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cutekittenlady · 1 year

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Bombshell Blonde (pt. 1???)

My own sort of take on a concept expounded upon on @waywardstation blog. Involving Sneasler getting a new rival in the higihlands in the form of a shiny member of her species. May continue along the lines already outlined on their blog, or may go off into my own direction. May not even continue it beyond this post. Who knows, it'll all depend on how I'm feeling XD.

Still, I won't post this up on any ao3 page. At least not yet. The title may also yet be a work in progress.

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<Are you seeing this shit Ingo?!> Sneasler demanded as she peered over the edge.

Goldi was down there, surrounded by the sneasels who should have been surrounding HER. They were bringing her berries, and fish, and roots, and plump beans. HER plump beans!

Lady Sneasler looked at her warden. Her gruff, scraggly, skinny warden.

He was staring bleerily ahead of him and yawned.

“I am sorry, my lady. I fear my engines have yet to fully engage. It is before sunrise.”

Lady gave a loud ‘snea’ of irritation before wrapping her long arm around Ingo and pulling him over to the rock face. She gestured wildly at the group with her claw.

Ingo rubbed his eyes and looked down.

“Oh my.”

Sneasler sighed. FINALLY, he saw the issue.

“Is that a shiny sneasler?” he said in a tone of fascination. “That is exceptionally rare!”

When he heard his noble whine he knew he hadn’t said what she’d wanted.

“Is… there something else?”

Lady leaned over the edge and motioned wildly down at the other sneasler and the sneasels with her claws giving cries of distress.

Ingo looked again.

“I would not fret too much Lady Sneasler, I do not think any of them pose danger to each other. In fact the sneasels seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Lady flopped her arms over the edge of the cliff with a huff and kicked her legs dejectedly.

Ingo could normally understand her so well! Why was he so thick now? Of all times?!

“I’m… I’m sorry Lady Sneasler I do not think I quite see…” Ingo glanced between the pouting sneasler and down at the sneasels fawning over the shiny pokemon.

Oh. Ohhhhhh.

He would have to be careful how he went about confirming this.

“Lady Sneasler, are you perhaps…”

Jealous? No, that was too judgemental. He couldn’t imagine her reacting positively to that.

Insecure? Nope. Nope. That was worse. His noble was a proud creature, and insinuating she was feeling insecure about anything would not go over well.

Concerned? Yes, concern might be worth a try.

“... Are you perhaps feeling… concerned about this other sneaslers presence?”

Sneasler suddenly turned to him and yowled, <Finally! Now you get it!>

Once again she waved down at the group.

Lady kicked her feet dejectedly.

Ingo sat listening dutifully. He couldn’t understand a single ‘snea’ of it, but he imagined it wouldn’t have made much difference if he could. Lady, as he had come to privately think of her, clearly needed to vent about this other sneasler. Getting whatever shallow grievances off her chest so they weren’t taking up room in her mind. It was the sort of thing humans did a lot of the time too and he had to assume pokemon likely weren’t immune to such impulsions either.

Ingo already thought he knew what it was hse wanted and was carefully planning his response.

<She’s ruining everything! You have to DO something! You’re my warden. GET RID OF HER.>

With this last outburst, Ingo thought he understood.

“Lady Sneasler,” Ingo began patiently, although avoiding anything that might be considered a patronizing tone, “what has this other sneasler actually done? I mean, that would be actionable?”

Sneasler waved down at the grouping like he was a blind idiot.

“Yes, yes, I can see that they are waiting on her. But you see, Lady,” here he took a breath, “being a noble doesn’t necessarily entail the attention of the other sneasel. At least as far as I know. I’ll admit I’m the outsider here but, well… You don’t want to MAKE them like you, surely.”

<I don’t HAVE to MAKE them like me!> Sneasler now gave the closest sound to a bark Ingo had ever heard from her, <They liked me already! But she's making them think they don’t!>

Ingo ignored this.

“My lady, if you were all in a pack and she had, as it were, dethroned you as the ‘head’ then maybe there might be something I could do. But you and the sneasels are solitary creatures. What favor they shower you with is, as it were, completely voluntary.” Here Ingo paused and then said, “Of course, if she had attacked you or invaded your territory..?”

He glanced at sneasler.

Ingo liked pokemon. In a way he got on better with them than he did with the people of the pearl clan. They all knew he was an outsider of sorts, but for the most part once you got past their instinctual suspicion most pokemon didn’t really care, while he knew for a fact there were still those in the pearl clan who’d have seen him thrown out years ago if Irida and some of the other wardens hadn’t maintained the importance of his position.

He also liked that they didn’t tend to lie. Oh there was cleverness and trickery and that sort of thing, but if you got along with them well enough and asked them a direct question like ‘did this or that happen’ they would communicate the truth. It didn’t seem to occur to them to do otherwise.

That was why he knew he could trust it when Sneasler shook her head.

“So she has not attacked you nor has she moved in on your nest or any part of your territory,” Ingo sighed, “Lady, you know I would do anything for you but I can not go out with the others and, well, assault other pokemon on your behalf. It would make you look like some sort of dictator.”

And it could do harm to the pearl clans' doings in the highlands, was something he didn’t say.

If he, a human wearing the pearl clan insignia, attacked every pokemon who even slightly got on Lady Sneaslers nerves, then there would be retribution. His lady was far too strong for retribution to be directed her way, but unattended humans or pokemon collecting ingredients amongst the cliffs would be a different story. However, he didn’t think it tactful to bring it up in the current conversation. He didn’t want to imply to sneasler that he thought her lacking in any way.

“Besides, if I attacked her you know the other sneasels might come to her aid, taken with her as they are at the moment. I do not wish to harm them, and I don’t believe you want me to either.”

Sneasler gave a low mumble which Ingo, accurately, interpreted as an unwilling agreement.

That was good at least. Despite her own feelings on the matter it was a comfort to know Sneasler had not completely forgotten her priorities.

“I am certain once the novelty has worn off, they will come back to you my lady.” Ingo explained. “This is a fad, nothing more.”

Sneasler glared down at the other sneasler. Then she glared at Ingo. Then at the sky.

Then with a cry of frustration she threw her arms in the air.

<You just don’t understand!> She then marched to the edge of the opposite cliff and moved to descend.

A look of panic appeared on his face.

“Ah, lady, I am not yet prepared to depart!”

She ignored him as she began going over the edge.

“M-My lady, I am not in the basket! You are going down the cliff without me in the basket!”

By the time Ingo reached the edge she was already a couple of feet down, and seemed to be ignoring his cries. Evidently his tactful phrasing had not been tactful enough. Sneasler was displeased with him and was no, evidently, getting back at him.

“I know you are upset, but this is not a way for a noble lady to behave!” Ingo called down to his noble as she reached the bottom of the cliff and swaggered away.

Oh he wouldn’t die up here. There were no predators, the wind wasn’t strong enough to knock him off, and there were even a few edible plants here and there. Still, being messed with like this was upsetting.

Ingo sighed.

He had made her upset with him. Well, not, not with him. She was more likely to be upset by the situation more likely than not, and taking it out on Ingo in this petty way probably just made her feel better.

Even if he didn’t have gliscor with him to help ease him down the various cliffs to the bottom, he wouldn’t be stuck up here for too long. Lady Sneasler would come back for him. If only to make sure he’d ‘learned his lesson’.

In many ways, Lady Sneasler was still very young.

Oh well, he thought. This will come to pass I am sure.

With that, he brought out Gliscor and, with his help, began his own descent.

#lady sneasler's rival #is I think what the tag was #bombshell blonde #was another I think?#I dunno got the pseudo title from the blog also.#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #legends arceus #pokemon legends #submas #pla #sneasler #pokemon sneasler #ingo #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #fanfic #pokemon fanfic

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dragonflight203 · 4 months

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Mass effect replay thoughts, continued. This time running through the Citadel quests with Tali and Liara:

-Khalisa repeatedly emphasizes that spectres work for the Citadel.

This is a recurrent theme throughout ME1: Is Shepard loyal to the Citadel or the Alliance? Do they consider themselves a spectre first or Alliance? Can they be reconciled?

I noticed last playthrough that when introducing themself, spectre is usually the paragon option. Alliance is neutral or renegade.

This is another theme that, as far as I can recall, is dropped in ME2 or ME3. Again, spectres are very downplayed in those games and Shepard is essentially just treated as an Alliance soldier.

Shame - it would have been interesting to see what would have happened if Shepard was forced to pick. What if they had uncovered Alliance behavior that was a threat to the galaxy that the Alliance wanted to keep hidden or had covered up? Something that forced them to choose between the Council (the galaxy) and humanity?

(Well, something more immediately dangerous than the nuke Hackett asks them to retrieve in ME1...)

-In the interview, if you go neutral when asked about handing the Normandy over to the Citadel you get asked about humanity and the respect of the galaxy.

If you go paragon and state that the Normandy's crew is Alliance, this is skipped and the interview goes straight to asking about Saren.

-I enjoy how much more flexible ME1 is about quests than the later games. This is the first time I'm starting the quest about keepers by speaking to Jahleed. Although I'll probably regret it at the end when I have to run all over the Citadel a second time to actually scan the keepers.

-The Bhatia quest is rather sad. The whole mess could have been avoided if the military had actually asked Nirali if they could keep Samesh's body for research. He agrees!

I do feel the research is important, but essentially stealing her body like that was not right. If he had pushed back I would have made sure he received it. The Alliance isn't going to get recruits if they don't respect their dead.

Sidenote: The first game acknowledges that the Alliance is flawed.

-Continue to love Pallin. Paraphrased: "Knew one of your kind would make spectre. Hope you're better than the one they're sending you after."

"I'll do everything I can to stop Saren."

"Hmph, that's what worries me."

Man is consistent. I will presume he and Castis are BFFs moving forward.

-Udina's unhappiness with Shepard is reasonable. Humanity is being judged by Shepard, and Shepard is a total wild card. Paragon or Renegade, they'll do what they want to do and to hell with the consequences. That's rather hard on Udina, whose job it is to clean up and smooth ruffled feathers after those consequences.

-I like Din Korlak. He doesn't toe the party line; he's a strong advocate for the Volus and won't settle for them being treated as anything less than equal. He doesn't just want Volus to get theirs, he wants the Volus to have a say in who gets what.

He and Udina are actually very alike - outspoken, demanding, pragmatic. They also both betray the galaxy to Cerberus in ME3! Hmm, not sure if that says something about them or about Bioware.

-Din never mentions the Volus relationship with the Turians directly. The closest is something along the lines of trading services for protection.

Interesting, given that as a diplomat he must coordinate with the Turians frequently. As grumpy as he is, he's still presenting Volus in the most positive light possible to Shepard - and being dependents ain't part of that.

-I appreciate Calyn's continued interruptions that the Volus are actually very favored by the Council. How are the Elcor treated by comparison?

-How did the Volus and Elcor wind up in the same embassy anyway? The Volus have been around for a long time. The Elcor are very new. If they didn't ask for this, no wonder they're huffy that humanity has their own, separate embassy.

-As far as I can tell, the Consort is supposed to be a geisha.

-Nelyna, paraphrased: "I have your name and you'll be contacted. Is there anything else?" Excellent customer service voice. You can tell she gets a lot of mistreatment. Hope the position of greeter is rotated and she doesn't always have to deal with this.

-The meeting with the Consort is very strange. She tells you not to come any closer. She then gets up in your personal space and starts touching you. She's supposed to be an amazing woman that makes people feel great, but she's all business the whole meeting while she presses her body against yours. Then she tells you to leave and not come back until everything is sorted with Septimus. What was Bioware going for?

-Why does she even ask Shepard to do this? Are all the other spectres absent from the CItadel? Do none of her clients have a good relationship with Septimus? Did she want it to be someone who wasn't a client? The last would be my guess, but the whole thing is very strange.

-After the Rachni wars, the Krogan were granted several colonies. Making a note of this as I often see it discussed about the genophage. From the start of ME1, the Krogan did get new worlds.

-Shepard to Avina: The Krogan stopped the Rachni. The Turians stopped the Krogan. Who will stop the Turians?

Avina: Not in my programming, the Turians are on the Council and not a threat.

Implicit answer by the game: Humans will stop the Turians.

Another thread that got dropped in future games, but ME1 does position Humanity to potentially go up against Turians in the future. Can't say I'm sad that didn't happen, but it would have been interesting. Maybe as an outcome of bad choices.

-Love Helena Blake. Very pragmatic woman. Red sand and slavery are bad. You, spectre, take out my rivals doing these bad things. Then I'll take over their gangs, clean them up, and raise them to greatness!

Btw this is totally just a conversation and you can't charge me for anything.

And she's not wrong... The gangs do need to be stopped. I look forward to talking her into becoming a social worker again.

-Barla Von, paraphrased: "The tale of how you survived the great tragedy on Akuze is truly remarkable. I am amazed each time I hear it."

How often is the tale of Akuze told??? Why is Barla Von, an information broker and financial advisor, repeatedly listening to it???

-Most other species tend to refer to Shepard as human. Volus call them Earth-clan. Nice touch.

-ME1 spends a lot of time building the shadow broker up. If ME3 had spent as much time building up to the endings the backlash would not have been so bad. The endings would have felt like a natural outcome of the game.

-There are dozens of species in the wards. 80% of species acknowledge the Council as an authority. Only the most powerful species have embassies.

ME1 makes it very clear that the galaxy has a ton of intelligent species, even if only a fraction are shown. Not sure if that's something Bioware will utilize in the future or not.

-If the Keepers are interfered with, there are harsh penalties. Like rehabilitation. What does that constitute that it's considered a harsh penalty? Why do I strongly suspect it's a polite euphemism?

-That C-Sec Officer is very casual about dropping slurs (jelly) when speaking to Shepard about the Hanar preaching on the presidium. All while gunning for a promotion. The Presidium is shiny, but Bioware's not pretending it's a utopia.

-The Alliance is so very blunt about their goals. Admiral Kahoku, paraphrased: "It's about time the Alliance got one of our own in with the spectres. We need people like you to deal with our... problems."

Yes, Kahoku, that's the purpose of the spectres. To advance their own interests. That's why every species gets at least one member with a "I can do what I want" card. I am sure the Council was thrilled to receive this report as well.

-Tali and Liara continue to be a contrast I was not expecting. About the Council meeting area, paraphrased:

Liara: They make decisions that affect trillions of lives. Awe-inspiring!

Tali: We asked them to wipe out the geth 300 years ago. Maybe if the had listened we wouldn't be here.

Like, damn. Something similar occurred around the Krogan statue that I did not write down.

Liara's out here bright eyed and bushy tailed and Tali's just dropping truth bomb after truth bomb. I'm getting whip lash.

Edit: Fix spellings

#mass effect #mass effect 1 #mass effect 1 replay

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feistynighean16 · 2 years

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Playing with Fire

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Genre: smut, timeline before Thor (2011), teasing, oral satisfaction, mentions of BDSM, very chatty Loki, power-play

Words: 4,2k

Summary: As a representative of your clan, you are chosen to attend the annual convention at the residence in Asgard. Everything has a fast cadence when you are asked to dance with the God of mischief.

The drapes lazily moved when the asgardian autumn wind blew into your chamber. Your skin covered itself in goosebumps as you were stepping out of your bath and your servant handed you a silk sheet to wrap yourself up. The rose scent melted into the air, it was your significant mark.

This year, you were chosen to attend the annual and glorious convention where all the clan representatives meet and raise their concerns. From your mother’s narration, concerns are never heard because, according to Asgardians, entertainment is essential for all’s well-being. It is an opportunity to explore the residence Norse gods live in.

Your servant brought you the attire in your clan’s colours – silver feathers around the neckline, black corset and tight-fitting skirt with thigh slit, modestly revealing garnets.

On the one hand, being the eldest child gave you many opportunities, on the other hand, also many responsibilities. You were raised to become a future owner of your family’s three-floor mansion, a future Jarl whom everyone would respect as an equal. There was always a hint of leadership in your blood, a drop of slick strong-mindedness taking you to everywhere you wanted. Whether it demanded fairness or not.

You let your servant braid your hair while you were curling your lashes.

The image of walking down the magnificent hallways intrigued you. Enormous power laying in those walls gave you chills you did not want to shrug off.

You stood up, smoothing your skirt, and waved your servant off. She kindly made a bow and left your chamber. Scrutinizing your look in the mirror, you gave yourself a few compliments and encouragement for patience for you were sure you were going to need it.

…

Arriving at the residence made you a bit anxious, but determined. Your people’s respect for you would surely increase when their ears heard you had met the other Jarls, and perhaps had negotiated some useful deals for a future cooperation.

You held your head high and stepped graciously into the massive hall. There were two long dining tables full of Asgard’s most delicious dishes. There were portraits of the Gods in random acts and positions on the high walls. In between them were gold intricate candelabras. You were offered a welcome drink which you gladly accepted.

The hall was already filled with Jarls, recognizing and greeting some of them. You participated in a few almost similar small talks, which contained seldom hatred and angst against other Jarls. You found yourself feeling like a snake – slithering from Jarl to Jarl, listening and partly agreeing to some falsely proven allegations. It was an advantage though; you never knew when it would come in handy.

There was someone you did not recognize. He did not belong to any known clan or so you thought. He was talking passionately about something with a group of people, charming them. You narrowed your eyes and sneaked up closer just as much as you could hear him.

‘...and it was a wild boar which stole it! I swear to the Norns!’ People surrounding him broke into an abrupt laughter. You needed to roll your eyes. Typical competition among Asgardian men – overtaking themselves in dangerous animals which they had taken down. And you thought he was worth listening.

The sound of horn caught everyone’s attention.

Through a massive door entered Ódin, after him Frigga. They nodded to the crowd and sat down on the thrones. After a while, their eldest son Thor, entered as well with a big smile on his face.

You expected the second son to enter, but nothing happened. By the expression on other’s faces, it was no surprise.

‘Welcome, welcome, Jarls and friends, on another annual convention of Asgard. I hope you all have had a peaceful journey,’ Ódin addressed the crowded hall and everyone, including you, made a bow. Ódin’s eyes were filled with concern, but his complexion remained relaxed. Frigga beside him patted Thor on the back with a smile, as he was examining the liquid in his jug.

‘We shall proceed with the reason we are all gathered here today. Therefore I am asking you: ‘Does anyone have any concerns regarding your clans, or Asgard?’’ Silence settled in the hall, no one moved, nor coughed. After an awkward time of silence, Ódin stood up.

‘In that case, let the feast begin!’ He spread out his arms and bards started to play a joyous melody while everyone proceeded in their earlier conversations.

You chuckled and downed your glass. Mother, you really were truthful.

…

Bards were playing at least a nineteenth song, people were chatting louder than before, and you felt your patience getting out of your hands after a few very insightful conversations about the latest hearsays. You needed to contain annoyed sighs and rolling your eyes. You thought it was going to be an exciting opportunity, not a memory of your distant uncle lying under the table completely passed out. Thor was among the people with whom your uncle competed in how many jugs can one gulp down.

You excused yourself from another riveting conversation and sneaked away. You felt someone’s eyes on your back, but you didn’t bother to inspect the source. You only wanted another glass and something to eat. You moved closer to the table with refreshments and helped yourself with a grape while watching the Asgardian nature through colossal windows.

‘Pardon me, madam, I believe I must have misheard your name,’ you had heard behind your back before you turned to the voice.

‘Actually, you really have not,’ you replied coldly and realized to whom the voice belonged. It was the man you had not recognized earlier. His hazel eyes were curiously observing firstly your face, then his eyes dropped down to your cleavage, and stopped at the beginning of the slit. You raised an eyebrow.

‘In that case, allow me to introduce myself. I am Erik, the cousin of Jarl Knud from the Finnling clan,’ he took your hand and kissed it while maintaining eye contact. You felt a sudden flash of electricity beam in the place his lips touched your skin.

‘I suppose it is my turn to reveal my name, mister Erik,’ you sipped from a glass and continued: ‘My name is Y/N, the daughter of Jarl Arne from the Kranling clan,’ you nodded respectfully, inspecting your companion.

He had long red hair and his beard was braided. He wore a fur collar, guessing from a sable, thrown over the shoulders, broadening them. You did not doubt his immense strength even though he took your hand so tenderly. But his smile felt somewhat…peculiar.

‘So mister Erik, did you think of an interesting matter to discuss when you felt the need to approach me?’ You did not plan to sound annoyed, but you eventually did.

‘Should I have? Is my presence not enough for your gracious sight, madam Y/N?’ He fired back, and you raised your eyebrow again. You noticed a slick smirk on his face as he was trying to catch you off guard.

‘Of course not, mister Erik. It just seems to me like your presence would be appreciated somewhere else, that is all,’ you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

‘Are you saying you are not curious about how many trophies I own in my mansion, madam Y/N?’

‘And what if it was true what you are saying?’

‘You hurt my pride, madam Y/N. For your apology, I request the next dance with your graciousness,’ he smirked, and his audacity left you wordless.

‘I beg your pardon?’ You blinked, stunned. For a cousin of a clan you had not heard of in your life, his attitude did not live up to the persona he introduced himself as. His eyes scanned the room superficially, his lifted chin showed high upbringing and the way he talked was not amicable in the slightest.

‘There is no need to apologise, darling. Shall I take it as a yes, or is it an attempt of the Kranling clan disgracing the comradeship lasting for centuries?’ His eyes blazed with amusement. You looked around with caution to inspect whether someone had heard.

It is an ancient unwritten principle, but every dweller of Asgard respects the comradeship among clans. They are to help each other in need, share forces in war or trade stock. If this principle is broken by action or even one of the clans declares not being respected by the other, the accused one faces shame and, in the worst case, the Jarl is flogged and subsequently forced to resign and expelled from his own clan.

‘There are other ways to make me dance with you than endangering my clan, you know,’ you said under your breath only for him to hear.

‘Believe me, I could have used my own practices, but where would be the fun in that?’ He licked his lips and cocked one eyebrow mischievously at you. Annoyed, you let out a snort. As the following Jarl, you could not have allowed this accusation to be proven true. There was no hostility present during your conversation, irritation perhaps, but it would have been your fault if someone mentioned it. And by that time someone did, the flogged Jarl could be no other than you.

‘I presume I have not got a choice if I want to preserve my back without scars, have I?’

‘Your choice only indeed. Personally, I would not have enjoyed the sight of your smooth bare skin being butchered, I heard they use a rope with metal spikes,’ he clicked his tongue and narrowed eyes in feigned pain. ‘At least if it was not done by my hand.’

You turned to face him stunned, again, and surprised. The image of him standing behind you and lashing the rope sent chills down your spine, terrifying and intriguing.

‘And what would your hand use as a punishing device? The same rope, or a band perhaps?’ You prompted his thought curiously while touching his arm with your index finger. You locked eyes and he leaned closer.

‘There is only one correct answer,’ he whispered in your ear, ‘a leather strap.’

‘Are you skilled sufficiently with the leather strap, mister Erik?’ You continued in querying not minding the chills taking turns with electric jolts in excitement.

‘I am quite natural, darling,’ he whispered again and brushed his lips against your earlobe. ‘It is effective, and no one has made a complaint yet.’

He stepped back from you a few inches and inspected pleasingly the reaction he caused. You gulped down and felt the slight redness in your cheeks burning your skin.

‘What is your choice then? Shall I address Ódin, or your graciousness will obey to dance with me?’

He grinned down at you and his hazel eyes twinkled with newly gained supremacy. You took a deep breath and reevaluated your options. There were no options precisely, your stubborn nature wanted to fight against better judgment, but it eventually won.

‘Damn you, mister Erik.’

You took his offered hand and with your racing heart you let him lead you onto the reserved place in front of the bards. After you had stood in front of him, he put his right hand around your waist, and you put your left hand on his shoulder.

You could feel his eyes piercing into your soul, you tried to reciprocate, but you felt too small in his embrace. You were swaying in the partially cheerful melody across the dance floor. Your chests were nearly touching, although it was inadmissible for court decorum. Neither of you could care less.

In one movement, you felt his left hand sliding lower on your back.

‘Observing the territory already, are you?’ You said teasingly. He snorted. His hand travelled across your back down and up until he gripped the back of your neck. This motion sucked out air from your lungs. He bit his lip and let go of your neck.

Away from the eyes on the thrones, his hand slid through the slit and touched your bare thigh, his large fingers tracing the line of the garnet. You hissed when the garnet snapped against the tickled skin.

Your heart was beating rapidly, and your mind was blank. His actions managed to leave you in doubt and possibly turned on the flight response, but somehow your body stayed clinged to his. However, the fight response did not abandon you yet.

Drawing his coat aside, your hand squeezed one of his cheeks. His unexpected moan and frozen posture made you grin with satisfaction.

As your eyes focused back on his face, your previous actions had consequences. Not only were you pressed against hard cock, but there was also something happening with his face.

His eyes flickered and changed colour to poisonous green.

Caught in shock, you tried to push yourself away from him, but his grip tightened around your waist, pressing you harder.

Even his scent changed from thick musk to a pine smell mixed with leather.

‘You are a one feisty grace, darling,’ he whispered in your ear and slid his hand down your back to find the rim of your underpants. His eyes opened wide shockingly when there was none to be found. ‘I have worked on this disguise long enough apparently for it to crumble down with one inappropriate touch of yours.’

‘For what it is worth, you deserve to take the beating for blackmailing me, mister Erik,’ you replied and licked the bulging vein on his neck. He moaned, this time a little bit louder. You pressed on him more eagerly and rubbed yourself on his attire, ‘or shall I call you Loki now?’

‘I...’ he whispered before closing his eyes momentarily. You grinned widely after his piercing green eyes looked down at you. Your skin was burning, slowly realizing who was touching you all this time, ‘I would prefer God of Mischief.’

‘Tsk tsk, Your Highness,’ you clicked your tongue unapprovingly, ‘red hair suits you better.’

‘You cannot be serious, too much ale must have clouded your spotless judgment,’ his eyes remained green, but his jawline began to flicker and transform.

‘And yet still made you lose your grip.’

‘Well, I am currently trying to get a grip on your corset if you will not mind,’ he smiled and started untying the back of your corset. You grabbed his hand and placed it back on your waist.

‘Your Highness, if anyone sees us, both of will be in trouble.’

‘Only you, darling. I will leave this hall still in disguise as mister Erik who had never existed in the first place,’ he said and let you twirl under his arm. After you returned to his embrace, you innocently slid your hand against his crotch. He growled and his hair had darkened for a quick moment before he composed himself again.

‘My deepest apologies, Your Highness. It seems I have rather fidgety hands this evening…’ you smirked as he gritted his teeth, ‘...I suppose mister Erik will not be able to walk out of here that easily.’

‘Madam Y/N, you are strikingly right, indeed. I believe it is time for us to go somewhere…more private to proceed with what we have started here, is it not?’ He looked around to find the way out of this hall.

‘Precisely, Your Highness,’ you agreed, anticipated and completely roused, ‘however, do you know of an exact place to execute what you had in mind?’

‘As much as I would love to tie your limbs to my bed and lash your arched back senseless all day, I fear we do not have time for that.’

‘Promises, promises,’ you reluctantly pulled apart, little sparks covering your fingertips. His eyes, now baring green colour, were looking around the hall, trying to find a way to leave unnoticed. You made a quick bow, hoping to look natural even though your legs started to tremble.

Ódin was sitting on his throne, completely focused on a heated discussion, Frigga was sitting beside him, often engaging in the discussion, and Thor changed his competition to how much cooked lamb could one eat.

Loki strode across the hall, and left through the same door everyone entered. You waited for a while not to look suspicious against your pounding heart.

When you felt it was safe to escape, you walked across the hall. As soon as you vanished behind the corner, your body was slammed into the cold golden wall, feeling your adrenaline intensifying in your blood. Loki's lips crashed into yours hungrily and with suppressed desire. You were leaning against the wall, too stunned to make any tiny movement. He lifted your leg up and hooked it to his waist, with his slender and long fingers travelling on your stocking. You moaned into the kiss and pulled yourself together just to notice a change in his attire.

‘I would prefer a place more out of sight, Loki,’ you heard a growl and put your hands on his cheeks. There was no beard anymore, only a smooth shaven face with a sharp-edged jawline. You opened your eyes to see His Highness panting and wanting.

His green eyes desirously stared into yours, a thin line between his eyebrows signifying slight irritation, and raven curls scattered on his shoulders in frustration. His breathing was hard as his lust was rising. You were more pleased with his appearance in real life even though your earlier remark. He was pressing on you, giving you a big hard snippet of his arousal.

‘Are you certain, madam Y/N? In all honesty, those people could use a bit of inspiration themselves,’ he smirked and tugged at your garnet, making you gasp and smile.

‘As much as I would love to fuck you right in the hallway outside the room in which whole Asgard and your family is, I believe it would put in me in the wrong light later,’ he raised his eyebrows and you could swear you saw a glimpse of amazement in his eyes.

‘And we cannot risk it, can we?’ He let go of you abruptly and took your hand. He began walking through the long hallway, and you followed him blindly. Something in the way he walked made you bite your lower lip. How the leather jacket was embracing his form and how the gold shoulder pads made him appear resilient and strong.

You sneaked through several chambers until you found yourself standing in front of a massive door. Spotting a green mist, the door opened, and he let you enter inside. You were astonished by the place, likely his bedroom. Huge number of books was neatly organized in bookshelves and the sight of the giant bed with silk black sheets was calling you to crawl in.

Biting your lower lip, you turned to face him and pin him against the door, closing itself with audible thud. He was caught off guard, but quickly read your intentions. Your hands explored his attire and your fingers slid down to his crotch. You were about to enter into his pants, when he picked you up and slammed your body against one of the tall bookshelves, while several books fell onto the floor.

He was kissing you with lust, sliding his tongue inside your mouth, and pressing on you more harshly. You tangled your fingers in his locks, tugging it for him to know how much you are content. He started to work his way to your earlobe with his lips, nipping at it. You moved your hips in his direction, eagerly nudging him.

‘Your scent drives me crazy, Y/N,’ he growled and pressed on you more fiercely so you could feel individual shelves digging into your back. You were growing impatient, so you grabbed his hand and put it on your thigh.

He sucked your lower lip between his teeth and caressed your thigh. His hand moved torturingly slow before it reached the skin of your inner thigh. You moaned his name when his index finger ran through your folds.

‘So wet, so soaked for me,’ he murmured against your mouths.

‘And will dry out if you do not do something about it,’ you said hoarse. His finger stopped in its tracks and his eyes stared into yours.

‘Firstly, it would not for I can make you wet any time I like.’

‘Stalling, are you?’

‘And secondly,’ he intensified his stare and gripped your neck, ‘do not tell me what to do.’

He squeezed your neck for a moment. You gasped for breath, but then his hand loosened, and his lips returned to yours, tugging and sucking until they were puffy and red. Your heart skipped a few beats out of horror, but not for long. You knew it was a play of who is in superior position, he knew it too.

He parted from you and observed two puffy pads he had been molesting.

‘Otherwise, you will not be able to walk out of here on your own,’ he wetted his lips longingly and inserted his finger in you. You gasped and purred in his ear.

‘What if it is exactly what I am aiming for, Loki.’

He smirked and bit down on the sensitive skin on your collarbone. You moaned loudly. He needed to brand you with his signature. However, you did not let that happen one-sidedly. You pulled his hair, making his head fall back, and sucked the skin on his neck. Whilst you were working towards the neckline of his attire, he shoved another finger in you and began circling them slowly.

You pushed the thighs together, nudging him closer. He shoved into you a third finger, increasing the speed. You panted into his neck. His thumb rubbed your clit while curling and spreading his fingers inside. You were soaking wet, breathing heavily, pulling his hair roughly. Sweat was building on your forehead, and you knew you were going to explode any second. You made him look you in the eyes, him smirking and you fluttering your eyelids.

You felt yourself approaching your climax, curling his fingers inside you and releasing pressure. You hung onto him, with your legs trembling. He worked your high off, slowly decreasing the speed.

‘Are you sure you wish to live up to the idea of you crawling out of here on your knees?’ He removed his fingers, and without breaking eye contact, he licked them.

‘Are you always so full of words during sex?’ You remarked and used your full strength to press him on another tall bookshelf, causing it to rumble. You seized the situation and slid your hand in his pants. He moaned and you felt him harden. You watched him melt under your touch.

‘You are going to be filled with me in a moment.’

‘I very much count on it,’ you traced your fingers on his throbbing veins, circling on his tip. For each of these movements, you earned several moans. You started to pump him slowly, looking at his expression, twisted with pleasure. You kissed him on the other side of his neck and bit down on his skin. Feeling him approaching his climax and pressing his lap on you for more, you increased the speed. Suddenly, you felt his cum cover your hand. You worked his climax off as his chest was heaving and he growled in satisfaction. His hand fled to his hair to run through it.

‘Well, Your Highness, it seems the tables have turned,’ you smirked and let him watch as you slid your hand with his cum under your skirt and rubbed it on your entrance. His pupils dilated and his voice sounded raspier.

‘Have they, though? I do not think you are prepared for what is going to follow.’

He picked you up, squeezing your buttocks, and threw you on the bed. Before you fell into the silk black sheets, you felt a wind blowing around your body and causing goosebumps to appear. You realized you became completely naked except for your garnets.

You spotted his wicked grin when he took off his attire. He snapped his fingers, the green mist appeared, and the attire fell onto the floor. Your eyes wandered from his shoulders to his chest, to his arms, to his chiselled muscles, and ultimately to his crotch. He was enormous. You licked your lips in anticipation.

Loki sat between your legs grabbing your left one and laid small kisses from your hip to the garnet. Then he bit down on the garnet and slid it down your leg, leaving you breathless. He did the same on your right leg, after which he laid kisses back to your hip.

Longing for his lips, you grabbed his cheeks and led his face to yours. He pinned you with his weight to the sheets, falsely thinking he would fuck your cockiness out of you, but you had other plans – bending your legs and embracing him, you rolled to the side so now you happened to be sitting on top of him.

He let out a surprised gasp when you rubbed against him. You bent down to kiss his parted lips. He tried to roll you on the back again, but you refused him to do so.

Although if he had really wanted it, he would have done it in a snap.

You started making your way of kisses from his jaw to his collarbone and back. Meanwhile he squeezed your buttocks with both hands, and you felt him hardening again.

You put his cock in your hand, pumped for a few times, and thrusted in yourself, slowly adjusting to his size and at your own terms. You both were panting as you slid all of him inside.

He felt so heavenly.

Loki sat and drew you closer to caress your breasts, nipping and sucking on each one. You let yourself give in for a moment, but then you pushed him into the sheets and leaned against his chest.

For a few times, you teased him by only circling your hips and heard him curse. You smiled mischievously. After he realized you were doing it purposely, he flipped you on your back in one swift motion, leaving you baffled and out of breath.

‘Do you really think you are in a position to provoke the God of mischief, darling?’ He kissed you roughly, biting until you felt the iron taste, and pulled out, after which he thrusted in you with all of his length. You gasped and dug your nails into his arms.

‘You bet...I do,’ you panted between each thrust, always hitting the exact sensitive spot. He was proving you wrong, but you rejected admitting it. You could not back down, your pride did not allow it.

‘Persistent until the very end,’ he whispered and increased the speed. Sweat was building on both of your foreheads, but yours was more evident. He was giving you a hard time. Loki made you stare into his eyes, but all you could do was dig your nails into his arms and reach your climax. Your mind went completely blank.

You tried to tell him you were going to come, but you were short on breath as he was thrusting into you senselessly. You felt clenching his cock inside you, heartbeat in your ears, and digging your nails even deeper into his muscles. He was staring into your eyes and working towards his own end.

With a final thrust, you cried out loud his name.

Hearing his name coming from your mouth made him close his eyes and release himself. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and pinned you with all of his weight to the sheets.

Both of you were panting breathlessly, your chests heaving. The only thing you could think about was how to start breathing again. After you had come down from your high, you scrutinized his arms full of little scratches and his neck. You stroked his hair and the arm he had wrapped around you and smirked.

Although he must have been less worn out than you, his face said otherwise.

After he had come down from his high, he pulled out and stayed lying on top of you, visibly enjoying you stroking his hair. With his free hand, he caressed the marks on your neck, and soothed them with his lips.

‘Just so you know, I take promises with utmost seriousness, darling,’ he whispered, giving your lips a peck, ‘you were talking about leather straps earlier, aye?’

Last updated: 17th August 2023

#loki #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki god of mischief #loki of asgard #loki x f!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel

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celecaster · 8 days

Text

It Always Rains Where I Am, Too

Sometimes, inside you, it feels like your guts were festering, necrotic from the hatred shoved into your bowels. It feels so right to fit in the spaces between.

The year was ending, and the temperature had dropped. It was like words were frozen solid before they could be choked out. I noticed the condensation on the windowsill turning into flakes of ice, precipitating an unwelcome winter. It seemed that time was catching on to us so fast that not even space could recall the rules of its places, calling for snow where only rain had since existed.

The tub had been filled up to the brim, its heat fogging up the windows, melting the verglas in the corners outside. When did I last see you? The smell from your quarters could have been mistaken for a corpse. Of course, to me it would be like digging for jewels in the dirt. Challenging inertia came second nature to me.

The hallways, too, had often bent themselves out of shape these days, slipping past three dimensions, the journey traversing the distance to your room lasting for hours at a time, sometimes stretching themselves across several days. It was fine, since there was no real hurry. At the end of the line, all that was left to do was for us to rot together. Liquid fostered decay, to the point your tissues would be glued to me, a thin layer of the integument peeling off from moisture and catatonia.

Always, inside me, it feels like the extant stage of decomposition cycled back to physicalities again. I was sloughing off flesh I didn't even have. My heart was an engorged vessel attached to the core of a burnt-out planet through sinewy, ever-bleeding wires, and oh, how it contained my love for you, or rather it was these feelings of affection that embodied itself into the object of a heart. Whatever it was, I wanted to put it in a bird cage hanging right above the fireplace, away from all the frost.

When the weather turns colder you become so still, brumating in your own avolition. Like a dead man, what a dead man might be, if the dead were to reluctantly stumble back to life. The protests of your stomach become ignored, and you content yourself to simmer in your own filth if it means staying under the covers. You shiver when you feel anything on your skin, and the way you grabbed on to my arms with your talons digging in as I disrobed your wretched body almost felt like resistance.

It’s not like I enjoyed the bathroom either, but we all have our responsibilities, and at this rate if you neglected your hygiene any further your injuries would get infected. You complained that it was cold, that it was always too cold even when the tub was practically a boiling cauldron.

If only you would allow me to give you new eyes, the idea generated itself at that time, overcome with a peculiar desire. It happens to all machines, more artificial than intelligent, when a shock of electricity gets stuck in one synapse too long and breaks a circuit, optics rendered only half-way, like your mind forgets to flip perception right-side up. Did you know the images projected on your retina are reversed? Well, you wouldn't. And for the course of a daydream, I didn't either. The distinction between the simulacra in my thoughts and you trembling in the water in front of me switched positions. Even with no remaining vision, you had averted your eyes.

I felt an emotion almost like anger nibbling at me, the same instinct I experienced the first time I saw the gold in those otherwise empty sockets. I was pan-sifting for your sight in the river of imagination. It was as if I was being cheated as I preened the feathers of your wings, iridescent against the water, all foamy lather and the smell of grapes and oak. You see, feeling was one thing, because as long as you never had to look at me you could always pretend I was somebody else. But it was in seeing that was believing. A single glance at the wrong thing at the wrong time gets burned behind your eyelids forever. Even if I dug my fingers into your bones and your marrow seeped ink instead of blood, there would still be a nook in your senses that you wouldn’t let me cross, a place my love could never reach.

Did it feel like love for you too? The feeling of my hands on your head, your tail around my arms, the wheeze of you taking all you could into your lungs before I took them away from you. I had an inkling of a thought that you'd lose more than your sight down under. Your ears, your tongue, your skin, your brain, I had expected them to disintegrate beneath, that once the tub was drained, I'd have to flush them out of the plumbing, to scrape them off of the ceramic and to stitch them back together again.

That memory was hazy now, slowly dissolving under the surface. More than the order of events, I remember more clearly the sequence of sensations, back then feeling just as delirious and confused, barely passing for sapient and half-heartedly delighted. In the coagulation of emotion, it's so easy to forget anything outside of me existed. It was like reality was suspended into bubbles, each one gradually slipping away from me, pushing themselves out of my throat. I observed you through the convex of their kaleidoscope and saw my distorted funhouse reflection. Through its refraction, the flapping of your wings brought me back to a memory, a recollection of an archetype of a person from universes before. The impression overlaid itself on top of the you before me. It reflects poorly on me to admit it, but it never even occurred to me that I could have killed you.

At least, I think it meant I just didn't want to think about your mortality, so for a moment I forgot it even existed. You know I can't be stuffed to remember anything, so can't you at least pretend to care a tad? You'll have to forgive me for pushing you under so many times. I felt like I was winning something with each succession as your claws lost traction against my wrists on your scalp and your breathing grew more silent against the sound of the tap. I don't recall what I believed I was winning anymore. I just knew I had to emerge the victor. In the fuss of your paroxysm, I almost couldn’t hear myself.

You have a verdict to make, my Judge. Drown in the water, or drown in me.

#parainfluencer virus culture #b #w

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leia-skywalker-organa · 25 days

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Technicolor Plumage

Words: 1,584 CW: References to depression Pairing: Hira / Shino (unnamed) Read it on Ao3 here!

Hira loved naps. Hira liked humans. He could even admit that he respected the ayakashimori. Even so, if one were to ask the Hira of last year where he saw himself today, it certainly wouldn't be in the embrace of one such ayakashimori, using him as a person-sized pillow.

Tengu did not need sleep, but neither Hira nor the girl he currently held in his arms cared about that. He would not dare say it aloud, but often Hira would just lie there, holding her, and reminisce on how he was so fortunate to have gotten to this point.

Hira had always enjoyed watching humans. Typically from afar, though sometimes he would venture closer to observe. Hira had lived a long life. Sometimes he grew bored of watching them from the mountain.

He couldn’t quite place a feather on when life began to grow dull. Perhaps after the first millennia? Humans had such short little lives. It was almost as if he would blink, and those he had grown so fond of observing were dead and gone. It was difficult to find motivation to spend time watching them when they would be gone in a mere moment.

Hira often wished he could be one of them. He wanted to know what it was like to live a tiny little life; to feel human emotion and know what truly made them work. Of course, he had witnessed them do many things (some of which he would certainly be interested in experimenting with with the one currently drooling adorably on his shirt), but there was a fundamental difference between seeing and doing.

He supposed one of the reasons he grew tired of life was because there was truly no end to his existence. No matter what he did, or who he spoke to, it didn’t matter in the end. They would die, and he would endure. No amount of wishing otherwise would change the fact of his existence, nor the inevitability of the end of everyone else’s. So he decided it was easier to just not care and sleep away the time.

Then he came to Sakuratani and became the Shire of Amatsuna. And it was so much work, but what was the point? The ayakashimori he worked with would just die soon anyway. Takao could handle it, and it's not like Hira wanted to be Shire. He only did what he did because it was what old man Tengu told him to. Takao would occasionally challenge him for the position. Part of Hira considered letting Takao win simply so he could be rid of the responsibility and exile himself in peace, but tengu were nothing if not prideful. Even as unmotivated as he was, Hira's pride would not allow Takao to win. If Takao wished to become Shire, he would have to be able to defeat him in combat. Besides, the old man would have proceeded to lecture Hira for ‘abandoning his duty’, and that was even more tiresome than being a Shire. And so, Hira endured. Takao would issue a challenge, and Hira would defeat him. Eventually, Takao stopped trying.

Every year, new ayakashimori would introduce themselves to him. Hira would ignore them, as he was wont to do, and they would soon turn to Takao for any important matters instead, leaving him in solitude. There was no point in getting to know the humans. They were no more than a speck of dust in the galaxy of Hira's immortal, unending existence. They would fade, and Hira would endure, just as he always had.

That is, until he came.

Tokitsugu Semi, a new ayakashimori from a renowned onmyouji family. Not that Hira paid him any particular mind at first. No, he attempted to ignore Semi just as Hira had done the centuries’ worth of ayakashimori before him. The difference was, Semi didn't quite listen like his predecessors had.

In his numerous years of sloth, Hira had begun to underestimate human ambition and stubbornness.

Semi had pushed his boundaries, trying to get Hira to ‘do his job’. (What a pain. Just get Takao to do it.) Apparently, the onmyouji’s words and actions had had an effect on Takao as well, as the other tengu had grown more volatile in his interactions with Hira. Hira found this even more tiresome than anything else he had experienced thus far. The human simply wouldn't give up. If Hira brushed him off, Semi would push until he got a response. He supposed it was slightly better than the ayakashimori from before, who would typically give up after one attempt at interaction with Hira. A bit of variation in the monotony was somewhat enjoyable, though his interactions with the human often left Hira more exhausted than anything. He wouldn't say he considered Semi a friend. Hira didn't even consider Takao a friend, and the two had been together for centuries. Semi was… an annoyance. But, still, an annoyance was at least memorable, even if only for a short time.

And then, the ayakashimori brought in an obnoxious loudmouth of a human girl. She never stopped talking. Hira would ignore her, and she would continue to carry on as if he were paying attention to what she had to say. (He did pay attention to what she had to say, but she didn't need to know that.) Sometimes she would grate on his nerves to the point he would bluntly tell her to stop speaking, or use his divine power to seal her mouth shut, and the girl had the nerve to continue to prattle on regardless! Even so, the girl never pushed too far. Sure, she tested boundaries, and forced him to interact with her, but she always stopped before he reached his limit. This woman was exhausting.

But still, he found himself beginning to miss her when she wasn't around. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even to himself at the time, but Hira looked forward to the girl’s patrols in Amatsuna. He did notice she spent more time in Amatsuna than the other Shires’ domains, which secretly pleased him. Takao would tease him for his thinly veiled affection, much to Hira's chagrin. Of course, Hira denied it, when he could muster the energy to do so, but Takao had spent far too long by Hira's side to not notice the effect the girl had on him.

Slowly, (or rather quickly by an immortal's standards, he supposed) Hira began to have just a bit more energy. He would banter back and forth with her more often than not, and to Takao’s surprise, he would occasionally actually perform some of his duties. She really was an obnoxious woman, but at some point the annoyance morphed into affection.

She had such impossible ideas about friendship between ayakashi and humans, too. However fond he may have grown of the ayakashimori girl that he considered his personal form of torture (affectionately), they were not friends. She would die, and he would live. If Hira were to put into words the attachment and affection he felt for her, it would hurt all the more when she died. Hira’s misguided solution was to attempt to seal those feelings away.

He couldn't help himself, though, and he gave her the bracelet. Hira was worried. He played it off, saying he was only going to let her keep it if she managed to land a hit on him, but the gift was truly made from a place of concern. He had a bad feeling he couldn't shake. Hira loved her, and dreaded the thought of something happening to her because of a failure on his part.

Love.

A four letter word. So simple, so mundane, so human, and yet so undeniably important to him.

Hira had spent most of his existence wishing he was human. Now, though, he was grateful for his eternal life, because it meant he had lived long enough to experience what it was like to truly experience the feeling of love. Every moment of his immortal existence had led him to this point.

He gently traced a finger along her cheek, careful not to wake her. The corner of his lips turned up at what he saw.

They were truly a messy entanglement of limbs at this moment; her legs were entwined with his, her arms were around his middle, her face was buried in his neck. Even so, there was nothing Hira wanted to do more than be where he was right now.

For as much as he loved her, he knew she loved him, too. It mattered not to her that his body temperature was lower than a human’s, or that he didn't always know what to do with his limbs when holding her like this. Every time she came to Amatsuna, she would snuggle into his arms, saying she missed him. And every time she did that, she would inevitably fall asleep.

For millennia, Hira had thought relationships and friendships between ayakashi and humans were doomed from the start. But then he met the spitfire of a girl currently sleeping soundly in his embrace, and Hira did not mind reevaluating his perspective. After all, she was worth it.

While Hira could not exactly put a feather in the moment the world began to grow dull, it was far easier to determine when it began to regain its color. He merely had to think back to the day she had come into his life.

Hira held her all the tighter.

#dairoku: agents of sakuratani #dairoku: ayakashimori #dairoku hira

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sideshow-cellophane-blog · 1 year

Note

Every question about Lupin Gang (+ Zeni) 🥺

BOI YEAH LETS GO Are you the same Lupin anon I've seen a few times? I love you haha! Most of these are inspired by canon tickles, but I added what I think would make sense!

1. Who has the cutest tickle laugh?

They ALL do. Buuuuut Goemon's is rarest, Lupin's is most contagious, Jigen has this higher-pitched tickle giggle that nobody expects out of him, Fujiko DESERVES to be tickled most because she's a lil shit so it's satisfying, and all four of them will tickle Zenigata just to get him to lighten up. Or cheer up. His tickle laugh is so cute.

2. What are their tickle spots?

Lupin - canonically everywhere? His neck and ears, hips, ribs, death spot is tummy. He can't take being tickled but he enjoys dishing it out. He has a canon tickle laugh that is bouncy and boyish

Jigen - Ribs, neck, thighs, hip bones where the thighs and waist meet. He has this sweet high-pitched giggle that just sounds happy.

Goemon - the back of his thighs is death spot, but also feet and generally legs. He's still learning how to laugh and be tickled so it's all over the place. He's prone to soft tickles most.

Fujiko - her entire body as seen in episode 1 lmao. The worst is her torso, namely ribs and sides. I also see her knees being a spot?

Zenigata - ARMPITS and upper ribs!! Those tickle scenes with him are exclusively pit tiggles!! Lupin KNOWS and TARGETS them EVERY. TIME. And you get him giggling immediately over his entire freaking coat and shirt, imagine how bad feathers on skin would feel??? I also see him having a very ticklish chin, hips, and sides.

3. Who is ticklish in unusual places and where would that be?

Lupin's ears, neck, and collar bone. Zenigata has made him laugh by just breathing on the areas.

Jigen's chin and, I'm gonna say, the sides of his knee pits.

Goemon's odd spots, like right beneath his butt.

Fujiko is SUPER ticklish on the tops of her feet

Zenigata has ticklish shoulder blades

4. Who gets cheer-up tickles?

Zenigata, usually when the gang is right in front of him and he can't legally arrest anyone.

ALSO Lupin when he's moody (Fujiko related sad boy hours) and his boys decide that they need that smile back. He will also annoy his partners on purpose or sprawl in very open positions when in a lee mood. Sometimes he'll do a sneak attack to start tickle fights just to get attention, not even just from his boys.

Goemon after The Blood Spray of Goemon Ishikawa :( Sometimes when he sees Jigen and Lupin having their tickle fights he sits in a corner and is too shy to join or ask them to attack him too. He makes it obvious though by bringing his knees to his chest and pouting staring, and after the first few times he did this they caught on that it's his way of asking. Eventually he learns to flop on top of one of them and can be a ruthless ler.

Jigen, when he's feeling edgy and touch-starved, will sometimes ask for belly rubs or something else hinting he wants tickles. Like, "MAN my tooth hurts. Help me take my mind off it huh? Rub my belly or something." Or, "Hey I cooked and cleaned tonight! Least you can do is give me a footrub or something." Or, "You let Fujiko get away with the treasure again?! Well tickle my ribs Lupin, you're all tied up with that woman!" Or, "Hey, I had a rough night. Now I'm gonna lay in your lap and you're gonna tickle me silly help me smile." On it goes.

5. Do either of them try to hide their ticklishness?

It's apparently common knowledge that Lupin is ticklish amongst his enemies, but he can't stand being tortured by villains who won't stop when he's past his limits.

I'd say Goemon hides it the best he can. Only his partners know and they're gonna keep him to themselves!

Fujiko hates being taken advantage of when it comes to tickling so she keeps her targets at arms length to avoid any mishaps. Like a girl boss, she'd rather kill someone than be tied and tortured by an evil old perverted man again.

Zenigata actually doesn't mind being tickled, so long as it isn't in front of his precinct or coworkers. It's hard and humiliating to explain how Lupin knew where to tickle him to get away, not so much that he's ticklish.

I can see Jigen denying it until he sees that the other person is in a ler mood. He can only deny for so long...

6. Who takes advantage of the other one getting their arms stuck while taking off their shirt?

Lupin and Fujiko are lil shits and do it to anyone they can. Including each other. It gets competitive. Jigen gets the worst of it from shrunken jackets because Goemon doesn't wear tight clothing unless it's a disguise.

(But when Goemon gets stuck in a disguise Jigen and Lupin do take advantage to fluster him.)

Zenigata may get caught in a coat and Lupin goes absolutely apeshit bananas in excitement the first time he gets the opportunity to take advantage

7. How did they discover each other's ticklishness?

HOO BOY. I like to think Lupin started most of it.

Jigen and Lupin discovered each other first. Lupin was a little too handsy and Jigen probably reacted. That or Jigen discovered that poking Lupin's sides got him to clam up in the middle of a sentence and thought (still thinks) it was cute. Whoever started it doesn't matter, because they started to tease each other a lot in private. It's a form of love language just for them.

Fujiko definitely tickled Lupin in retaliation to his perverted attacks, back when he was a huge green-jacketed gremlin. I like to think she spread the rumor that he was ticklish to his enemies after that just to get a rise out of him, but it backfires on her in episode 1 when she's tied down to the machine meant for her boy toy. Lupin holds a grudge against her for this despite the immediate karma she got. He's been through some rough times because of her.

The more Goemon hung around the boys, the more he was exposed to their tickle fights and other forms of affection. He was dragged into one unwillingly and didn't exactly say stop at any point, soooooo they continued!

Zenigata has been tickled by Lupin. So often. He tickled Lupin accidentally while doing a body search (not for the first time) and the thief started to giggle and just admitted it tickled. Next time they saw each other he couldn't WAIT to see if his arresting officer was ticklish too (like any straight criminal) and got Zeni into a ticklish predicament. It was downhill from there. They're both really sensitive and occasionally a super charged, competitive tickle fight breaks out when he's trying to arrest Lupin

8. Who can't take tickle bites/raspberries?

Lupin, despite the fact he loves to dish them out. Jigen also can't take tickle bites on his neck, and if you build up anticipation for it Goemon can't either.

Fujiko will hate you forever if you mönch on the soft spot on tummy. Something about them is a childish weakness.

Zenigata secretly loves raspberries. He can give mean ones too, but something inside him just melts

9. Who has to be tickle forced out of bed in the morning?

Jigen. Same when he's dozing on the couch with his hat over his face so he literally can't see Lupin's eyes glowing like Sans'

Depending on the night she had, I'd also say Fujiko. I can see her liking to sleep in late and be a night owl til like 6am for jobs or socializing in general (ride or die on this headcanon)

10. Who initiates tickle fights?

LUPIN 99.99% OF THE TIME IT'S CANON HE DOES IT TO LIKE EVERYONE like the gay criminal he is. No straight man tickles his arresting officer on multiple occasions.

Jigen may accidentally start them too. If he and Lupin start bickering he is sometimes the first to poke the other to lighten the mood. He tickled Zenigata to escape in an actual episode. Pretty sure he made that tickle machine for that old man in another episode (the Nazi one from Part 2). He's as bad as Lupin, just quieter about it.

Zenigata would never. Too childish, no matter how touch starved he may be from spending a lot of nights alone. But an accidental poke or swipe when searching one of the gang? "Stop squirming. I'm checking for strapped gadgets." He says as the accidental pokes and swipes feel more calculated than not. If he happens to breathe on someone's ear or has to squeeze the hips, because that's where Lupin's body disguise ends, it's all official business only! "I'm not tickling you, I'm scratching to see if it's skin or plastic this time!" There are cameras and eyes watching when he chases them most of the time. Maybe if there weren't, he would he more honest about his ticklish body searches.

11. Who gives up in tickle fights?

Lupin and Zenigata lose most of the time. Lol. Lupin gets overwhelmed very easily by it and Zenigata is just too ticklish to handle it for very long

Jigen and Fujiko are the champs of their tickle fights. Jigen is a massive lee and Fujiko knows their tickle spots from experience, so she's 85% ler

Goemon is 50/50 depending on whether or not they're ALL ganging up on him, but he is usually prideful and refuses to give up when it's just Jigen and Lupin. Plus, he miiiiight be fond of softer tickles like belly rubs. Not that you'd ever hear it out loud.

12. Who is in danger of getting hurt when attacking the other?

Usually anyone who tickles Goemon one on one haha! His reflexes are dangerous.

Jigen will also threaten to shoot someone if they don't stop when he says stop

Zenigata could actually shoot someone if they tickle him in the middle of a chase. Especially if it's a serious offense, like terrorist-level. It would never happen, but if Zeni is angry enough and on the hunt, tickling is very inappropriate.

Lupin just squirms and jerks around if he isn't restrained, so his attackers could get a kick to the gut or punch in the face if they're not careful

Fujiko is deadlier after she is tickled. If it is an enemy taking advantage of her she either robs or kills them, or both.

13. Who always provokes the other into tickling them and how?

Had to edit this one in, sorry! I answered some of them up there but:

Lupin and Jigen provoke the other the most often. They're so close, and it's a fun way to get some energy out. Jigen will usually use word play to hint that he's in a lee mood ("Wanna help me with some endurance training?") while Lupin will annoy the heck out of Jigen and leave certain areas exposed on his body. He'll splay himself across Jigen or Goemon's laps like a cat. If he sees Fujiko going to tickle a foot, he lets her. He has a tickle machine somewhere. He says it all without saying anything.

They're usually so touchy with each other that once it spreads to Goemon, he doesn't have to ask for tickles at all. He gets flustered and red in the face and doesn't leave if they start, and that's all they need.

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you have any ideas of your own, the tickle part of the fandom is too small for how much we get in a great anime!

#anime #tickling #lupin iii #lupin the third #gay #goemon #jigen #jigen daisuke #zenigata #fujiko #fujikomine #tickle headcanons #arsene lupin #tickle #ticklish gang #jiglup #polygang #lupzeni

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pearl484-blog · 10 months

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The Strangest Thing about You

A cute little fluff piece about two Adriens bonding over a weird quirk in their Peacock transformation. A Replay Spin-off My entry for Adrien AUGreste 2023 Feathers Link to Ao3, Link to full Replay series, Link to Adrien AUGreste 2023 series

For those of you who are not familiar with my Replay series, it is about two Adriens, one post Season 3 and one post-Origins coming together to fight Hawk Moth to prevent Future!Adrien's Bad Ending. Future!Adrien has the Peacock and has taken the name Argos -which post Season 5, may be a bit confusing- and Past!Adrien is going by Chat Noir in this fic, as he still has the Black Cat Ring and is transformed.

If you asked most people what the weirdest part of Argos’s outfit was, they probably would’ve told you that it was his eyes. Granted, Argos’s eyes were certainly memorable. Black with red irises would do that to most people. Some people might even call them hellish.

Yet in the Adriens’ eyes, they were cool, but mostly cosmetic. They didn’t even grant any boons like Chat Noir’s eyes did, a fact that Chat Noir was not ashamed to brag about to Argos on any given day.

No, to the Adriens, the strangest part of Argos’s outfit were the feathers in his hair. At first glance, they seemed rather ordinary, like tiny white down feathers stuck in a very messy bed head. The uninitiated may have taken it as a reluctance to brush their hair or maybe a reflection of Argos’s bird-like nature, but nothing more. The Adriens though had soon discovered that the more that they messed with the feathers, the stranger they really were.

For instance, although the feathers themselves came out at the Adriens’ slightest touch, no matter how hard the wind blew, no matter how turbulent a current Argos swam through, no matter how roughly Argos himself was treated, the feathers stayed stubbornly in his hair. In fact, they seemed unmoved by any forces. Even stranger to the Adriens though was that they soon realized that no matter how many feathers were pulled from his hair, Argos’s hairstyle was always unchanged when they were done, with the same amount of feathers as they started.

Of course, once you had several fistfuls of feathers, you had to do something with them. So, naturally, the two decided to experiment with them.

The first thing they noticed was that, while the feathers would behave like normal feathers in clumps, as soon as they held only one feather, it somehow always managed to get to the center of their palm, always in the exact same spot, always facing the exact same way. Naturally, they had immediately started rotating to see if it was a compass, but no. The feather seemed to want to stay in one position relative to their hand.

Even stranger was that the feather didn’t seem to want to leave their hand, only doing so whenever the Adriens either deliberately plucked it and dropped it away from their hand or if they blew it off. Admittedly, it was a little funny testing it by flapping their arms up and down to try to catch the air or swimming around with it stuck to their hands in a contest of increasingly silly ways to swim, but science demanded a lot of repetition and a lot of variety, and who were they to deny science.

Their experiments with swimming though had shown them something strange as well. No matter what happened, the feather itself never seemed to get wet. A few rudimentary tests pulled up from their weapons proved that the feather wasn’t waterproof or at least, or if it was, it sucked at diverting water away from things, yet, it never lost its characteristic fluffiness or its shape.

Perhaps, the Adriens had figured, if they gathered enough feathers, they could weave the feathers together to make something waterproof. Except that is when they finally noticed the strangest and most infuriating thing about the feathers. If they were forgotten about, or even if they were out of sight for long enough, they disappeared.

The Adriens tried everything they could to try to see if they could make the feathers work for them, but nothing really panned out. The feathers were always too light, too flexible, or too little to really do anything of use, and their frequent disappearances made them impossible to prepare beforehand anyways.

After several failed attempts, they ultimately decided to give up on any of their plans to use them and just tell Ladybug about it later. They both agreed that if there was a use for them, Ladybug would figure it out eventually, and it would probably be very cool and impressive, but only really happen in the middle of a fight. It probably wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to contact her over nothing.

As the Adriens sat together, nursing their damaged pride, Chat Noir ran his fingers through Argos’s hair, absently pulling out more of the feathers again. Then, they came to a realization.

Yes, the feathers themselves may have been useless, but Chat Noir pulling them out of Argos’s hair had felt pretty nice to both of them. It reminded them of a simpler time, of more nostalgic and peaceful memories when a sleepover at Chloe’s and a makeover had been enough to drive away the constant fears and doubts for the night. When a bad hairdo was the worst thing that could happen and all it took to fix it was a little time, patience, and care.

So, the two of them made it a routine. Every so often, when either Chat Noir or Argos was stressed, they’d come up to the rooftops of Paris and just talk. What they talked about didn’t really matter. They were always up to date and everything their counterpart was doing every day, but what did matter was the closeness, the feeling of someone being absolutely there and just content to sit there and do nothing but enjoy their company. That, the Adriens decided, was important enough to them.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #fanfiction #fanfic #adrien agreste #Peacock Adrien #kwami swap #Adrien AUGreste 2023 #adrienaugust #adrienaugreste #@adrienaugust

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theroyalsims · 2 years

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QUEEN DEFIES ADVISERS, ATTENDS “CONTROVERSIAL” EVENT IN “PRIVATE CAPACITY”

What Queen Emilia wants, Queen Emilia does!

Brindletonites were treated to a surprise royal appearance by no less than Her Majesty The Queen (accompanied by Prince Jacques) to this year’s Brindleton Freedom and Equality Talk. The annual summit is hosted by the Brindleton Equal Love, Equal Life Alliance (BELELA), a group dedicated to celebrate the LGBTQIA+ community and to offer support to its many members. One of this year’s topics includes a discussion on the legalisation of same-sex marriage in Brindleton.

The Queen was reportedly invited earlier this month by BELELA President Emorie Narisse. Narisse, prior to taking on the head position of the alliance, was Her Majesty’s press secretary for over eleven years. She left her post after marrying her wife abroad, and to focus on starting a family. Obviously, no bridges were burnt by her departure. The Queen reportedly maintains her friendship with Narisse, and the two continue to exchange cards and presents during holidays and special occasions.

The invite, however, has ruffled feathers, especially with Her Majesty’s royal advisers. The Queen was reportedly warned and advised not to attend as royals are expected to remain apolitical.

Although members of the LGBTQIA+ community are free to express themselves and are guaranteed safety in Brindleton, just like the rest of the populace, same-sex marriage is still deemed not legally recognised in the country. This is despite the massive push, especially by the youth, to legalise said marriage, in keeping with the rest of the world.

The Queen’s government, however, has struck down several same-sex marriage bills in the past, and to this day, no law authorises it. Same-sex marriages of Brindleton citizens that were acquired abroad hold no legal effect in Brindleton, and the same-sex spouses are not entitled to the rights afforded to legally married couples in the country.

In recent years, the matter has been at the centre of several heated debates. The older generations, especially those who are devout members of different religious groups, form a large part of the opposition. Sadly, that demographic comprises a large part of the Parliament. Meanwhile, groups like BELELA and The Brindleton Gender Awareness and Tolerance Society are at the forefront in the fight for the legalisation of same-sex marriage.

This is perhaps why Her Majesty was discouraged from attending the summit. One royal expert suggests:

"Her advisers are left in a tizzy. Her attendance would mean putting a ‘royal seal of approval’ on the issue, and of course, that just can’t be. Royals are never allowed to be political. They’re free to live their life of grandeur and elegance, but they should never meddle with politics or the law.

The last time a monarch meddled in politics, Brindleton was torn apart, a civil war erupted and the country was forever changed. The Queen should be careful with what she does in the future. There is no such thing as attending an event in a “private capacity” if you’re the monarch. That’s just ridiculous.”

The Queen, however, was having none of it. Instead, she declared that she will be attending in a “private capacity,” in support of her friend. The Queen reportedly remarked:

“I’m supporting my friend. I’ll be there to listen. It would do you all a lot of good if you’re, at the very least, willing to listen.”

And listen, she did. Her Majesty was spotted alongside Prince Jacques during the three-hour symposium, right at the front row. The Queen and Prince Jacques also stayed a little longer after the event, to chat with the attendees and even pose for photos.

This is not the first time The Queen and Prince Jacques have shown their support to the LGBTQIA+ community. Years earlier, Her Majesty and His Royal Highness attended a closed-door meeting with the Brindleton Equality Trust, a charity focused on pushing for equal rights and acceptance, as well as offering support to members of the community and their families.

(Above: Her majesty poses for a photo with her former Press Secretary, Emorie Narisse. The Queen not only defied her adviser’s advice, but Her Majesty also broke protocol by posing for selfies and photos with several attendees.)

The Queen’s attendance also comes after news of Prince Nicky’s sexuality made headlines. The Brindleton Sentinel published a set of photos declaring Her Majesty’s son as “openly gay” and the “first gay member of the royal family.” However, Prince Nicky has yet to publicly come out. As expected, and quite rightfully so, the article has been met with harsh criticism by several groups. However, the Palace has remained oddly quiet. But this is reportedly part of the game plan:

“The palace has always been sly and cunning with their lawsuits. They’re not one to go screaming about suing people, but you know that the gears are already set in motion. I’m almost certain that the royal legal hound-dogs have been deployed.”

(Above: All White with a Splash of Rainbow - Her Majesty wore a tailored white suit and accessorised with a bejewelled rainbow clutch.)

For the “private outing,” Her Majesty wore an all-white suit, and kept her blonde layers in casual loose waves. However, The Queen did amp up her ensemble with one very distinct and very significant accessory - a sparkly rainbow clutch. One royal correspondent suggests that Her Majesty’s outfit was, in itself, a message:

“The Queen is known for her ‘statement outfits’ - that is, her outfits are almost always a statement of some form. In showing up wearing all white, she’s focusing everyone’s eyes on her only colourful accessory: her rainbow clutch. So I think this whole look is basically her saying, ‘I may not be allowed to speak on the matter, but I am here, I see you, I hear you, and I support you.’”

Good for you, Your Majesty (and Prince Jacques)! We stan a supportive Royal Couple!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal story #ts4 royal legacy #emilia #mystory

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viciousbite · 1 year

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Drabble~ Survival Au~

First awakening

A golden talon, buried under the dirt, away from sunlight. An impossible occurrence. Every piece of Hantengu should have vanished the second his main body was defeated. Urami, Hantengu, Zohakuten, they had all turned into ash and vanished into the wind, but… one piece refused to vanish. It waited, in silence, until the last rays of sun ended, and the voices of humans became silent.

Dirt rustled, the surface bulged and cracked as dark skin and feathers rose from the mess. The sound of bones cracking and flesh squelching grew as from one single talon grew a full grown man. The progress was agonizingly slow compared to before. The body crawled out from the dirt groaning and growling with frustration with a strange undertone of bubbling joy. A manic chuckle came out with a splatter of demon blood and dirt as narrow eyes peered open. First thought; he survived. Second thought; ….???? They lost.

A thought flashed his mind and claws dug deeper into his throat, clawed flesh, opening, tore open veins, cracked bone, until he was left with his head in his hands. Golden talons held on each side of his head, vision upon his headless body laid against a tree trunk. Nothing was happening. Odd. “Oi, Sekido? Karaku? Aizetsu?…” He was met with silence.

Something was wrong, very very wrong, was he so weak that he could not split? Well, he shouldn’t be alive in the first place…

His body shook, the shock of everything clutched onto him like barbwire. He was alone, all alone, everyone was gone. His talons clutched tightly onto his severed head while he lifted and placed it back to its rightful place. The flesh connected perfectly as a soft whine left his mouth. Don't panic, don't panic, it's okay... Survive, you can do it...

His body swayed forward, hands caught his form and avoided a face in dirt. He should move, hide away, figure everything out. A small thought crossed his mind, maybe one of the others survived. Positivity clutched onto him as a last hope and his wings flapped to lift his body. The flight was uneven, up and down, nearly crashed on his way around the area until something caught his eye. Dirt, with a different glimmer of color to it.

Knees crashed against the forest floor as talons picked at the dirt, the smell of ash, and dirt, mixed together. His pointed ears drooped, the reality sank in as he held the reddish ash to his chest, most of it fell between his talons while a few specks stuck to his scales. Zohakuten, it was all, that was left of the youngest of them, of themselves. Aizetsu, Karaku, Sekido... And parts of himself, all made into one, gone, turned into nothing but dust.

"Wake up... Please, wake up..." His body shook, emotions he never felt before tore at him. It hurt, in his chest as he clutched the fistful of ash. His free hand frantically reached to grab onto more dirt to find more specks of what was left of his fragments. "Wake up! WAKE UP!!" He screamed in vain, as a gust of wind blew the rest of the ash away right in front of him. A shocked gasp left his fanged mouth, as he reached at the air. Please don't leave him alone here...

A crack, like a mirror, tore through his soul. Emotions crashed down in a wave. Water poured out of his eyes in rivers as his body slumped against the ground in a ball. The talon clutched into a fist, opened hesitantly and Urogi watched the ash and dirt fall between his fingers with blurry eyes. Ah, it hurt... it was frustrating, painful, miserable, he felt sick. This couldn't be all, he couldn't be the only one to survive.

They didn't deserve this, his brothers, him, they didn't deserve to die. Why did they have to kill them, why, when all they wanted to do was live! Those cursed slayers, those cursed villains... Preying on the weak.

The bird sobbed and refused to move as he remained there, in the hopes of protecting even the tiniest of speck of ash that remained of the others. His wings placed around his form as an extra protection. It was the last comfort he had, for the time being, until the turmoil of emotions would lessen. Emotions that he never felt before... Grief, such a painful emotion... for a creature that had only known joy.

#Drabble~#//Italics are from an older drabble #//then it continues with new writing!#//it's the same stuff again but extended

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appelia · 1 year

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‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ He Gave Me The Stars

Craig x Tweek

IMPORTANT: all my characters in my fics are aged up to 19-24. Side note: excuse my poor English.

Warning: NSFW

Genre(s): Fluff, Smut

A/n: This is sort of like a separate segment from a chaptered Creek fic I'm currently working on called "He Thinks He Took The Train To Mars"! Depending on how well this does, I might post the fic to both Tumblr and AO3 :)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The morning brings sweet guinea pig squeals to the ears of those closest. It brings soft sunlight peering through the open part of dark blue curtains. It brings feather-light kisses on cheeks, noses, foreheads, and lips. It holds a sliver of a guarantee that you survived yet another night with your lover.

But, as happy as all that made Craig, he still preferred the night. Because the night brought arms wrapped tightly around waists. It brought sensual touches paired with deep kisses. It brought deep conversations with the person lying next to you.

Craig genuinely believed he loved the night sky so much, not only because of what it brought, but also because his blond haired lover hung the stars in the sky for him.

Tweek preferred the morning sky, but that didn't stop Craig from being smitten to the idea that Tweek was his universe. Every kiss, every touch, every movement had Craig seeing stars. Tweek was his StarBoy.

And, in the night, Craig's StarBoy would find himself sat on the floor, in between his lover's legs. He'd work his stardust in order to take Craig apart, in order to have him whining Tweek's name.

With one hand on Craig's base, and the other slowly teasing his tip, the only sound that could be heard in the dead of the night was soft moans and heavy breathing. Tweek's thumb rubbed circles into the tip, smiling with pride at the way precum leaked out of the slit. He bent down to lick it up, enjoying Craig's loud whimper.

"Please, honey," he whispers.

"What do you want, baby?" Tweek teased. He knew what he wanted, but he wanted to hear it put into words. He kept giving kitten licks to Craig's tip.

"You... I want your mouth, please," Craig muttered, looking away from where the blond male sat pretty in between his legs.

Tweek smiled before engulfing Craig's dick into the warm heat of his mouth. Everytime the two found themselves in this position, Tweek's usual twitchiness ceased almost entirely, as if his mind replaced the feeling of anxiety with arousal, allowing him to give his utmost attention to pleasuring his boyfriend.

And pleasure his boyfriend he did, his head bobbing up and down on Craig's dick, his cheeks hollowed. Craig reached down to tangle his fingers in the mess of light hair, pulling as he groaned into the sensation of the warm, wet mouth around him.

He looked out the window, which had the curtains pulled back to reveal the clear night sky. All those stars, and yet, the only one that mattered was currently sucking him off.

He loved Tweek more than anything. He couldn't ever imagine being in this situation with anyone else. Tears welled in his eyes, from both the ethereal feeling of Tweek's mouth, but also because he couldn't contain just how much he loved his lover.

Tweek pulled off when he noticed Craig's tears. "Is everything okay, babe? Should I stop? Was something wrong?" He internally panicked. His boyfriend was usually stoic, and certainly never cried when receiving head.

"No! No, of course not," Craig wiped his eyes and cupped Tweek's cheek in his palm. "I just... love you so much. Please keep going, you're so perfect."

Tweek kissed Craig's palm before latching his mouth back on the dick in front of him. All it took was a couple of tongue flicks to the slit to make Craig break. He loudly moaned Tweek's name repeatedly, like a mantra he'd never been allowed to say until now. Hot, salty liquid shot into Tweek's mouth. He happily swallowed all of it, even lapping up the bits he may have missed on the tip.

When done, he pushed himself up onto Craig's bed, pushing the other back so he can wrap his arms around him.

"I love you, Craig," he said softly, pressing a kiss to his lover's nose.

"I love you more, my star."

#south park creek #sp creek #south park #sp fanfiction #craig x tweek #craig tucker #tweek tweak #tweek x craig #south park fanfiction #creek

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someprettyboat · 8 months

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I am angry.

Truthfully, I've been angry for a very long time. Decades. But I am female, and as such, I have been instructed and trained in the fine art of suppression. "Don't blow it out of proportion." "Control your feelings." "Anger is ugly." "You're fine, it's not the end of the world." "Other people have it much worse than you, stop making a big deal out of nothing." "Take it as a compliment." "You're overreacting."

I am old enough to no longer give a shit what other people think of me, least of all men.

I've been suppressing and keeping quiet and ignoring and blowing off and not saying anything for well over thirty years. But I can't stand it anymore. Guys, sit down. I gotta get this off my chest, and you need to really focus and listen. Don't interrupt or justify or make excuses or gaslight me. Just this once, please, shut up, sit down and listen.

I'm tired. I've been more tired in the past year than at any other time in my life. I'm tired of the Brock Turner's and the Elliot Rodgers' and the Bill Cosby's and the Donald Trump's. More than that, I'm tired of the eternal question which always pops up when these guys are finally exposed: "Well, why did their accusers wait so long to speak out?" As if the accusers in question were simply sitting, biding their time, plotting their strategies and waiting for the most profitable time to act, to thrust themselves into the national spotlight and reap their rewards, attaining fame and fortune and adoration with which to feather their nests well into old age.

Guys, it doesn't work like that. Allow me to explain the Domino Effect. Imagine that something horrible has happened to you. Something shameful and degrading. Doesn't even have to be rape. Just a situation in which you were briefly stripped of your power and forced to submit to someone who had gained control of the situation. Someone stronger than you physically, someone in a position of power over you, someone armed. Whatever.

Now, you have been raised to believe that "making a fuss" isn't proper behavior. You don't want to draw attention to yourself. You've been taught to be polite at all costs, no matter the situation. You try to extricate yourself from the sudden mess you find yourself in. You didn't think it was going to turn into a mess. You didn't willingly step into it. Suddenly, a person who seemed rational just moments ago - and 9 times out of 10, is someone you knew prior to this - is behaving in a way that is not logical. You've lost control of the situation, but you also see it as your duty to appeal to this person's basic human decency. Surely, if you reassure them, everything will be alright. People are basically good and trustworthy and nonviolent. Right?

But what you don't know is that this person is aware of the fact that you have been raised to be polite and non-resistant. They know you don't want to make a scene or draw unwanted attention to yourself. They're banking on it. They're going to use it to their advantage. So they shift blame. "You made me angry. You dressed in a way that provoked me. You gave me mixed signals. You led me on. You brought this on yourself."

And, as beings habitually cowed and brainwashed, we question ourselves. Did we do those things? Self doubt and shame are swift to kick in, even if you know for a solid fact that you did not intend to bring this upon yourself. Maybe you did behave in a way that you shouldn't have. Maybe you said something that could have been taken wrong, in a tone of voice you maybe shouldn't have used. You start to apologize. You try to explain that you didn't mean it, whatever it was. But it's too late. They've already penetrated the chink in your armor, the ingrained belief that we must always be polite and graceful and nice, no matter what.

Then something happens. You are belittled, or robbed, or raped, or beaten. You are groped or slapped or called a disgusting name. You have "gotten what you deserved" and your attacker walks away smug and self satisfied, knowing you won't breathe a word of what has happened. Shame keeps you from thinking about it. Fear of being seen as weak or stupid prevents you from telling, because a small part of you continues to insist that this really is your fault, you did bring it on yourself, and any attempt to talk about it - as if you were a victim and not an instigator - is eye-rollingly self pitying. After all, you're still alive. It couldn't have been that bad. Other people have been through worse. Just drop it and move on, why do you keep wallowing in it?

Time passes, and you pretend you're okay for the sake of others. You don't want to bum them out by sniveling about it and constantly casting yourself as the tiresome victim. But then one day, you overhear another person, or the friend of a friend of that person, talking about what happened to them at the hands of the very same person. You are not the only one it has happened to. And it's like a light coming through a stained glass window in a cathedral and shining down upon you. You are not the only one. You were not at fault. You did nothing wrong. And you find your voice again.

You seek this other person out and say, maybe hesitantly "Hey, this happened to me too." And when they tell you their story, you are vindicated and relieved. A third person overhears you and approaches, and with each story you hear, the strength you thought you'd lost forever comes back a piece at a time. Your fear and your shame and disgust is replaced by something else: rage.

This is why we "wait so long" to come forward with our stories. Because we're afraid. Because we've been made to believe it was something we did wrong and indirectly brought upon ourselves. We're not waiting to cash in. We're not waiting at all. We've been sitting here, drowning in guilt and shame, maybe drinking too much, maybe suffering from crippling low-self esteem, believing that were were the only ones and, as such, must somehow be at fault. And when we suddenly realize we're not, and never were, we are quick to stand beside the brave ones who finally stood up and spoke out, reaching for them like life preservers, speaking when we couldn't and didn't even know we had that option. It's called "solidarity."

And you know what remark from Donald Trump disturbs me even more than the whole "grab 'em by the pussy" thing? His dismissal of his female accusers as being too ugly to grope in the first place. His assertion that they would "not be his first choice." He's not denying his misconduct! He's dismissing their credibility by calling them ugly.

Let me tell you fuckers a story.

When I was still a reasonably young girl, I came home from work one night, walked up my stairs to the front door of my apartment, tired and looking forward to sleep. My neighbor's door, directly across from mine, was open. He was a white guy, unemployed, almost always drunk, covered in scabs, reeking of smoke. He saw me come up the stairs and began speaking in a normal tone of voice: "Hey. Hey c'mere. Hey. C'mon over. Got some beer. Hey, you wanna say hi?"

To be honest, I didn't really even hear him, didn't even realize he was talking to me. I thought he was on the phone, or talking to someone else in the house with him. Until I heard his next statement: "Fine, you don't wanna say Hi, fuck you, you're ugly anyway." I heard the "fuck" and the "ugly" and turned around to find him staring right at me. He was sitting on the couch in his underwear, drunk, picking at his toes. And yet I was the ugly one.

I was used to this shit by now, but still I stared at him open mouthed, unable to believe how fucking rude he was being, how apish and disgusting. Finally, I turned around and slammed my door as hard as I could. And double locked it. A while later, he walked by my window and yelled "BITCH!"

I yelled back: "COWARD!"

And my immediate thought was: "Perhaps I shouldn't have yelled back. Maybe I've made it worse. I should have just ignored it."

And that's when I realized how fundamentally fucked up the whole world was. Because that was my first reaction - to second guess myself, to feel guilty about defending myself, to fear the repercussions of my actions when I knew damn right well that that toe-picking ambient fungus next door wasn't at all sorry for what he'd said, did not see the irony in calling me ugly and had shifted responsibility entirely over to me, justifying his actions with: "You didn't say Hi, therefore you are a bitch and deserve to be told so."

I could sit here and excuse the behavior of men by saying: "Well, they're not women, they don't know what it's like, they've never experienced abuse the way we do." But I know that's not true, and it's just another excuse. Because men do know what it's like, whether they want to admit to it or not. Guys, I know you've been humiliated by your boss, your coach, your dad, your brothers and uncles. I know that at the very least, you've had your ass kicked by some guy you thought you could handle - is it something you tell your friends about? Do you ever talk about that emasculating, embarrassing moment to anyone? Or do you pretend it never happened to save face? No, of course not. Why would you want to admit to something that shames you to this day?

From this day forward, you have no more excuses guys. And this is not up for debate. Talking to women like this is wrong. Talking about women like this is wrong. It is not cool, it is notsomething that "all boys" do, it is not something that should be expected and/or dismissed as something that "all boys" do, it is not a rite of passage, it is not acceptable, and we have never liked it. Take responsibility, learn the meaning of class, act like a man instead of an ape. Are Eee Ess Pea Eee See Tea, find out what it means to me and every other woman on the face of the Earth.

And stop fucking asking us what took so long to speak up. Because the answer is "YOU." You and everyone else who helped you to build up this level of tolerance over the centuries with your ridiculous rules for us, your double standard bullshit games, your endless excuses. Your behavior is not our fault. We're done, do you fucking hear me? You can only taunt and bully and poke and pester and rape and kill us so much for so long, and you have the nerve to look surprised when we finally snap and turn on you and scream: "FUCK YOU!" and claw your eyes out and slam our feet into your groin? Really? Because if this reaction in any way shocks you, you are definitely part of the fucking problem.

Believe me, guys - we've already doubted our own stories and our own motivations, our version of events and even our own culpability. We've questioned the worth of "bringing this up after so long" whether it's been three days or thirty years. But some wounds won't heal unless you rip them back open again. And some shit won't change unless you speak the fuck up.

I am fucking angry, and I don't care if you don't like it.

#me too #male entitlement #violence against women #rape culture #victim blaming #too ugly to rape #incels #toxic masculinity #shame

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