Marvel’s loss, NOT mine. Whoever wasted or limited the potential would be the idiot, not me.

I’m simply never gonna feel crazy for noticing what’s happening in a story or silly for daring to hope it’ll be brought to fully satisfying narrative completion. That's just a me thing. Maybe this is because at heart I’m stubborn! But I’d like to think I’m not unreasonable. I can’t control whether writing stays consistent or censorship is overcome... But I just do my best to construct solid arguments, and as long as those arguments remain solid, I stand by them :)

I know not everyone would say the same, or they consider this to be "hope" or "optimism," but I see it as logic based in noticing what the text of a show/story is doing. And personally I also consider blatantly evident subtext to be "canon enough," so if we get my personal minimum, my happiness may still outweigh any potential disappointment for me.

However. Here's what I've come here to say today, in reaction to things I've seen floating around in the fandom:

While I do understand on some level why people worry that Lokius won’t be more explicitly canonically romantic because it could be censored by Disney.... At this point, I don’t understand how people can think Loki/Sylvie will still happen.

As of right now, there’s no way to argue for that in my opinion. (I'd like to see someone try.)

The show has set up a fun but very simple situation from basically the start:

They made romantic love a point of relevance in the show’s story. More specifically, they pointed out Loki's desire for a "real" romantic love, and had him learn the lesson that he doesn't deserve to be alone. They didn't HAVE to do all of those things and tie them together. They CHOSE to make romantic love relevant – and they have actively continued to choose to do that, to the point of including a mirrored dark love triangle in s2 ep3. That narrative thread simply has to be fulfilled.

So if they deliberately established that Loki wants and needs a “real” love, and his relationship with Sylvie was referred to as "fiction" so she cannot be a real love for him.... Who does it have to be?

Obviously it has to be Mobius. And of course, the whole show points to Lokius also, for countless more reasons than just this simple breakdown. But pointing this element out is the simplest argument one can make.

So either...

1. They take Lokius to full narrative completion with explicit canon, as they should and as I expect them to,

2. Loki's desire for a real love is left unfulfilled, open-ended, and/or made clear through subtext that it's Mobius.

Those are the options, if you ask me!

This is aside from how Lokius’ love story is now even at the core of the show’s themes and plot, which is an insanely strong vote in favor for their future canonicity.

But for the purposes of this post, I’m talking about whether we'll get explicit romance specifically, like a love confession or a kiss – and I do actually genuinely think we'll get both of those things. I'm not trying to force you to agree with me, but just to be clear, that's where I'm at with it and have been since 2021 lol.

So in regards to worrying about Loki/Sylvie...

They were never really a romance (yes, even in season 1) and they sure as hell aren't now. I can’t imagine they'll become one even IF Lokius is left subtextual.

So what actually remains to be seen is if the writers got to go all the way with Lokius, or if that central queer love story was censored on some level in the end.

My hot take is no one should be ~worrying~ about Sylki at this stage of the game. Free yourselves, people.

If the story starts abruptly going in a Sylki direction, even with only 3 episodes left, I will certainly be the first to say so lol. But I simply sincerely, truly doubt that'll happen.

(Hot take in the footer: this is not the post to get into this at length, but in case this comes up… In this house we do not use the word "queerbaiting." It is a useless, nearly-meaningless, insufferable term that devalues the legitimacy of subtext and queercoding more often than not; it's rooted in the idea that media must hit arbitrary and inconsistent checklists often set with cishet approval in mind; and it perpetuates a focus on the false and harmful myth that many creators are "cowards" instead of leaving room for nuance and the fact that industry censorship still exists.)

#in theory: either we win or we REALLY fucking win.#felt worth posting this little disclaimer since some people are starting to actually see my meta over here?? which is new. hi #how many times can I remix and expand upon my old words from twitter to make a larger tumblr post? the limit does not exist #loki meta #lokius meta #loki #loki show #loki series #chars loki posts #lokius #meant for this post to be shorter. F #I'm not even done crossposting all my meta from last night yet. sorry to all my tumblr followers

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moony-2001 · 4 months

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Lore Olympus ep. 255 critique

Boy oh boy.

No remorse and tonal whiplash

We open this chapter with Persephone waking up not dead, total shock in Hades' arms, asking him if what happened was all a bad dream.

When Hades responds that what happened was not all in her head, we as the readers would expect Persephone to react with shock, remorse, something. Nope. Instead, we get this:

"Oh dear" with the most expressionless face ever. Our empathetic, caring protagonist everyone.

Now maybe I'm being too harsh. However, I feel like most people upon being confronted with the fact that they caused mass destruction would be pretty upset, if not incredibly so. But that's just my 2 cents.

We immediately transition into a party that's being set up for Persephone by all her friends and cohorts. We're then treated to this lovely image:

Thanks Captain Obvious.

While Hermes and Megaera argue over whether or not carrot cake is good, Thanatos pulls Hecate aside and notes about the massive uptick in incoming deaths which confirms what I said in my last critique post. While initially denying it, Hecate quickly realizes that something is very very wrong and that's when Hades and Persephone burst through the doors. Persephone bursts into tears and we get the most tone-deaf sentence ever:

Wow. Haha so funny. Comedy. Given the context of what just happened, this attempt at humor fell so flat.

I feel like the first third of this chapter kind of speaks for itself in terms of the writing and art, which is not good. There's just no emotion at all. I get the feeling that we're supposed to feel bad for Persephone and I just... don't. I don't have a whole lot more to say about this portion of the chapter; just that when I read it, I strained my eyeballs from rolling them so hard.

Hades tries not to make everything about himself challenge: Impossible

We transition into the post-party disaster cleanup where Persephone is hiding out in a greenhouse and Hades and Hecate are inside. Hades takes this opportunity to make everything about himself.

First of all, you're not and you're not.

But on a more serious note, this is not the first time we see Hades take a situation that has either nothing or almost nothing to do with him and make it all about himself. In fact, this is something he does frequently throughout the comic. Hades, in my opinion, very much has a "me, me, me, it's all about me" mindset.

One instance that comes to mind is this scene that happens in early s2 after Persephone opens up about her childhood and AOW. She barely has had time to share and process her traumatic experiences when Hades decides that this is the perfect time to dump 2000 years' worth of pent-up trauma onto a girl he's known for maybe 2 weeks at that point. Yet, he refuses to actively seek help during his time before meeting Persephone and even calls his therapist a hack.

Another instance is when Persephone confronts Hades about ripping out Alex's eye in s1 (when she was still somewhat empathetic to nymphs and whatnot).

Hades, when torturing Alex, very quickly shifts from the mentality of "you could've really damaged Persephone's reputation" to "I'm going to punish you because I view Persephone as my property and how dare you do this to me?"

Hades even outright admits it when confronted. He took a situation that had nothing to do with him and completely made it about himself.

Another instance is when Persephone tells Hades about what Apollo did to her and Hades flies off the handle and makes her trauma about himself. About what he is going to do even though that is not his decision to make.

It baffles me how conceited Hades is despite claiming to care about Persephone. I don't understand how you can look at a person who is going through a hell of a time and think "Let's make this about me". But that's a whole other post for the future

Zeus and Apollo

Skipping to the end of the episode, Apollo calls Hades (with Zeus' phone?) and tells him that he wants to take Persephone off Hades' hands.

Straight up, I don't like Hades and Persephone either as characters or together as a couple. I think they bring out the worst in each other. But Persephone is not some dog that needs to be rehomed and frankly, the whiplash Rachel is giving her audience in regards to Apollo's character is going to put me in a neck brace for life. She keeps flip-flopping between trying to make Apollo this sad, sympathetic anti-hero and the most egregious villain to walk the earth. You can not be both Zuko and Azula Rachel. You need to pick a lane and stay in it.

Apollo reveals that Zeus is in a coma and Hermes conveniently has the news up and running so we as the audience can be greeted with this:

"Attempted murder" you say? Of a being that literally can't die? Rachel, do you even know what attempted murder means?

"The defendant took at least one direct (but ineffective) step towards killing another person" and "The defendant intended to kill that person (malice aforethought)" -> California Law and Sentencing

While both of these are true in the fact that Apollo took the steps to kill Zeus and also intended to kill Zeus, they're gods. You can't murder a god. In order for murder to be attempted, or to even happen, the person in question has to be able to die. But then they're a human, not a god.

I feel like a more accurate report would be something along the lines of "Zeus has fallen victim to what seems to be a violent coup that has left him seriously incapacitated." Maybe that's not the best sentence to ever grace the writing scene, but hopefully my point is clear.

Also, how are people still oblivious to the fact that Apollo is, at the very least, incredibly suspicious right now. I mean his father has just been announced to be "dying" and instead of taking the time to mourn or even appear upset, he immediately slides into the position of power as King of the gods.

This chapter definitely wasn't as bad as 254, but it did make my brain hurt. Merry Christmas Eve and Happy Holidays to those of you who don't celebrate Christmas. See you all soon.

#lore olympus #lore olympus criticism #lo critic #lo critical #unpopular lo #unpopular lore olympus #anti lo persephone #anti lore olympus #anti lo #lo hate #lo criticism #lore olympus critical #lo critique

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letteredlettered · 1 month

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I'm having a really hard time finishing writing anything. I always have an idea and tell myself that it will be complete in a manageable number of words, but then the idea always grows legs and balloons into something too long (and by that, I mean anything over 5k). And then I never get around to finishing it. But outlining doesn't seem to work either, because the joy out of writing goes when I already know what's going to happen. Any advice?

You and me both. I’m the exact same way. I can’t tell you how many WIPs I have that I can’t finish. I also can’t tell you how long I spend trying to make fics NOT LONG so that they will remain interesting and I can actually finish them. Also I almost never outline because I agree; everything gets boring after that.

I have very little advice because they only things I can ever finish are the ones that seem to spill out of me fully formed, or the ones where I have a deadline or someone counting on me to finish because they donated money to a charity on my behalf so they could get a finished fic. It’s a real problem!

Some people’s advice is set aside a little time each day and make yourself do it. For me this is bad advice. It makes me nauseated to write something I’m no longer interested in. Like actually physically feeling that I will throw up. It doesn’t seem like something that’s okay for my body and I never am happy with what I finish when I finish it that way. What’s the point of writing if you’re not happy?

I think my best advice is to REALLY LISTEN to what you want to write and ONLY do that. I really mean it. Once a story really balloons you begin to realize that to make X work you need to do a lot of backstory and to make Y work you really need to slowly evolve Character A’s motivations and just--don’t. Don’t do it. Even if it would make the story better. Don’t do it if it doesn’t interest you. When you start to lose interest in a story think about what made you so excited to write it and then write that, and only that. And then, once you’re doing that, usually the other stuff that will make it work will come out, or you realize you don’t need that other stuff, or you realize that this is not a story you will ever post because it’s not coherent and makes no sense, but you were doing it for you and that’s okay.

It’s the only way I’ve ever found to write and be happy, and to me being happy is the point.

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library-of-confusion · 9 months

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The Well With No Bottom

I've been meaning to write a post for all of the Louis haters out there who say that he never gave back any of the love that Lestat was constantly pouring out on him, but I got so caught up in the research that I never actually got around to actually writing the thing.

The main point that I want to make here is that Louis' love for Lestat is just as passionate as Lestat's love for him, if not more so. He just expresses it in a very different way. From books, to big screen, to theatre and television series, Louis has always been far more emotionally repressed than Lestat. Hell, most of the world is far more emotionally repressed when compared to the King of Emotional Expression himself! Louis loves Lestat fiercely, but in his own quiet way.

In Episode 1, on the night they first meet, well before any physical intimacy between the two had ever occurs, Louis, who should be furious with Lestat for snatching Lilly away from him, instead can think of nothing but Lestat. "My body was seized with weakness. His gaze tied a string around my lungs and I found myself immobilized." If that's not love at first sight, I don't know what is. He's fallen head over heels in mere minutes.

As their friendship progresses, Louis refers to Lestat as his "coal fire" in a cold winter. He points out that, for the first time ever, he found himself confiding his struggles to another man. While confiding in a friend is completely normal, the way it surprises Louis and catches him off guard is not. It becomes obvious that this relationship means something more than friendship to Louis.

Then, of course, we have the scene at the townhouse when Louis finally sets his pent-up desires free. It was him who made the first move to kiss Lestat, not the other way around.

And who initiates that kiss in the church, just before Lestat gives Louis the blood?

It's also important to remember the unreliable narrator of this tale. Louis has clearly left out many moments in his relationship with Lestat that would help the viewer to see it through his eyes. Lestat himself mentions some of these moments in Episode 2, when he starts out by calling Louis angry, stubborn, unaccommodating and maddening then changes his tone to remind Louis that he is also loving, dedicated and thoughtful. Louis may have failed to mention all the moments that cause Lestat to describe him in this way, but Lestat lets us know that they did happen and that no one has ever displayed these admirable qualities to him in quite the same way that Louis has.

While Lestat lavishes praise on Louis to make him feel better after almost killing his nephew, Louis tells Daniel of his feelings for Lestat. "There was present a kind of worship, on my part. The earth beneath me always felt liquid." How many of us can say such a thing about a lover?

To please Lestat, Louis attends another opera. He simmers in indignation as he plays the part of Lestat's valet and walks a few steps behind Lestat instead of by his side, where he wants to be. He tolerates the stares and comments of those around him to ensure that Lestat has a good time. He even drinks from the Tenor with Lestat, pretending to be enthralled by the experience because he doesn't want to disappoint. Louis sets aside his own comfort and happiness for Lestat.

"Aren't I enough?" Louis asks, in Episode 3, about Lestat's little fling with Antoinette. This question comes from a place of utter vulnerability. Louis is admitting his own jealousy and insecurity. And we all know how well Lestat's reaction went over. Of course, by the end of the episode, Louis shoots back at Lestat. Already upset about the way he is being treated and over his complete loss of control with killing Alderman Fenwick, Louis gets angry with Lestat and tells him that the two of them are never going to work and that Lestat will always be alone. He hits where it hurts the most. To quote author Valarie Kaur, "The opposite of love is not rage. The opposite of love is indifference." If Louis didn't love Lestat as much as he does, he couldn't be so passionately infuriated by him. If he didn't love Lestat, he would have no desire to harm him in a moment of rage.

Another perfect example of the above is in Episode 6 when Louis swims across the Mississippi River to confront Lestat about the song. "I hate you," may be the truth in that very moment, but can we truly know hate if we haven't first experienced love?

Also in Episode 6, Louis confesses that despite all that has happened between them, he still loves Lestat with a wounded heart. This is one of the few times that Louis actually uses the "L" word to express what he feels for Lestat. Lestat points out that the way Louis has been killing animals and how he acts somewhat superior about it makes Lestat feel as if he is being looked down upon for his body's needs. Claudia agrees. Once again, without an ounce of consideration for his own comfort or desires, Louis decides, on the spot, that he will hunt humans again for Lestat and for their family.

Episode 7 is a wealth of evidence to support Louis' love for Lestat. Yes, he's agreed to help Claudia with her plot to kill Lestat, but that doesn't make his feelings for Lestat any less valid than they have been all along. Claudia wants him to be a distraction for Lestat, to give Lestat all of his heart while she plans the rest. "I can't do that. I'll lose myself in him," is Louis reply. He knows that if he falls back into old feelings, he won't be able to turn them off. The connection between himself and Lestat is too strong.

When Louis first catches sight of Lestat at the Mardi Gras Ball, he is overwhelmed by conflicting emotion. "A cascade of feelings came over me as I watched him sponge up the adoration. I wanted him dead. I wanted him all to myself." And by the time their last dance begins, Louis has lost himself entirely. "It was my sole duty to distract Lestat, but in his mirrored eyes, the distraction reflected back onto me. And in the dead center of the whispering gallery, I lost the thread to my plotting and fell once more into the well with no bottom. I was his and he was mine." If his words were filled with any more adoration, they would be in a book of love poetry.

Once again, who make the first move to steal a kiss in front of a speechless crowd?

So, to the haters out there who say that Louis is ungrateful and that the only love he ever gave to Lestat was fake or for his own hateful purposes... what in the hell were you watching?

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #loustat #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #louis loves lestat

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