#quasi-pleasurable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

intermundia · 2 months

Text

So the reason I love fanfiction is intertextuality. I love allusions to canon woven into a new narrative, and building in my mind the complex web of references that all contextualize each other. It's those links that add depth of meaning to a fanfic, metatextual weight to characters and locations. I think the better the transformative process of fanwork, the more of the original it carries inside, the denser and richer points of reference to the story on the other end. If you think of a canon fact as a color, the more vibrant the fanwork, the bigger thrill I get from it. It lights up more of my brain.

There's this thing I like to do where I will find a media property that I know nothing about but has a sufficient high quality body of work, obikin, geraskier, merthur, etc. I will read thousands of fanfics and build up a mental map of the series in my mind, noticing things referenced by multiple stories in different ways and trying to extrapolate back to an original event in the canon story. The more references to an event, the more specific and real it is, whereas other things referenced by one or two people exist in a quasi real state, smaller nodes in the network as it were.

Once I've built up a robust mental map of a story, I will watch the series. I will watch the Clone Wars, the Witcher, Merlin, etc., and compare my expectations with the reality of the canon narratives. I will observe the ways in which fandom skewed the story via emphasis, or where it improved the story via giving interiority to characters in traumatic or intimate moments. Once I've finished watching the series, and have canon fixed in my mind, I reread all my favorite stories with a richer mental picture of each one, really savoring the work of the author in engaging with a story I love.

I genuinely think this is a sort of wish fulfillment from my time as a classicist where all we could do was build up a mental map of the extant texts, but there was no way to ‘watch the original’ as it where, no way to check how historians and poets transformed their experience. It's a guilty pleasure to apply the same conceptual mapping skills I learned for antiquity to pop culture, one degree removed from reality, but I enjoy it so much and spend way too much time doing it (when I should be writing). I wonder if other people do this though, it's kind of a tumblr ass hobby lmao

#fandom stuff #post prompted by the fact i've read 1k merthur fics in the last few months and am now watching the series and having too much fun 😅#normal hobby

102 notes · View notes

spicyclover · 10 months

Text

Kiss me, Mick | Final part

Summary: Sometimes, you must be spontaneous to find what you want, and that’s what Mick learns at his expense.

Part one | Part two

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

He doesn’t want his mother or quasi-godfather to see that he’s fully erect. If possible, Y/n’s cheeks turn even redder when she feels this lump on her hips behind her.

Let’s just say they got strapped by Corinna. The return to the garage is done in a lead silence, Mick with his mother and Y/n with Sebastian. Mick’s erection quickly went down while listening to his mother bash his ears. What they did is completely stupid, but Mick has only one desire: to start over what they stopped.

So, when the car was returned to the garage, and his mother finally let him go, he grabbed her hand quickly and took her to the nearest closet. The mechanics sneer at the behaviours of the young pilot and his hormones. Mick does not give her time to reply. He kisses her vigorously, pressing her against the door.

“Mick.” She says between his kisses. “Mick. Mick, stop.”

“Why?” He whines.

“Your mother is still here. We’re not doing this.” She pushes him slightly away. “I would love to have you, but not right now.”

“But. What am I going to do with this?” he says, his eyes on his limb.

“Well, think of my naked screaming your name.” She flirtatiously says, opening the door again and going out. Mick groans with frustration and pulls her in for a last kiss.

“Please.” He begs her.

She giggles and leaves him. The mechanics whistle as they see her, making her blush more embarrassed. She goes back to her apartment, anxious about the impression she left Corinna. She will hate her. She puts herself under her bed and writes with all her strength. Why she cannot resist Mick's beautiful, sumptuous and vibrant body. Her skin still has chills from what they did or went to do in the car.

For his part, Mick’s tension did not go down. He only wants the day to end so that he can join her. The hours pass slowly, and he can’t take it anymore. He even ends up begging Toto to let him leave rather than pretexting a sore throat poorly played. Not at all impressed by the young man's performance, Toto lets him go, however, not wanting to hear his moans another time.

He’s at the speed limit, and his body can’t take it anymore. He wants to feel her near him. He goes up the steps four by four. Fresh pizza in his hands, missing from falling every second. He runs down the hallway before reaching his door. He’s out of breath. He breathes loudly before taking a deep breath and rings at the door.

She opens the door, and he doesn’t wait another second. He drops the pizza box on the floor and grabs her face. He’s never been greedy for a girl, but she’s special. Surprise, she does not respond immediately to the kiss, but she lets herself easily do. Mick’s hands quickly find what he is looking for. They find satisfaction in each other, and it is after hours of pleasure that they finally go to bed.

She’s in bed with him. Mick puts his arms around her body, taking her closer to him. His hand caresses her stomach and makes her shiver. She gave in and snuggled closer to him, feeling his whole body on her.

He hugs her and whispers in his ear.

“Ich liebe dich.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (This story): anotheroneiforgot

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fluff

217 notes · View notes

wonderpommey · 1 year

Text

Well Jesse said it, no one truly changes and indeed nothing really changed in the couples’ dynamics in the end.

The show dangled a possible happy ending for Connor and Willa for a second but of course it tears it away in the finale. We already see Willa squirming under Connor’s grip, grappling with the “sexy second week itch”. Roman is particularly repulsed by that pairing; buying a young escort-type woman and parading her as somehow worthy, as a ‘wife’. There’s something so offensive to him about that. We never see Roman give Gerri anything of monetary value. He’d never want to buy her, he’s desperately attracted to how real she is, to the experience and things she can teach him, in every possible way (sex & advice). He wants what she is willing to give, not what he can buy. The only time money comes into their relationship is the exit package (pass!) and even that is essentially just another lesson she’s teaching him. You wanna rule with emotion, the next person will take you for everything you’re worth!

Shiv's adoption of Tom remains partly strategic. It moves from "not being betrayed" to "holding onto power", it has very little to do with love. Shiv continues to push sadistically to see how much she can get away with, how close patriarchy will let her get to being her own woman. Then, when Tom or Logan tells her she’s gone too far, she folds. And Tom loves her enough or loves being in the fold enough that it works in the succession universe, it becomes a deal of somewhat terrifying equals. And that was what succession was all about. Capitalism, patriarchy and the oppression of women. What men demand things like love and care from women, but they actually lose any genuine connection the second they take a woman's agency away from her… Sure you get her by your side physically for a while but you crucially loose her very desire to be there.

Roman and Gerri’s relationship remains a study in longing and sensuality. They are barely featured in the finale but Roman sets the tone by going down on mummy’s cheese. Oh succession and its cheesy genitals, the ricotta dick! The grilled cheese with a sucked dick! The whole kitchen scene is obviously an allegory about the lack of food and incidentally love Caroline has supplied to her children. It’s only scraps, rot and fire going into that smoothie. But Oedipus-Roman, doesn’t want the smoothie, he wants the tasty morsel of maternal love which isn't for him. He doesn’t bite by the way, he only licks. Unlike his last second on screen, he can’t go as far as actual consumption. Did he want Lobster? No, he wanted the most love. Did he want steak? No! He wanted to be picked above Kendall!!

Speaking of what’s not for him... He then has to watch Gerri talk about the pleasures of a slow screw. It’s a sudden exposure to her sexuality, a validation of his intuition that she likes being superior to her conquests, sexually, spiritually. Something he knows he can give her alongside the painful realisation that she opens up - to others - in that way.

Then the office breakdown. I still look good, I still look the part “Why isn’t it me?” What are the rockstar and the molewoman when the rockstar is just a big sack of bullshit? And Ken reaffirming he’s not good enough, he’s pure emotion, he doesn’t have the drive, he only ever wanted a ride or die.

All culminating in his only true, almost naturalistic documentary-style consumption of the season; Gerri’s martini. Drinking in the quasi love of his life (I could do a whole post about how wild it is that Jesse ‘I don’t want to tell you what to think’ Armstrong said something so totalitarian). This isn't the first connection between an older woman’s sexual appetite and her drink of choice this season! Remember Roman’s reaction to the image of Nan liking her wine like she likes her men!

Sure, the outer layer of that scene shows Roman, having lost the company, his lover/mentor's good will, and any way he knows of interacting with his siblings in a bar drinking alone, overly dressed, old Hollywood style. A potential regression to his sad playboy lifestyle (Jesse), or the start of a hopeless spiral of alcohol abuse (Mark - who has since then said he saw how Roman’s ending could be perceived as hopeful).

Upon closer inspection, his inferiority/beta complex, his emotions, his desire to be loved, his desire NOT to be in charge/on top - everything that his dad loathed to see in him - are finally showing through the physical scars on his face. He gave it a valiant try, but he couldn’t keep parading as whomever Logan wanted him to be and he realises that it makes him an unworthy heir and in the same breath, access to Gerri is disallowed. It still overwhelms him with emotion, but in the same way Oedipus took his own eyes and couldnt see Jocasta and longer, Roman only gets to see Gerri through screen and glass anymore. He demanded she believed he was as good and as ruthless as his dad and he turned out not to be. Objectively, it’s not a prerequisite to Gerri’s feelings for him as she responds to his pathos way more than she does to Logan's death, but his psyche is convinced he no longer deserves to be in her presence.

So he does the only thing he can do to keep her as close as he needs. Don't be fooled by the luxurious, civilised quality of the drink, this is a biological need, pure sustenance (Get her inside of him, under his skin, into his bloodstream and pumping to his heart). He bites his lip as the liquid enters his mouth, swallowing dramatically, loving the burn & hating the pain.

And we’ve come full circle on the theme of consuming each other. From the partnership-worthy mutual cannibalistic proposal of season 2, to the toxic if slightly castrating injunction for her to go down on him and devour him. Season 4 breaks him enough that he gets to the opposite nihilistic ideation that he’s nothing and hence has no claim on the company or being her protégé. The truth - that we don’t know if he can get to - is somewhat in between. All these kids are very smart and worthy in their own ways, even though of course the expectation placed on them to be exceptional prevents them being satisfied in being maybe just that.

His final scene showcases the sad and lonely consumption of the woman he loves’ essence, a poor ersatz for the ‘old gal’s juices’ that he doesn’t deserve. All he has to offer being something he has never been able to name or express without the alibi of the company; an amorphous, unworthy, unnamable but ultimately undeniable feeling.

And possibly in the writers’ minds, this is the suicide part of their contemporary Romeo & Juliet drama. Dying with the blade and the poison after daddy said the love was unacceptable & unobtainable? I mean come ON!

Roman “knifed” Gerri (This is rhetoric they use ON THE SHOW), she completed the execution by taking herself out and brought him the threat of annihilation (while ordering the poison; a martini). There is a delicious poisonous quality to the drink isn’t there (or its abuse)? And of course, if he dies he’ll die by her, he’ll taste the poison she chose off her lips, because if he has lost the love of his life in this eternal quasi status, it becomes the only worthy pursuit.

That was the roman-esque question of the show. What is love if it’s always been withheld, if it’s always been expressed via the proxy of the company, if it’s never been given freely, or modelled or held as something precious and worthy that had to be protected? And what if it makes you ravenous for it? And how could you get it, this thing you most desperately want, if you’d never been given the tools?

O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

#roman roy #succession hbo #gerri kellman #romangerri #shiv roy #tom wambsgans #connor roy #willa ferreyra #sorry this isn't a hopeful post #obviously Gerri finds him and tells him she loves him the way he is #he finds a way to make himself feel worthy again #I'm just pulling the thread laid by those evil writers

217 notes · View notes

call-me-eds · 2 years

Text

A Family Affair

Masterlist

Steve x Henderson!Reader

A lil' smutty, fluff

You and Steve finally get a moment alone without your brother.

“I really have to go,” Steve sighed while you had him trapped, your knees on either side of his waist.

“No,” you stated, moving your lips from his neck to his ear where you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Your brother is going to be so mad at me,” he sighed. “I told him that we-”

“Don’t talk about Dustin right now,” you said, grabbing his hand and putting it up your shirt and on the cup of your bra. Immediately, anything that was not in this room, your room, disappeared from his mind.

At first, you loved how much Steve and Dustin hung out, happy that there was a positive male presence for your brother to look up to. As you and Steve grew closer, though, you wanted to do more than just tag along for pizza. Dustin was wary of your relationship, not wanting you to do anything to hurt Steve or jeopardize their friendship.

“What the hell, what about me?” you had asked.

“You’ll be fine. Steve’s sensitive.”

The first time he came over to dinner as your boyfriend, he spent more time making plans with Dustin than with you. If you went to pick up Dustin from the arcade or downtown, you and Steve barely had time for a chaste kiss before the kids were pulling you in different directions. And when you actually did get a moment alone in your house or at Steve’s, Dustin always managed to pop up.

Of course, your mother loved it, but you were unbearably jealous of your younger brother. So when you managed to steal Steve away and have him to yourself, there was little that made you willing to give him up.

“Is your mom home?” he mumbled against your lips, kneading your chest harder.

“Book club,” you let him know, tugging at the button on his jeans. He nodded and leaned up to take off his jacket.

“God, could you be wearing any more clothes?” you complained, making him laugh.

“I gotta hold you off somehow,” he teased, lifting his arms as you worked on removing his shirt next.

Flushed skin followed your lips down his chest, creating a pink trail. You slowed your movements, sliding his jeans below his hips and letting your fingers flutter over the band of his underwear.

“It was really sweet how you helped my mom dig in her garden the other day,” you said, kissing his pelvic bone and lightly nipping the skin.

“I thought we weren’t talking about your family,” he said, letting his head fall back onto your pillows.

“We’re not. We’re talking about how great you are and how much I appreciate you,” you corrected. “And how much I want to show you that.” Your hand met the hard protrusion in his boxers, causing whimpers to fall out of his mouth.

“Okay,” he choked out. You were positive you could ask him for a million dollars at this moment and he would find a way to get it to you. His boxers hit the floor and the cool air made him hiss. Steve was always sensitive, but right now he was practically writhing.

“Need a second?” you asked.

“Yeah, come back up here,” he said, grabbing at your arm to pull you back on top of him. He crashed his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth to relieve some of the pressure he was feeling everywhere else. “Now who’s wearing too many clothes?” he asked, pushing at your sweatpants. You grabbed his wrist and his eyes snapped open, looking at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just want to focus on you,” you told him, moving your hand back between you and lightly grabbing at him.

“Shit, okay,” he nodded, and you began to slide down his body again. “But afterwards, you’re going to - fuck!” The moment that your first touched around him was always when he was the most expressive. Every time, he had to acclimate himself to the feeling of your hands, your lips, your tongue, everything. Steve wrapped your hair around his hand into a quasi-ponytail, moving his fingers to massage your scalp. Even when you were clear about wanting to pleasure him, he had to make sure you were getting some attention as well.

His soothing movements encouraged you to move faster, licking at him like he was a dripping ice cream cone, which he kind of was.

“Y/N, did you hear that?” he asked, dropping your hair. He was always paranoid when you were at your house, constantly thinking that someone was going to come home or burst into your room. “Did you lock the door?” You just hummed against him, causing his hips to stutter into your mouth.

He was silent now, and you knew he was close. He always went silent before he finished with a cry or a wail, which you teased him for.

“Steve, you’re so gorgeous,” you pulled off of him for a moment to compliment him, knowing that would bring him even closer to the end. No sooner than the words came out of your mouth did he start to sing out your name among expletives.

When he opened his eyes in time to see you swallowing, it almost made him hard again.

“Your turn,” he grinned, bringing you back up his chest and flipping you over so he was laying over you. The moment his hand dipped into your underwear is when you heard the noise.

“Hello? Y/N? Have you heard from Steve?” You and Steve froze, his fingers centimeters away from being inside of you. You heard footsteps coming down the hallway and you shoved him off of you, practically flying out of the bed.

“You in there?” Dustin asked, jiggling your doorknob as you threw yourself against the door.

“Don’t come in!” you screeched. “I’m, uh, busy.” Steve looked at you, wide-eyed, asking if that was seriously the best you could come up with.

“Busy doing what?” he asked, pushing against the door. You tried to stabilize yourself but stepped on Steve’s boxers that had ended up across the room, your foot flying out from under you. The door crashed open and you were stuck behind it, while Dustin was face to face with a very naked Steve.

“Hey, Buddy,” he said, grabbing a teddy bear and holding it over his waist to cover himself.

“Holy shit, have you never heard of a lock? Or a do not disturb sign? Or abstinence?” Dustin yelled, scrambling to leave the room with his eyes closed. You and Steve stayed silent until you heard Dustin’s door slam.

“I thought you locked the door!”

“Get Mr. Teddy away from your dick!” you exclaimed at the same time, standing up and throwing him his boxers.

“You just said you wanted me in less clothes?” he grinned, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Not after that interruption,” you said, fixing your bra and looking around for your shirt. There was a giddy air in the room, thankful that Dustin hadn’t come in a few minutes earlier.

“I feel like a teenager and we just got caught by our parents,” he laughed.

“You were a teenager, like, two months ago,” you reminded him. He zipped his jeans back up and sat on your bed, pulling you between his legs and holding your waist.

“Want to go to the car and finish?” he grinned. He knew you would love to do just that, but the mood wasn’t only killed, it was brutally murdered and the case was closed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you have plans with my brother,” you groaned and dropped your forehead against his.

“What brother?” he asked, kissing you gently.

“Jesus, do you two have no shame?” You pulled away from Steve and pushed his hands off of you.

“Don’t you have a movie to get to?” you asked Dustin.

“Yeah, but you're holding my ride hostage,” he said.

“Me?” you gasped. Steve stood up and held his hands in the air between you two.

“Alright, alright, let’s calm down,” he said. “Let’s go, Shrimp, I’ll even buy you popcorn.” He grabbed his car keys from your desk and gave you a sad smile. “I’ll come up when the movie is done?” he asked.

“What, are you not coming?” Dustin asked you, making your heart swell a little.

“I didn’t know that I was invited,” you were unable to keep the smile off of your face. For the amount of jealousy you had for Dustin getting to hang out with Steve, you were also jealous of your boyfriend that got your little brother all to himself. Dustin refused to talk to you about Suzie or anything with his friends, claiming that ‘you just don’t get it like Steve does.’

“But I have to sit in the middle!” he said, leading you to the front door.

“Don’t worry, Henderson’s, I have long arms,” Steve winked to the both of you, making you laugh and Dustin pretend to throw up.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #st4

1K notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 1 month

Text

2024 Book Review #19 – Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

This is the third book I’ve picked up as part of my whole aspirational ‘read a piece of non-SFF capital-l Literature every month’ New Years resolution. Of those three, it is the second I opened only to discover it actually is science fiction and/or fantasy after all. Which is just a very funny thing to happen twice, and also meant the book was significantly less outside my comfort zone than I’d expected. Which did make it quite a pleasant read.

The story follows Klara, an AF (Artificial Friend, a companion robot for children) in a broadly sketched and mildly dystopian future America. At first it just follows her life in the shop where she’s kept, observing the world around her and interacting with the store manager and the other AFs, but the meat of the book is her life with the family who buys her. Over time you learn that Josie, her child, suffers from severe and increasing health issues as a consequence of being ‘lifted’ (genetically enhanced, in some unclear way) in the womb. Klara, being solar-powered and having quietly developed a one-robot religion underpinned by a firm belief in the power and benevolence of Mr. Sun (and a moral opposition to Pollution, which obscures and drives him away) does her best to invoke his help in nourishing and restoring Josie. At the same time, she learns that her job is not just to comfort Josie but, should she die, to be her mother’s replacement goldfish and imitate her perfectly.

The setting is broadly sketched and never really exposited upon – it’s just not something Klara is particularly interested in – but it’s a very modern sort of dystopia. Much of the populace, even among the American professional elite, have been left ‘post-employed’ by robotic automation. The remaining meritocratic elite have embraced novel and risky genetic enhancements for their children, as the only possible way of ensuring they get into a good school and one of the few good careers left. There are fascist militia compounds off in the distance somewhere. The overall feeling is that of a society dimly aware it’s midway through collapsing, but with no ideas of how to arrest its fall. But since Klara has no interest at all in either politics or economics, we only see this as it directly intrudes upon the story, with nary a lecture or manifesto to be seen.

I’ve only ever read one other book by Ishiguro, so I really don’t know how much this generalizes, but the similarities to Never Let Me Go really were striking. Both books are set in really rather horrifying societies, but portrayed in an utterly normalized way by someone who never even thinks to question the real rules they live under. Which is even more striking because in both cases the protagonist is seen by society as only quasi-human – like a person, but existing only in relation to and for the benefit of the people who really matter. And in both cases the story follows the protagonist who lives their life moving through the role they were made for without ever really resisting it, let alone changing it. Not that the roles of ‘friend to sick child’ and ‘mandatory organ donor’ are exactly comparable but, you know.

A definition I’ve always kind of liked for what makes literary fiction, well, literary is that it’s as or more concerned with the beauty and presentation of its prose than it is on the information the prose is conveying. Not at all true in terms of how the term’s actually used (genre is marketing), but it works for me, and lets this book count as literature quite handily. The whole story is told quite tightly from Klara’s point of view, and it’s a pleasure to read. Even if it took me more than a few pages to really understand how she described scenes, always foregrounding the ways they were divided by grids or patterns of the sun’s light.

Portraying the normal human society through the eyes of a naive and somewhat alien narrator to get away without explaining everything is a classic sci fi trope for a reason, but it’s overall used really well here as well.

I’m still not entirely sure how to interpret the sudden intrusion of magical realism with the ending. But otherwise, really quite a good read.

#book review #klara amd the sun #kazuo ishiguro #sff #literature

44 notes · View notes

barbatusart · 5 months

Note

Do you have a recommendation for a specific book of your work for folks who showed up for your Bg3 stuff? (Also if you read the parts out of order would that be an issue?)

welcome aboard!!! thank you so much for checking my bg3 stuff out, it's a pleasure to have you

as i said in my other post over here, im predominantly an extreme horror artist! i 100% decline to call myself an eroguro artist because personally i dont find the kind of gore & horror i do particularly erotic, but im super fascinated with the horrors of the body & the darkness of the general human experience, so thats the kind of stuff i tend to make. it isnt the worst most heinous Ever you'll find out there, but im fully aware that it's A Lot, so everything i make with @meanbossart is thoroughly warned for so nobody goes into our body of work unaware & gets a nasty shock.

bg3 in particular goes some pretty dark routes (some bits in a dark urge run even made me kinda reel back and go "jesus"), so id say for people coming in from bg3 your mileage may heavily vary. if torture & really extreme body horror doesnt bother you, you may be OK with SAD SACK (sus.space/sadsack) and its current wip sequel SORTIE (sus.space/sortie), but i would still recommend reading each book's individual content warnings thoroughly before choosing to spend any money. (everything is paywalled to further deter minors.) if you're on the fence about how much horror content is too much for you, or if you're curious about these titles but find the content warnings to be concerning, my DMs on tumblr+twitter and my IMs are always open if you have any questions about particular CWs or even need specific page numbers so you can either skip that bit of gore or be informed enough to approach the page number(s), take a Deep breath, and proceed when youre ready! for these 2 titles in particular, unfortunately they do have a linear story, so to fully grasp what's going on requires reading the books in order. again if it's something youre curious to the point of wanting to try but on the fence about, i am always welcoming of inquiring DMs to help make the experience thrilling + chilling but Not genuinely upsetting.

if you're OK with a little violence and body horror but not as splatterfest as these titles, im currently chipping away at the preliminaries for my giant project LOVOS4017 (lovos4017.the-comic.org) which is a love letter to TNG scifi and 80s cyberpunk anime. im currently on pause with the roughs since last year due to COVID frontline burnout, but ive by no means abandoned it; this IP is my baby that ive been workshopping the show bible for for over a decade & i want to see it through to the end B)

finally if you would like to read our work but want to avoid gore and extreme violence entirely, we do have some stuff that is violence-free! [email protected] (suscomics.itch.io/pooppix) is a comic with a really bonkers premise but no violence and no visible onscreen poop i promise about finding genuine human connection over unusual shared interests on the internet. ATTACK DOG (suscomics.itch.io/attackdog) is also a short solo comic i did myself about sex, quasi-submission fetish, & the requirements of true love (theres some mild gooey body weirdness but no gore i promise)

overall i thank you for showing interest in what @meanbossart & i do! we tend towards strange & unusual premises and presentations, but i hope that you find something within our body of work that entertains you. if you every have any questions about anything, please please please feel free to DM me at any time; my goal in life is to entertain & provoke thought!

#q&a #sad sack #sortie #lovos4017 #[email protected]#attack dog

62 notes · View notes

quinloki · 1 year

Note

hello! i wonder if you still do the kinky one piece headcanon? if you do, could you please do ace, zoro, and smoker with brat taming, hate sex, and dirty talk? please and thank you!

feel free to customise this according to your liking ;)

You guys are hitting me with some good stuff I swear - but it's officially my long weekend start, so I can knock a few of these out if that's what I'm feeling like XD

Brat Taming, Hate Sex and Dirty Talk? Good, good options - I might end up with a more rival vibe, enemies starting to realize they're in deep for the hate sex, more than actual like angry-angry sex. We'll see how the mood carries me.

(I generally write these in one big go, for better or worse XD)

We'll go with the quasi alphabetical order you've provided (go go last names first alphabetical ordering).

Portgas D. Ace:

Brat Taming - Yes - Ace doesn't get into it too much, he makes a better brat than brat tamer, but he doesn't dislike it. He assumes his preference is in dealing with a brat that's not too willful, but if you give him serious hell one day and he doesn't use any safe words, he ends up pinning you down and fucking the brat straight out of you.

Emotions were flared, skin was flared, hell Ace probably literally caught on fire at some point. The whole thing was just hot and you were both an exhausted sweaty mess as the end of it. Switch that he is, he start leaning a little less 50/50 and more 70/30.

Hate Sex - Ace is completely undecided on this kink if you ask him, but if there's that one person - a rival probably, someone he keeps managing to cross proverbial swords with, someone who can keep up with him and with whom there never seems to be a clear winner. If at some point he and that one person end up crossing more than just swords he'll wake up the next day with a few revelations.

The sex was amazing, and the entire night was the two of you fighting for dominance. Ace will swear he won out, but hell, so will you, it probably starts another fight. But it was really really good sex, and oh god he didn't even know.

Dirty Talk - I guess - he's bad with words. He's so, SO BAD with words, bless his fiery little heart. He's a man of action. His words can be good, and they often come from the heart, and he has dropped some dirty talk in the midst of a good session, but he can't think about it, cause once he does he doesn't know what words to use. Whether he's the one gasping and moaning, or making you gasp and moan, he's more comfortable with the formless sounds of pleasure than trying to put it to words.

If you can get him blissed out and little and prompt him though, he's really good at it. But he can't realize it, that's the tricky part.

Roronoa Zoro:

Brat Taming - FUCK Yes - He likes the challenge of it. He'll grumble the entire time, he'll say it bothers him, he'll quip that you should just take things and stop struggle against him, but he loves it. It's like fighting with the shitty cook but better. He loves the banter, he loves the look in your eyes when he glares at you at the little bead of sweat slips down your back.

What he really enjoys is the conquest, and he's going to conquer you every single time. He loves the little quiver in your lip when your brattiness breaks and the shuddering intake of air before he claims your lips and shuts you up. He'll never admit to it, but he'll never say a safe word to get you to stop, and one the very rare occasions he doesn't have the focus for it, he'll kiss your cheek and pull you into his lap for a nap.

Hate Sex - rather not - Zoro can be, to be, completely feral in bed. He can be in control, he can let you control, he can be gentle, he can go from sunset to sunrise, and he can also go for months without so much as masturbation and be perfectly fine.

The one thing I think he needs is a connection. It's not that he couldn't just fuck, it's that he'd rather not. That feral part will be missing - there's just not going to be the same kind of enjoyment. It'll feel mechanical and it just doesn't vibe with him. The closest Zoro will get to hate sex is if he hasn't realized his feelings for someone are love.

But even if those cases, "hate" or "dislike" aren't the words he'd use to describe how he feels about the other person.

Dirty Talk - If you like being talked dirty to it's a Oh god you don't even know, but if you don't like being talked dirty to, it's a I guess. He doesn't have much of an opinion on it, but he is an Adept Student, and that's one of his strongest points when it comes to kinky things. He'll learn from you, adapt, adjust, discard what doesn't hit right, keep what does. He knows that the tone, volume, and octave of his voice can effect you almost more than the actual words.

He knows dirty talk isn't just the speech itself, it's the aura, the grip, the tug of hair or the pressure holding your body in place. It's a full package deal and don't doubt that he could talk you into an orgasm once he got good enough at it.

Smoker:

Brat Taming - Oh God you don't even know - this man is the Daddy Dom. Sorry, sorry to anyone out there, but I'm not even talking strictly Age Play when I say this. He's got that "Your Superior" vibe, and that DILF energy has nothing to do with actual fatherhood. He grips you by the nape of your neck and tells you to kneel while bringing you to your knees, and half the movement is because they're already weak from the sound of his voice.

Smoker isn't concerned how willful you are or aren't as a brat, at the end of the day you're going to shatter underneath him, one way or another. (He's a sweetheart at his core, he's not going to like, break you against your boundaries or anything.)

Hate Sex - No - Consent is king with this man. Agreements, safe words, contracts even - he's not getting into kinks with someone without express consent. Maybe it's the marine in him, I think it's because he's 60% Strong Daddy Dom Vibes and 40% Cinnamon Roll. He's just Too GODDAMN Sweet at the end of the day.

Brat taming, which he loves, is about as close as he'll ever get to hate sex. Now, make-up sex, that's a possibility.

Dirty Talk - Yes - and he's good at it too. He's more of a "bend to my will" kind of talker in the bedroom, lil' praise, lil' degradation if it turns you on, and dirty talk is certainly mixed in there as well. It's not going to be a large part of the night, but he's just as likely to force you to talk dirty as he is to talk dirty to you.

He's certainly more of a "Tell me what you want in exacting detail, and the better you are at it the better you'll be rewarded."

Kinky One Piece head canons

#kinky one piece head canon #smoker one piece #portgas d ace #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #ace x reader #smoker x reader #x reader

154 notes · View notes

nrilliree · 11 days

Note

I'm inclined to think Aemond girlies are the most disgusting and unserious people in the fandom. It's so darn gross how they're trying to convince everyone Aemond's relationship with Alys Rivers, his slave and war prize, was a happy, consensual and loving one. I think they're not really interested in Aemond as a character, but just in seeing Ewan's bare ass. And speaking of Ewan's bare ass... In the trailer, we see a footage of bare-chested, probably naked Aemond, pillowing his head on some woman's lap. Which makes them really excited about the possible Aemond and brothel madame scene. Which I personally find disgusting, since from season one we learnt Aegon dragged his 13 yo brother to the pleasure house where he was probably SA'ed ... I get it that in quasi -medieval Westeros, a 13 yo is considered adult, but don't forget grown up men could become victims of sexual violence as well. Plus, judging how Aemond acted around the madame in season 1, I'd say he didn't feel comfortable around her... I'm not a fan of Aemond's (honestly, it's so lame how the showrunners are apparently trying to excuse war crimes and crimes against humanity he's going to commit with his unhappy childhood) , but it's extremely creepy how desperate the "stans" are to see Ewan in a sex scene, never mind whether it makes sense plot-wise or character -wise.

What amuses me the most is when Aemond's fans want him to have an affair with Helaena and be the father of her children. This is such stupid hypocrisy that it truly amuses me.

But yes, most of them simply mean that they don't want to see Aemond in such scenes or Ewan in make-up. That's why in their fan fiction they make Aemond a nice, tender and sensitive boy who has done nothing wrong in his life and although he is such an incredibly excellent warrior, he abhors violence. He's supposed to be their sensitive teddy bear in hot scenes. Therefore, they do not pay attention to the fact that it may in some way result in harm to the character. But for Aemond, who was dragged by Aegon to a brothel when he was a boy, it would mean harm. Or it could involve this character hurting others. But why should they care, right?

#team black #house of the dragon #anti team green #pro team black #anti team green stans #anti aemond targaryen

22 notes · View notes

workingclasshistory · 1 year

Photo

On this day, 24 March 1834, designer, artist and libertarian socialist William Morris was born. In Britain he and his iconic prints are famous, but his lifetime of revolutionary activism is almost completely unknown. In an article explaining how he came become a socialist, he wrote: "the consciousness of revolution stirring amidst our hateful modern society prevented me, luckier than many others of artistic perceptions, from crystallising into a mere railer against 'progress' on the one hand, and on the other from wasting time and energy in any of the numerous schemes by which the quasi-artistic of the middle classes hope to make art grow when it has no longer any root, and thus I became a practical Socialist." Morris also took a view on the role of art in the movement: "civilisation has reduced the workman (sic) to such a skinny and pitiful existence, that he scarcely knows how to frame a desire for any life much better than that which he now endures perforce. It is the province of art to set the true ideal of a full and reasonable life before him, a life to which the perception and creation of beauty, the enjoyment of real pleasure that is, shall be felt to be as necessary to man as his daily bread, and that no man, and no set of men, can be deprived of this except by mere opposition, which should be resisted to the utmost." Learn more about his life and ideas in this great biography by EP Thompson, and check out some of his prints here in our online store: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/all/william-morris https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2236660199852451/?type=3

185 notes · View notes

tiredsunrisesmeta · 6 months

Text

I don't know if anyone has pointed this out yet, but Cyprian's name has a very interesting archaic meaning. 🫢 Cyprian used to be a word for a prostitute, a lewd woman, or a harlot. As an adjective, it could mean licentious, lewd, and wanton. The word came from Cyprus, the island where Aphrodite, Goddess of Love (and Lust, Pleasure, Beauty, Passion, Sex, Desire, etc.), was worshipped. The word's first known use was in 1819, which is around the time period Dark Rise and Dark Heir take place in.

The first thing that came to my mind when I read the name Cyprian was Saint Cyprian of Carthage. I thought that connection to early Catholicism made sense for Cyprian because of the quasi-religious order characteristics of the Stewards. St. Cyprian's martyrdom also made me think of the Stewards' own martyrdom after they drink from the Cup.

But, this other meaning adds an intriguing possible layer to Cyprian. Cyprian's name could potentially be connected, symbolically, to Christianity/Catholicism and, also, to the worship of Aphrodite 🤔. Piety, Celibacy, & Martyrdom vs. Sex, Pleasure, and Love. This also potentially adds an interesting layer to Cyprian's interactions with Ettore and their "conversations" about prostitutes. It's very, very interesting. Also, to note, while this specific meaning of Cyprian is archaic and obsolete, it does come up as some of the first results if you Google search "Cyprian meaning." Knows what a kiss is, indeed.

#dark rise #dark heir #cyprian #ettore fasciale

38 notes · View notes

al-astakbar · 10 months

Text

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆ part 1/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [1.5k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ none really, just creepy vibes from Palpatine > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7 ☆ part 8

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

When you first glimpse him, from under your veil, his skin does not look so blue. From far away, and with the translucent fabric of your veiled hood and robe completely covering you, he looks closer to grey. You wonder if it is a trick of the light, or perhaps your exhausted mind is inventing some strange new reality. You stand far off to the side in the throne room, flanked by Mirri and Solis. They aren’t happy to be here, to have their whole day taken up by this ceremony, and you know they’re eager to be rid of you.

Soon, you wish you could tell them— this being very likely your last chance to tease them and their ridiculous formalities and obsequiousness. Soon they will be rid of you, and you of them, and you will have a different challenge to face.

Challenge may be too gentle a word for it. Anticipation and dread settle heavily over you, making your veil feel like a shroud.

The Vigil to prepare for this ceremony had lasted seven rotations. Full days and nights during which you had sat awake, performing ablutions, stitching protective sigils onto your robes and along the hem of your veil, repeating the words you were taught. Each push of the needle and pull of thread a contemplation of what’s to come. The cloister which trained companions, where you had resided for the past year, was meant to instill meek obedience.

It had mostly worked.

All your grand ideas of escape had been whittled down by punishments and deprivation, to resistance, then to mocking, then to passive endurance, and finally quiet resignation.

Your Vigil had been the last series of cuts to shape you into a docile, obliging companion.

This one gives of the body for the Glory of the Empire. The mantra still rings in your ears as you are ushered forward to begin the formal presentation.

Your stomach is in knots. Sitting the Vigil, you had eaten only a water-thinned broth of nutrition paste and tried to reassure yourself that there was still a chance that whoever you were given to would be pleased with you. Would be kind. You had resented every second of it, quasi-religious banthashit for a cause you didn’t believe in, but it was easier to push down your fear and disgust and be angry instead. Now, though…

Be grateful you are being permitted this second chance. It is an honor to serve the Empire, and few are afforded a position in this cloister.

Now, you can hardly muster anger that rises above the apprehension.

Just hours ago, your hands had been steady and sure. At last, embroidery finished, each perfect tiny stitch gleaming in gossamer palebug thread against the precious Aurelian lightgold fabric, you had stood, swaying and near-delirious. Mirri and Solis directed the others to assist you into one final bath. It was freezing, and their hands scrubbed at your skin viciously. Perhaps your new master would have little taste for pleasures of the flesh or bed games. Perhaps he wanted a lively companion, one to have at his side at society events, or he might appreciate your skill with a needle and even allow you to earn some credits that way. It is too much to hope for, you caution your anxious heart.

Two imposing red-robed guards move to flank the three of you, blocking your view of a white-uniformed Imperial officer striding up to the foot of a dais, and atop it, a hunched little man in a black hooded cloak, who has to be the Emperor.

You can’t hear much of what is going on until the praetorian guards shoulder their spears in unison and you are beckoned forward. With each step you take closer, unease rises higher, you hear your heart pounding louder in your ears. The Emperor is much less frightening as a faraway idea than he is in person. He and everyone else-- the officer in white, all the whispering, jealous-eyed courtiers-- are looking at you, and nothing else, and it makes you want to hide behind one of the enormous pillars.

Focus. Focus on anything else…the grandeur of the vast hall. Every detail projects power and luxury, though without ostentation. Plush rugs over inlaid stone floors, twinkling, glowing crystals rather than electric or chem lights, huge, unbroken slabs of red Cembrian marble on the walls-- the plundered fortune of ten thousand worlds, collected in one room, for the glory of one man.

And here you are, fancifully wrapped up and about to be presented, just another wisp of pretty entertainment.

Your attention is inevitably drawn back to the Imperial officer in his striking white uniform. Close up, you see he is tall, and very, very blue. Like a Pantoran, maybe, but— you notice with a jolt— he has glowing red eyes. Never heard of a Pantoran with red eyes before. He does not acknowledge you or Mirri or Solis at all, even though you are standing now within nearly an arm’s length of him. You can just make out his rank plaque—a Grand Admiral?— before the Emperor descends from the dais and greets him, loud enough for the whole attending court to hear.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn!”

“Good evening, Emperor Palpatine.” The Grand Admiral says. “I am at your service.”

“You bear your new rank well. First Batonn, and now I hear of your tidy victory in the Omwat system. You happened upon a pirate fleet, I am told. Outnumbered seven to one, and you suffered only one casualty, and one TIE lost.”

The Grand Admiral inclines his head. “Thank you. But I cannot accept all the credit. The Chimaera’s crew performed admirably under the pressure of an ambush.” His voice is modulated and quiet, calming in contrast to the Emperor’s grating drawl.

The Emperor continues, a slight shift from patrician to menacing. “You have a knack for commanding loyalty.”

“You flatter me,” the Grand Admiral says. “Though I disagree.”

All assembled seem to flinch. To contradict the Emperor as an advisor, in private, is one thing, and to be done with caution. But to do so in public, as a nonhuman no less…

You watch him with fear and now the slightest measure of intrigue and respect. He is either very stupid or supremely confident.

“Do you.” says the Emperor, in a tone that doesn’t really invite further explanation.

The Grand Admiral goes on anyway. “A military leader can never command the loyalty of his subordinates the way a political ruler does. He must instead inspire trust, and confidence, in service of a common goal. He must lead by example. Loyalty is one of those examples.”

You realize you’ve been holding your breath, riveted by the Admiral’s voice. He had not sounded hurried or wary. Perhaps foolish of him not to be a bit more deferential right now; most others would sense the Emperor’s annoyance and be rightly terrified.

“You would do well,” the Emperor says, “not to forget our previous conversations on that subject.”

“A state of mutual gain. I have not forgotten.”

Though you cannot see more than a shadow across the Emperor’s face, you can imagine his eyes narrowing at this.

The Grand Admiral says nothing more, standing upright at parade rest, seemingly unaware or uncaring that he ought to be cowering right now.

“Well,” the Emperor drawls, cutting the silent tension at last. “No doubt you have been busy. But I have not called you all the way to Coruscant only for you to leave empty handed.” The Emperor gestures lazily to you.

That was supposed to be your cue to bow, but you don’t. Mirri elbows you and Solis’ grip on your elbow tightens painfully.

The Grand Admiral’s gaze flickers to you, then back, as if you hold little interest for him. “What’s this?” His tone is even, his face impassive, inviting any number of interpretations of his emotion— curiosity, amusement, surprise— but in the end giving away nothing.

The Emperor allows himself an indulgent, vile chuckle. “A gift.”

Under your robe, you dig your nails into your palms to stop an obvious shudder going through you. Don’t be sick you repeat to yourself, even as another threatening weight settles in your stomach.

“I am… honored by your generosity.”

“This one will require a firm hand, but will serve you well.”

The Grand Admiral looks at you again. His expression still gives nothing away, but you lift your chin and glare back, defiant of the fact that he can probably guess what kind of face you’re making under your veil.

Is that why you were being Offered to such a high ranking person? He seems soft spoken, but those kinds of people can be the most dangerous. Perhaps he is meant to break you.

“I see. She seems…spirited.”

The Emperor chuckles again, and a ripple of laughter goes through the attending court too.

“A match for you, then. Now, I will not keep you any longer from your well deserved celebrations.”

The Grand Admiral understands the clear dismissal, and bows to the Emperor, who turns and goes to greet those who had watched the brief ceremony.

You watch your new master from beneath your veil, with a directness you would not dare were you not covered. “Deliver my gift to my shuttle,” he gives the order to Mirri and Solis, with the air of someone clearly used to being obeyed promptly and without question. “I will be along momentarily.”

☆ link to part 2 ☆ ☆ join tag list ☆

#thrawn #thrawn x you #thrawn fic #thrawn fanfiction #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn x reader #thrawn x y/n

111 notes · View notes

izvmimi · 1 year

Text

cw: fantasy!au shoto x princess!reader, implied quasi-arranged marriage, some place names i made up for my au <3

Court ladies, particularly the ones that are of your age, marriage-eligible and plagued by thoughts of wedded bliss, are notorious for embellishing stories. Especially those that concern men, especially those that concern those rich and powerful men, and most of all those who are thought to be blessed with powerful magic.

The prince who hails from the Terras Magi far away, whose personal history already sounds like the stuff of fairytales, is one of these bountiful sources of mystery and fantasy. Third in line to the throne after the original crown prince of their hidden kingdom went mad and after the second prince disappeared into the night, the mage prince is thought to have strategically kept himself hidden away from the remainder of the continent, declining to partake in the many royal conferences held over the year. Few have seen him in the flesh, aside from the reported occasional meetings with prince Bakugou of the highlands, who somewhat begrudgingly claims to be his friend.

However, that changes tonight. You will meet him, and you are expected to charm him, as princess of Phulblume, to consider forge a stronger alliance with that part of the world that has remained closed off and uninterested in the much more mortal remainder -

and there is no greater alliance than matrimony.

Yet, the thought of courtship tires you immensely. You’ve been in love before, and lost it, accepting that a relationship between a future Queen and her Knight would cause more harm than good; your previously furtive glances, held too long across the court of flowers, have now been reduced to averse, split second looks. You cannot bear to lay eyes on him and neither can he on you.

Love is laid to rest, and you expect not to be impressed by another man ever again.

And yet, the mage prince is everything you’d heard and more.

The prince arrives with his older sister in tow, who watches him carefully, not to protect him but as though to mind his manners for him. He bows before the throne where your father and mother sit, where you stand in polite wait and then curtsy.

As he introduces himself to the court, you find yourself waiting for him to look at you. He doesn’t immediately, and you notice the red and white of his hair, starker in contrast to his sister’s gently swept locks. She is radiant despite the gentle frost that follows her, and it is reminiscent of the first snow of the season, the kind that is too gentle to accumulate but warns you that storms may approach soon. She turns to you and smiles, and you curtsy politely, your cheeks warming.

Then he turns, as though instinctively following his sister’s lead, and he sees you. There is a split second of hesitation as your eyes meet. He forgets to bow and you forget to curtsy, perhaps because you are both feeling out each other with your souls.

You are earth and he is both water and flame.

You catch yourself first, starting your curtsy, and he takes your hand and bows deeply, his eyes falling to the ground at your feet.

“I am pleased to meet you, your Highness.”

The pleasure is all mine, you think and forget to say. His voice reminds you of the gentle crackle of firewood on cold nights as a child, sat comfortably in the lap of your mother as she reads your favorite book.

His sister watches carefully, and you think of morning dew.

“I am glad you have arrived safely,” you can hear your father, the King, announce. Prince Shoto has not stopped looking at you, although your gloved fingers no longer touch. Princess Fuyumi nudges him gently, then speaks first.

“We are thankful to have been invited to your kingdom on behalf of our country,” she cuts in when Shoto remains mute. He seems to snap back into attention at the sound of her voice. He nods.

“We look forward to tonight’s gala and to what you have to show us in Phulblume,” he adds.

He glances at you again, and you look away, your face warming, and wonder if it’s his magic, or something else.

#shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #fantasy!au shoto x reader #mimi's notes #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: shoto

315 notes · View notes