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thetarttfuldickhead · 10 months

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”I talked to Southgate yesterday.”

The sun is not yet up; Jamie is dutifully stretching his legs in the cold yellow of a streetlight when Roy suddenly speaks. It’s the first thing he’s said all morning, except for gruff commands of run and ten more and fucking higher, Tartt.

“Yeah?” Switching legs to work on his other calf, Jamie tries for a casual tone, fails, and doesn’t much care. “What about?”

Roy gives him a look: the fuck do you think? There’s no heat in it, though. Rarely is these days, and that thought is a glowing ember in Jamie’s chest, equal parts joy and amazement.

For a moment, Roy doesn’t say anything else. Jamie completes his stretches and straightens. Waits, with heart hammering hard, hard beneath his hoodie.

“He got in touch two years ago,” Roy finally offers, seemingly adressing the streetlight. “Before the Euros. Asked about you, what sort of player you were.” He glances at Jamie then, face carefully blank. “I told him the truth.”

That… hurts, unexpectedly. Not because Jamie is surprised, really, or because it is unfair, because he isn’t and it’s not, but still. It stings, though not as bad as it had back then, and for different reasons.

He wants to make a joke, say something glib to chase the taste of resigned dismay and shame away: he opens his mouth; closes it again. Looks away from Roy and is grateful that the other man seems content to leave it at that rather than going into the details of just what he’d told Southgate. Fair or not, Jamie thinks he can do without hearing it. He can imagine it well enough.

Roy is studying him, like he’s expecting Jamie to protest or complain. It feels a little bit like a test, maybe. Jamie remains quiet. Fiddles with his sleeves for something to do with his hands as the silence grows longer and the morning colder around him.

And perhaps it is a test after all, because after a moment Roy nods slowly before starting to talk again. “Anyway, yesterday I called him up to let him know that those things I said two years ago weren’t true anymore, and that I didn’t want any of that to be held against you now.”

Jamie’s eyes snap to Roy’s face and he opens his mouth to speak, but Roy holds his hand up, forestalling him. “Now, I have no idea what’s going to happen so I don’t want you getting your hopes up, but I’m telling you this because if he calls I want you to be prepared, because he’ll be asking about that stupid shit you pulled, what the fuck you thought you were doing, and I need you to be on your best fucking behaviour, okay? Don’t grovel, but none of that fucking cocky bravado or defensive bullshit either. You were a prick, you understand that now, and you’ve worked fucking hard at being better. Got it?”

Jamie nods, quickly, eagerly, because yeah, yeah, he can do that. Would probably be up for a bit of grovelling too, if it increased his chances of being called up. Fuck, he’ll say whatever he has to say, spill his whole fucking heart if need be to prove that he can be the best fucking—

Suddenly, he frowns. Roy notices and raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Should I… “ Jamie pauses, uncertain. “Should I tell him, you know, about me dad? I mean, if he asks why I left City to do a TV show, what do I say?”

Roy considers that for a bit. It occurs to Jamie that Roy probably doesn’t actually know why Jamie ran out on City the way he did; Jamie certainly never told him, and he doubts Ted did either. But he can probably guess the rough shape of it anyway.

“Gareth’s a good man,” Roy offers at long last. “You want to tell him the truth, you tell him the truth, he won’t say a word. Don’t try to use it as an excuse though.”

“I won’t,” Jamie says with a small scowl and a flash of annoyance, because when has he ever?

Maybe Roy realizes as much, because his face softens into something almost apologetic. “I’m just saying, because I don’t want any of that old stuff getting in the way of you being called up now.“ He pauses, like he’s hesitating over whether to keep on talking or not. Settles for keep on talking, apparently, because he adds, without looking at Jamie, “You deserve it.”

Three words, and enough for the ember in his chest to roar into open flame. Jamie can feel the heat of it reach his face; gentle warmth in the February chill. “Thanks, Coach.”

---

The call comes two days later. Taking it has Jamie running late for training and when he finally rushes into the dressing room Roy lays into him with enough venom to make the other players carefully back away from them. Still, Jamie can’t do a thing to quell the grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” Roy snaps.

“Southgate called.” He’s a little surprised to hear how dazed he sounds. Feels like he could fucking fly, but the words come out almost hushed.

Roy immediately stills. “And?”

He should savour it, perhaps, the triumph of this moment. Take a second to marvel at the sight of Roy – Roy fucking Kent – holding his breath as he waits for an answer, but he can’t, he can’t, it’s too big, to happy, too fucking good, and he can’t hold it in. “He’s calling me up.”

#was trying to rewrite my old ficlet locker room conversation II to better fit with what we got in canon #that didn't work and this happened instead #apparently i’m stupidly obsessed with how this whole thing went down #and what part roy played in both then and now #i want ALL THE VERSIONS #what little i know of this process i know from #The (in)Complete Guide to Britpicking and Finer Football Details #by scoatneyhall and belmottetower #whatever i mucked up i mucked up on my own obviously #jamie tartt #roy kent #pre 3x10 #roy & jamie #ficlet #my stuff

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thanotaphobia · 6 months

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pájaro

this was written before purgatory......... im devastated pissa nation, WHY WERE THEY SPLIT APART.................................

crossposted to AO3

⋆

It’s four in the morning and Missa is staring at Phil’s wings.

Ever since the first time he’d seen them, he hadn’t really known what to think. At first, Phil had been casually cagey about them, not bringing it up in conversation. Missa hadn’t been sure how to even ask. So he hadn’t– they’d continued on with their lives together like two orbiting stars, caught in each other’s gravitational fields. Missa had kept the feather, and that had been that. Life went on.

And then Missa left for a while. Came back to their son missing. He left again. Came back this time to something in Phil missing, a part of him broken in a way Missa wasn’t sure he could fix.

So he stayed this time. Hanging around Phil’s house and doing little things when he could. Phil hid the broken parts of him fairly well, but it was in this time that Missa started to see the cracks. Whether or not it was intentional, he’s still not sure, but Phil started… letting him in, strangely. They still never really talked about anything, but Phil had told him that he’d needed him, and so Missa stayed.

The first time they slept in a bed together since the eggs went missing, Phil kept his shirt on. The second– not so much.

It starts with both of them coming back to the house exhausted after a late night out with a few of the other islanders. They’d fought back sleep for a while together, and Missa had stayed late with Phil because even though he knows Fit and Tubbo can handle him just fine, he worries. Phil’s twitchy these days, and with Forever missing even more so. It’s weird, being stuck together like glue when they’d spent so much initial time apart, but neither of them mind. Missa certainly doesn’t. His heart lights up every time Phil so much as smiles at him.

They get home, and Missa almost collapses on the couch before Phil grabs him– just by the arm, a casual over-the-shoulder touch, but the action makes Missa shiver a little.

“Come sleep in a proper bed, mate,” Phil insists, and Missa can’t say no.

So that’s how he ends up here, at four in the morning, staring at Phil’s wings. They’d crawled into bed together and at some point in the night, Phil had shed his jacket and shirt and had fallen back asleep without them on. Missa had woken up for no good reason at all– maybe a noise outside had startled him awake, but he’d come to in groggy stages only to find inky black feathers brushing against his arm.

He lies there, staring quietly at the shape of Phil’s back in the dim morning light of their bedroom. His shoulder blades rise and fall, a softer kind of darkness edged by nighttime. His feathers are smooth and soft and Missa, almost unconsciously, reaches out and smooths a hand down the flat edge of one. Phil doesn’t seem to wake up, and in the dark Missa can hear his breathing almost settle.

It’s nice. The lying here, together. He likes it. He wants more of it. He was such a stupid fucking fool to leave like he did, leave Phil here to deal with all of this alone. They were supposed to be partners, weren’t they? Husbands. And despite his absence, Phil still calls him his. Missa presses one of his hands to his face and takes a breath, forcing himself to calm down in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Something shuffles– feathers ruffle, the sheets shift, and then Missa feels a heavy arm on top of his own.

“You okay?” Phil asks softly, breaking the silence between them.

“I didn’t mean to wake up,” Missa breathes, his stomach flip-flopping. Phil’s bare skin is warm against his own, and the hand on his arm curls a little tighter.

“It’s alright,” Phil says, still in that soft tone, like he’s afraid to speak any louder for fear of shattering the night. “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Missa keeps his face hidden behind his hand. He knows Phil hasn’t been sleeping well lately. It’s hard not to tell, given the state of his gaunt face. He keeps his hand at the level of his eyes when he asks, “What do you dream about?”

“Hm?”

“When you do sleep,” Missa clarifies. “What do you dream about?”

He hears Phil shouting himself awake, sometimes. It’s just one of those things they don’t talk about. He’s not sure why he’s asking now.

But despite the breach of their unspoken agreement, Phil just… sighs. His hand squeezes Missa’s arm and he lowers his hand from his face, but keeps his eyes closed anyway. It’s very nearly a surprise when Phil answers him.

“Chayanne,” Phil says quietly. “Tallulah. Cucurucho. And– a birdhouse.”

Missa thinks of Phil’s wings, and the harsh cut of the primaries against their bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not all bad,” Phil says. He sounds tired, his voice hoarse. He shifts his weight again and the whole bed moves with it, one of Phil’s feet poking at Missa’s. He pokes back, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to hear the smile in Phil’s voice. “I dream about you, sometimes.”

“What?” That surprises him enough that he opens his eyes. Phil’s head is a foot or so away from his, and the smile is there, mischievous and soft in the dark. Missa blinks at him, then looks down and away, staring at the puff of black feathers over his shoulder instead. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says. Missa can’t help himself– he looks back at Phil’s face again and finds him searching for something in Missa’s gaze, eyes intense and dark. “Usually I lose you.”

“I’m staying,” Missa says, fiercer than he feels. “I told you, I’m not leaving again.”

“No, I know,” Phil says. “In the dreams it’s not– it’s usually not your fault. But I can never… get there in time.”

“I’m sorry,” Missa says again. Phil just sighs, long and labored, and doesn’t look away from him. The hand on his arm curls, and then drags him a little closer. Missa squeaks but lets it happen, feeling hot breath on his forehead as Phil just keeps him there. Selfishly, some part of him is squealing with delight the way a teenage girl does when seeing her idol. But another part of him aches with a sadness he can’t chase away, a sadness for Phil, a want to push all the nightmares away and let him sleep peacefully for once.

They lie there for a while, saying nothing. It takes Missa almost five minutes of working himself up to shuffle his arms around and bring them up around Phil in turn, caging in his torso and laying gently and unobtrusively on the rough skin that runs a valley up the middle of his wings. The musculature of Phil’s back is unfamiliar, avian-like, but warm. In response, Phil just hugs him a little closer.

“I wish I could do more,” Missa breathes out on a whim, tucking his chin down and closing his eyes. “To help.”

Phil laughs, the movement rustling between them. “You’re helping plenty, mate.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, this is… nice.”

“You didn’t think it’d be nice?” Missa is pretty sure he’s thought about hugging Phil every damn day for the past three months.

“No, I did, I guess I just…” Phil trails off, “Actually. There is something you could do to help me, if you, uh. If you wanted.”

Missa’s stomach leaps into his throat. He licks his lips to make sure they’re not as bone-dry as they feel. “Sure,” he says. After a second, Phil pulls away from him and Missa is left cold for a moment as he sits up. A second later, the lantern switches on and now he’s cold and blind. “Ah,” he says, bringing a hand to cover his face. “Warn a guy!”

“Sorry,” Phil says, laughing. Missa blinks, eyes adjusted to the light after a moment, and sits up to look at Phil. He’s got his back to Missa, one wing pulled around in front of him, fingers carding through his own feathers. “Take the other?”

“The other?” Missa asks, sitting up and blinking a few more times.

“My wing,” Phil says, giving the feathers a fluffy shake. “The island is constantly springtime. I can’t tell my shedding cycle for shit, but it’s been itchy lately.” The way he speaks is so casual, so bland, but Missa can see the anxiety behind his words. He’s too focused, too careful about how nonchalant he’s being. For a second Missa hesitates, hands ghosting over Phil’s too-short feathers, but then he internally slaps himself and shouts PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, PENDEJO. He can do this. Phil is asking him to do this.

“Okay,” Missa says a few seconds too late. Phil is looking at him now over his shoulder, and Missa gently takes his wing in hand. “How do I…”

“Look for loose feathers. Tug, but not too hard. If they’re ready, they’ll come out,” Phil tells him, and Missa starts to gently tug. “It feels nicer when they lay flat and aren’t so messy, too.”

“How come I never see you do this?” Missa mutters, carding his fingers absently through the feathers. They’re soft– he knows the texture, has spent hours of his life running the feather from the first time he’d seen Philza’s wings through his hands.

“It’s not something I show off,” Phil says quietly. “Not with the fucking Feds lurking around.”

Missa plucks a sheared feather and scowls at it. That, he can understand.

“So why show me?” he asks. He knows why, he thinks– honestly, he just wants to hear Phil say it. A weird little part of him is greedy for Phil to admit why Missa gets to see.

“I trust you,” Phil says. Missa picks a piece of grit out from between his feathers, and delights in the way Phil’s shoulders relax minutely. He does it again, and again, and smiles when he hears Phil sigh.

“I want to see you fly someday,” Missa says, and Phil lets go of his other wing and stretches it out wide, the muscles flexing and feathers shifting. Then he sets it behind him, and Missa understands both of them are now his job. He doesn’t mind. Not one bit. Phil leans forward and braces his arm against the wall, holding himself there.

“Sure,” Phil says. “Once my primaries grow in again, whenever that happens to be.”

“What do you do with the loose feathers?”

“Throw them out. Or you can keep them, if you want.”

Missa looks at the small pile of plucked feathers he has beside him now, and imagines keeping all of them. A special backpack, just for Phil’s feathers. He holds one up in front of his eyes and commits the shape and color of it to memory– a smooth, silky indigo, with a sharp quill that bends a little to the left towards the end of it.

They sit in silence for a while after that, Missa systematically working his way through Phil’s wings and getting better and better at the job as he does. It’s not often he feels useful around Phil. Usually, Phil is the one doing things for him. But here, Missa is the one doing the work while Phil relaxes, tension slipping from his shoulders like rainwater off a duck’s back, his eyes closing a few minutes in and not opening for a while after. The bed is soft beneath them, Phil is warm in front of him, and Missa’s chest feels so full. It’s not perfect– their children are missing, and that ache never disappears, but right now in the early morning light with Phil golden in front of him, Missa thinks he feels okay.

The love bubbles in him and almost without thinking, Missa cards his fingers through the feathers and leans forward– presses the lightest, softest kiss against the middle of Phil’s back, near the top of his spine and just below his neck.

He sees the way Phil’s muscles twitch and shiver, watches the progression of the movement down his bare back and the way the downier, softer feathers puff up. He feels, for a moment, powerful.

“Let me do this more,” Missa says, riding that wave while he has it. He’s still close to Phil’s back, and tips his head so he’s speaking by Phil’s ear now. “Yeah?”

Phil laughs– his eyes are still closed, his face half hidden in his arms, but he looks better. Not perfect, but better. His laugh sounds just a little bit brighter.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to smile at Missa with an expression like the sun. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d mind that.”

#qsmp #pissa #phissa #deathduo #q!philza #q!missa #philza #missasinfonia #my writing

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nininikki · 1 year

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘: e. jaeger x black fem!reader

(ꕥ) summary! — love had never made you feel this shitty before. (part two can be read here.)

(ꕥ) warnings! — toxic relationships, lots of angst, implications of sex, alcohol consumption, vomiting, reader & eren are in college, (doesn’t play a huge role, but it’s implied) eren is very toxic, reader is also very stuck, i love mikasa, but she’s not very great here haha 😅 (don’t kill me pls)

(ꕥ) author’s note! — first thing i’m publishing on here, lol. wrote it in two days, which i’m sure you can tell. whatever. don’t think too hard. just vibe ok. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings!!

(ꕥ) word count! — 2.7k

love wasn’t exactly the word. at least, it couldn’t have been, right? surely something as pure and innocent and good as love couldn’t have led to an outcome like this.

it couldn’t have led to you taking him back time and time again, doling out infinite chances, and losing a bit of your dignity every time you did.

it wasn’t even supposed to be like this. hell, the two of you weren’t even dating. despite what he’d made you think. what, with the surprise dates, expensive bouquet deliveries, and his ironclad adamance that you didn’t do anything like that with anyone else.

that last part in particular was your selling point. you could vividly recount the times he’d talked you out of going on various dates for reasons you had been stupid enough to believe. maybe you were an idiot for allowing yourself to entertain it, but you’d try not to drive yourself insane dwelling on that possibility.

as you sat at the edge of eren’s bed, naked as the day you were born and fighting back the sobs threatening to rack your body, you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d got caught up in all this shit.

***

you first caught eren’s eye when he attempted to flirt with you outside of a bar one night, to which you tipsily drawled, “do i know you?” and then, as if that weren’t embarrassing enough, you followed it up with, “oh, you’re that douchebag football player!”

even through your inebriation, eren’s face was ultra-recognizable, as it would be to anyone who went to your school and also happened to have eyes.

gemstone colored eyes, skin covered in a delicious tan, long hair curtaining the sculpture that was his head, eren jaeger had an incredibly difficult face to forget about.

being the quarterback of your school’s football team and most sought after man on campus, (or perhaps in the state) it’d be more surprising if he wasn’t a douche.

so, what? not like you’re looking for anything serious, anyway. it could just be a casual thing. at that, the yes bells in your head rang loud, the sound growing more ferocious as you trailed your eyes down the expanse of his body.

for a few moments, you could see why he had so many people drooling like rabid dogs without any effort. he was fucking gorgeous. you took in a breath of fresh air, trying to sober your body and your mind. breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

one of your girlfriends had linked your arms together and murmured something like, “i’m sorry about her, she’s wasted.”

“i am perfectly sober.” you groaned, which wasn’t exactly true, but you were closer to sober than wasted.

he chuckled heartily, and you had to stop yourself from getting dizzy in the turquoise oasis of his eyes. or maybe you were a little drunker than you’d thought. whatever.

after a little while, you’d convinced your friends you were okay enough to give him your number, and when you did, a satisfied smile stretched across his face. “i’ll call you.”

“yeah, okay.” you said dryly, despite the fabric of your underwear feeling completely opposite.

***

a day later, and much to your sober surprise, eren had called you, introducing himself as, “that douchebag football player.” you let your face fall into your palm at the blurry memory, trying not to keel over in humiliation before he could even ask you out.

luckily, you remained steady long enough for him to invite you over to smoke later. looking back now, you wanted to slap yourself silly for even considering, and then slap her even harder for saying yes.

***

your bi-weekly smoke sessions turned weekly, and then almost daily. but by then, he wasn’t even coming over to smoke anymore. “i don’t wanna get high with you all the time. what if i just wanna enjoy you while we’re sober?” eren had claimed as the two of you lay intertwined on his couch. you could remember the distinct feeling of your heart melting out of your chest and pooling around your feet.

then, he was coming over to your dorm with takeout bags shelved along his arms. and then texting you at random, telling you to be ready at a certain time, because he was taking you out to dinner.

and you certainly couldn’t forget the night all the pent up sexual tension and feral attraction shared between the two of you came to a screeching head. you both were high off your asses, and one thing had led to a-motherfucking-nother. next thing you knew, your back was pushed into a pretty arch as he drilled into that special spot inside of you. drool pooling at the corners of your lips, cheeks glossed over with tears, throat red and raw from the guttural moans pouring out of it.

four rounds later, when your limbs were jelly and you’d been rendered too tired to do much more, eren pulled you into his lap and played with your hair until you fell asleep. it was in that moment that you knew you were falling head over heels for him. although, he hadn’t given you much of a choice, had he?

***

then, it happened. you should’ve known something was up when he said he was headed to a party later that night, but didn’t invite you, which was something he’d always done. “you don’t really know anybody that’s gon’ be there. and i’m only goin’ for a little bit. no point in even bringing you with me.”

you simply nodded in agreement, him having thoroughly convinced you. and it wasn’t like you had any reason to think he was lying. eren never lied to you.

or at least that’s what you’d thought.

not twenty minutes after eren left, your phone had pinged with a message from one of your girlfriends.

party tonight & yes tf u are going. i’ll be outside in 10!!

you’d arrived at the party, shocked to see that there wasn’t an unfamiliar face in the throngs of people you shuffled through. bile had risen in your throat, but you chased it down with whatever was in the solo cup your friend handed you.

for a moment, you were having fun. your limbs falling into a relaxed, dancing rhythm, loud music coursing through your veins as though it were the alcohol you drank.

“oh, shit.” you heard your friend say from beside you, and the terror in her voice was enough to get you to pay attention.

anxiously, you followed the line of her gaze to a semi-vacant spot across the room. a spot where eren had another girl perched upon his lap, blowing smoke into her mouth before he attacked her already kiss-bitten lips with his.

you wanted so desperately to press your eyes shut, but the sight before you would surely live behind your eyelids for the rest of your life. so really, what was the point?

they broke away from the kiss, and you could’ve swore you tasted vomit at the sight of a thin string of saliva connecting their lips. after what felt like hours, eren’s eyes met with yours from across the room. before he could get the chance to even register you as some sort of hallucination, you bolted.

***

as soon as you’d locked the door behind you, you collapsed on your dorm floor. clothes and hair wet and chilled from the rain pouring outside, you’d nearly bit off your own tongue with all the shivers that racked you.

the sobs taking over your body were breathtaking, literally. you’d caught yourself trying to catch your breath through the tears more than a few times. at a certain point, they’d gotten so loud that you had to shove your face into a pillow to muffle the sounds.

an hour or so later, you’d decided to check your phone, only to instantly regret it once you saw the flurry of messages and calls from eren.

with each message you read, his vice grip on your heart only grew firmer. baby wya? we need to talk. if it weren’t for the ragged breaths running through your agape lips, you’d be sure you had already died of some type of shock.

i don’t want u goin to sleep mad at me baby. you wished you could squeeze the phone into pulp like an empty soda can. but your hands were weak, heavy, numb, as though they had been filled with wet packing peanuts. idk what you saw but it’s not what it looks like.

tears blurred your vision as you continued reading. pleas of, will you at least call me? and (likely empty) promises of, it’s not what it looks like and i just need to explain myself. this, coupled with twenty missed calls from him, had barbed wire wrapping around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you were sure you could feel it explode inside your chest.

bile rose in your throat again, but you didn’t have it in you to hold it back this time. instead, you ran for your bathroom and emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet as another wave of sobs came over your body

when you were done, you hardly recognized the person staring back at you in the mirror. the brown skin around your eyes was puffy and damp, your face mask-tight with tears, your lips wobbling pathetically. you felt the urge to throw up again.

***

“i don’t even know why you’re upset.” eren had attempted to console you. “mikasa, she’s…” your skeleton nearly folded in on itself as he said her name with the same cadence he usually did yours. “she’s nothing. she’s not y—”

“you had your tongue in her mouth.” you interjected, and you didn’t need to say anything else. hell, you could hardly bring yourself to say that.

“hey,” he said, reaching over the middle console to grab you gently by the chin. the look in his eyes held nothing but sorrow, sorrow that toed the line of pity, and pity that toed the line of condescension. “stop thinking about it, okay? we can’t work past this if you keep dwelling on the shit.”

his touch put your entire body on edge, a stark contrast to the usual. you plucked his hand off you as you held back a sniffle. “well, what the fuck else am i supposed to do?” a rogue tear fell from your eye. “i’m…” your fingernails dug into the skin of your thighs. “i’m fucking hurt, eren.”

at his next sentence, you were overcome with the urge to scream until the lump dissolved from your throat. “it’s not like i cheated or anything.” you didn’t know what made it worse: the nonchalant attitude with which he said it, or the way he kissed his teeth before what he said next. “oh, c’mon. i thought you knew we were only fucking around.”

your masochism reared its ugly head as you asked, “what?” despite already hearing him loud and clear the first time.

“listen, y/n, i like you, b—”

“but not enough to…” make me your girlfriend. the words were there, but you physically couldn’t say them. “right.”

he didn’t answer, and really, he didn’t get a chance to. you were shoving his car door open and storming out of it.

for the next four days, he’d mailed surprise gifts to your dorm, all sent with enough various apologies and i miss you’s to make your tooth ache.

you’d forgiven him a week later.

***

and then another time, more recently, he’d given you an earful for making out with connie at some party. but how could he blame you? you were drunk and still hurting from all that happened before. and besides, it wasn’t like the two of you were dating or anything. at least, that’s what you had told him.

this led to a screaming match between the two of you as eren sped down the slick road. the veins in his neck threatening to break free from beneath his skin, knuckles growing paler and paler as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “what, you thought that shit was cute? connie’s one of my best friends, and you thought you could just kiss him in front of me?”

“i didn’t think i could, eren. i did. and if connie was really your best friend, he wouldn’t have let me.” you saw his eyes go fuzzy with white-hot fury, and could’ve laughed maniacally in satisfaction at the sight.

for a few brief, sick moments, you’d thought to yourself, good, you deserve this. but you squashed that feeling before it could turn into something worse. “you did the same thing to me, so just get over it.”

he came to a red light and took a moment to card his shaky hands through his hair. “it’s not the s—”

“not the same?” you scoffed in his direction, unbuckling your seatbelt and shoving his car door open. your dorm wasn’t too far away to walk. “yeah, whatever. just drop me off here.”

***

thus began the vicious cycle that you and him were all too familiar with. perfect, bad, worse, i’m sorry, perfect.

as of right now, you were in the middle of bad, which was awful considering you weren’t sure how things could get worse from here.

still naked from a round or two (or three) of earth-shattering sex, you’d heard eren’s phone ping with a message. figuring your orgasm-fried mush for a brain was playing tricks on you, you ignored it. until it pinged again. and again. and again.

eren usually slept like the dead, and you knew his password. what would be the harm in looking? you’d fought with yourself on it for a good five minutes before deciding.

you stretched your arm out over his slumbering body and plucked the thing off his nightstand. he twitched slightly, and terror struck your heart for a brief moment, but he’d only turned over on his stomach and wrapped his arms around your pliant waist.

warmth chased the terror away, and you considered not even checking the damn thing. until it pinged again.

you extended your arm out above your head, the safest way to hold it that wouldn’t risk disturbing him, even if you risked dropping it onto your face.

after unlocking it, your eyes had to trail over the notifications three or four times to be sure you hadn’t hallucinated. five messages from mikasa. that alone had your heart running in circles, but the actual messages proved to be undeniably worse.

r u done w her yet? i miss you. can you come over? or i can come over there? just call me when u can.

suddenly, eren’s arms began to grow tighter and tighter. squeezing you until your ribs cracked under the pressure, until your lungs collapsed from lack of airflow. or maybe that’s just how you had felt.

much to your ever growing horror, they had been texting for weeks. late night talks, plans of meeting up, exchanges of photos you’d much prefer to forget you saw. you name it, it was there.

silently, you put the phone back on the nightstand and tried to get yourself to fall asleep.

***

you hadn’t slept a wink, and now here you were: slugging your clothes over your body as the sun began peeking over the horizon. eren was still asleep, and you had managed to peel yourself out from under him just enough to make your leave.

your leave.

the words, the concept even, left a bittersweet taste simmering on your tongue. you were gonna leave him alone, and for good this time. because you were amazing and special and deserved ten times better than him, or that’s what you spent the majority of your sleepless night trying to convince yourself of.

your eyes, swollen and red, were begging to flutter shut, but you just… couldn’t. because you knew what vision would be sitting behind your eyelids the moment you did, and that prospect terrified you enough.

when you left his room, you didn’t dare look back at his sleeping form. not because you didn’t want to, but because you just couldn’t. couldn’t because of how weak he had made you; so weak that he didn’t even have to be awake to convince you to come back to him.

you stepped through his front door as though it were a portal to another world. another freer, happier, healthier world. the nippy morning air provided a temporary solace to your shaken figure. you took a deep gust in, hoping to give yourself a brief illusion of stability. breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

#nikki writes ✶#eren jaeger #eren yaeger x reader #eren x black reader #eren x reader #eren smut #angst #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk #college!au

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sheepiemc · 8 months

Text

Seven Stupid Reasons to Summon a Demon

Reason #4: need to scream about a bad book

CW: strong language (it's not anything too vulgar, MC just says fuck a lot because wrath - if this were a movie, it would be rated R for language)

Today was the perfect day to read.

It’s been gloomy all week, today included, and you finally got a day off from work. You have this book that you’ve been meaning to finish for a few weeks now and by gosh, you intend to get through it today.

When you first started it, you only got 20 pages in but you told yourself you just haven’t gotten to the good part yet. You’ve been trying to get to the good part all day but something else captures your attention. Like how your cat needs to be played with, or your plants need to be watered, or it’s a great day to make soup!

Perfect soup day…

Now you gotta make soup.

And when your cat sits in your lap to take a nap, well, it’s not like you can get up and get your book that’s sitting on the coffee table oh-so-far away. There’s always something getting between you and this damn book.

Next thing you know, the sun is setting (at least, you think it is; the gray clouds are so heavy you can’t really tell how low the sun is in the sky) and you haven’t made any progress.

When your cat finally releases you to complain about not being fed yet, you are determined to at least make a bigger dent than before. Once the little prince has been fed, you settle on the couch and get to reading.

And you read for a bit — 30 pages — before your leg falls asleep and you switch positions on the couch. Then, you keep reading — 40 pages — before the silence gets to you and you have to pick some music to fit the mood. Now, you can keep reading and you get to 50 pages — before you just end up staring out the window.

You think you hear thunder in the distance but you can’t be sure. Not unless you sit in silence and stare out the window for 15 minutes without hearing any more thunder. Maybe it was a sound effect in the music you’re listening to.

Your eyelids are getting kinda heavy but you slap your cheeks lightly to wake yourself up. You just gotta get to the good part! You get 10 more pages in before you feel your head lolling forward and your eyelids droop once again. You snap to attention once again and decide it’s time to take a phone break. You got as far as you did, you’ve earned it.

After scrolling through social media for a bit, your curiosity gets the better of you and you casually Google: “when do we get to the good part” in the book you're reading. You usually try to avoid reviews of books before you read them because you don’t want other people’s opinions influencing your judgment, but this book is proving quite difficult to get through on its own. Maybe if you know something good is coming around the corner, you’ll be more interested in reading it; what you end up finding thoroughly surprises you.

More than that, it boils your blood.

“WHAT?” You say out loud, to no one in particular.

You’re fuming!

“What the FUCK?”

You’re so mad, in fact, you have to let all this energy out somewhere!

You need to vent.

And you know exactly who you need to call in this situation.

You march all the way back to your room, book in hand, to get that cursed book off its specific, and highly prized, spot on your bookshelf. You close your eyes and concentrate, taking in several deep breaths as you do.

You open your eyes to a flash of green light and Satan stands before you in your room, with a look of surprise gracing his features.

“MC, to what do I owe—” He notices your wrath bubbling just under the surface, which is unusual but not unwelcome to him, “—the pleasure?”

You calmly replace the cursed book back on your shelf and hold the other “cursed” book up for Satan to see. “I’m tired of this stupid book!”

“Ah,” Satan nods once and uses magic to pull up your desk chair to sit in. “Of course. Go on.”

You let out a shout of frustration before you continue, “It just never got any better! After I gave it so many chances!”

Satan nods in understanding.

“The main character is just so annoying, she’s a serious NLOG. ‘Oh, I used to be like other girls, but now I’m not because I like sex and I murdered a guy once but he probably deserved it.’ Like, get in line.”

At that, Satan chuckles but he doesn’t interrupt your train of thought. Your cat peeks his head in at the commotion and makes a beeline for Satan’s lap once he spots him.

“And she has zero self-preservation instincts! Like she goes to confront a guy — who is definitely a vampire, by the way — ALONE, IN AN ALLEY, AFTER SHE WATCHED HIM KILL A GUY, and she has the nerve to question him about said murder?”

“Huh, a human? Going up against a creature much more powerful than themselves? What a foolish person they must be.”

“Hush, smart guy, I’m not done ranting.”

Satan laughs, “Continue.”

“On top of all that sheer stupidity, I find out that this other main character that was definitely advertised to be a vampire — he’s not even a FUCKING VAMPIRE, he only BECOMES a vampire at the very end of the book!”

“No…”

“YES! And it’s not because he wants to. It's to save his life! That means this fool is running around in out-of-fashion clothes and saying things like, ‘If you’ve been alive as long as I have…’ for the DRAMA of it all!”

Satan tsks.

“I feel like I’ve been cheated!! And there’s four other books in the series??? Why should I keep reading this garbage? Nope, I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.”

You punctuate that last statement by throwing the book on the bed with a huff.

Satan scritches your cat’s chin as he says, “You know what I think?”

“What—”

“I think you need new reading material.” He stands up from his chair and lifts your boy into his arms at the same time. The unexpected change in altitude startles the cat and he wriggles his way out of Satan’s arms and onto the floor. You both watch as he leaves the room to find a more stable napping place.

Satan then looks at you expectantly.

You look back at him, then at the TBR pile growing on your desk, then at the large bookcase overflowing with books already. “You know what I think…” You look back at him, “I think you’re absolutely right. Let me just get changed.”

You shoo Satan out of your bedroom and change out of your house clothes in record time. When you emerge from your room, Satan presents his arm for you to hold. Who knew the devil would be such a gentleman?

As you leave your apartment, you call to your cat over your shoulder, “Be good.”

As you make your way to your favorite bookstore and café that’s a convenient walking distance from your apartment, you ask Satan, “Are you looking for some new human world reading material as well?”

“Well, that, and it’s just nice to get out of the house once in a while.” He looks up to the sky. The heavy gray clouds are less noticeable because of how dark it is but you know they’re still there.

You look up too, and say, “I hope it won’t rain on the one day I actually choose to leave the house.”

Satan smirks down at you. “Now, what are the odds of that happening right now?”

A roll of thunder sounds off in the distance and you stop dead in your tracks. Satan keeps walking but turns to face you when your arm leaves his.

“You had to jinx it didn’t you?”

His smile widens. “Do you think we’ll make it before it comes down?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “If I have to run, I’ll make you regret it.”

He steps up to you just as you feel the slightest drops of rain land on your nose. “I’d like to see how you would make me do that.”

A few more drops and you scowl venomously at him, his face only inches from yours.

“Humans…” He chuckles and takes off running when more drops settle around you and you take off after him, laughing.

You make it to the bookstore in one piece, albeit soaking wet. The familiar brown brick exterior is already warming you up before you’ve even set foot inside. A light tinkling of the bell in the doorway announces your presence in the shop and someone far inside friendly shouts, “Welcome!” as you cross the threshold. You pause for a moment just to take in the immaculate vibes of this place.

The brown brick of the exterior continues in the interior. Bookshelves line the walls and tower over you, some books are up so high, you wonder how anyone is supposed to get those books off the shelf. String lights drape across the ceiling and add a moody glow to the atmosphere. At the far end of the store is the espresso bar and café, with its mismatched bar stools and dangling exposed lightbulbs. All the furniture here is lovingly worn and there are innumerable cozy corners where you can pick up a book and cuddle up with a cup of coffee.

You take a deep breath and sigh, your mood stabilizing already. Satan takes your saturated jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the door as you try to wring out the excess moisture in your hair. He walks further into the store — past you — and when you meet his eye, he winks. A gust of warm wind dries your clothes and hair instantaneously and your eyes widen as you look around to see if there’s anyone who might have noticed. Your panic subsides when you realize there aren’t many people here anyway and everyone who is here is too engrossed in what they’re doing to make a note of how a couple of strangers magically got dry.

Before he can get too far from you, you tug on Satan’s arm. He turns around to look at you questioningly.

“I just got a brilliant idea!” You meet his gaze with a wide smile. “What if we make it a game?”

“A game?”

“Yeah, we both go in and separate, looking for a book we think the other will enjoy. We’ll meet back up at the cafe and read our books and then we’ll determine the winner.”

“Hmmm…” Satan holds a finger to his chin in thought. “And what does the winner win, exactly?”

You can tell you've interested him. Now, you just have to reel him in. You mirror his thinking posture, finger-to-chin and everything. “Hmmm… Maybe whatever the winner wants, the loser will have to give to them?”

“Oh, MC, that sounds dangerous.” You catch a glimpse of something in his eyes as he smiles — maybe it's a warning?

You shrug nonchalantly. “I like a little danger.”

He bares his teeth in a wide grin. “May the best demon win, then.”

“Hey!” You shout after him as he winks and heads off into the store proper.

Oh, it's on.

Now, this bookstore is fairly large for being squished between two apartment buildings. It’s longer than it is wide and two stories, with most of the first floor dedicated to the café and spaces for lounging. The bookshelves on this floor house the newly published books. The second floor loft is a labyrinth of bookcases — covered wall to wall in books of all genres — with a dedicated children’s section in the back.

You think you saw Satan head upstairs, so you try your luck with the new books first. How do you pick a book for the demon who’s read everything? Well, you can start with books that have just come out.

You pass some new history books, but what good would that be when you are almost as old as time? New memoirs and biographies? There’s only one human life of interest to Satan and you haven’t written a book (yet).

You pick up a cookbook. That might be interesting. He likes to cook. But you don’t think you will win with a silly list of recipes, now matter how delicious they might be.

You look at the art books and poetry books but knowing how fast he goes through books they might only hold his attention for a short time. You need something good. You pick up a book called Books Make A Home: Elegant Ideas for Storing and Displaying Books and crack a smile. He might take this as a dig at how messy his room is. As hilarious as that might be, you don’t think you would win with that selection.

You finally look at new fiction. A thriller or mystery is more his speed anyway. But none of the covers or descriptions catch your attention. Maybe you should throw a curveball and get a romantic comedy? You pick one up that boasts a plot about the son of Lucifer trying to stop the apocalypse with a human woman and of course, they fall in love along the way. You quickly put it back and shudder at how Satan might react if you presented him with this book for your competition.

Time to switch tactics. Maybe you should go with a book that you have read before but haven’t shared with him yet? With no luck down stairs, you make your way to the second floor, still no sign of Satan. Good, you don't want him to see you empty handed with how long you have been here already.

You snake your way through the aisles, waiting for a book you recognize — or anything really — to jump out at you, catch your attention, and say, “This one right here will make Satan eat his words and admit defeat!”

You find yourself in the young adult section. It's near the back where the children's section is but it's still separated by a half-wall; an appropriate place, right between being a kid and an adult.

Ah yes, your teen angst days. You remember them well. You think about how Satan, in a way, has been going through his “teen angst” days for longer than you’ve even been alive. You wonder if he has ever read any of these kinds of books, or if he considers himself above that kind of thing, or maybe he’s “too old” for them.

You scan the shelves and your eye catches a title on one of the higher shelves. It's a beautiful but impractical arrangement of the shelves. They’re so tall that you would need to call a worker with a ladder to get to some. The one you spot, however, is juuust out of reach that you think you can get if you use the lower shelf as a step. You reach for it on your tippy toes but it barely brushes your fingers. You adjust again and try to reach— when a larger hand with green nail polish easily reaches for the very same book you were trying to grab.

You quickly turn and lose your balance, forgetting you stepped up onto the shelf to reach as far as you did. You surrender to gravity’s whims, but those same well-manicured hands grab you and steady you by the waist.

“MC-!” You end up being slightly dipped in Satan’s arms. He searches your face for any pain or discomfort but is quickly reassured when you burst out in laughter. Once he knows for certain you are alright, he steadies you back on your feet and picks up the book that started this, as it lay forgotten on the floor. He stares quizzically at the cartoon devil gracing the front cover before you snatch it from his hands and hold it behind your back.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

“Is that the book you chose for me?” There’s humor in his voice, he sounds almost incredulous.

“MAYBE.” You huff. “I haven’t made a commitment yet. I was still looking when you snuck up behind me!”

He smirks at you, not falling for your frantic deflection. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

“I’m certain I could have figured it out on my own.” You’re indignant and you're not sure why. Maybe because he was laughing at the book? You turn your back to him and look at the book you picked again. Was it silly to give him a kid’s book? “This book meant a lot to me when I first read it. It’s about a demon from hell getting a taste of human life. I learned a lot about life and myself from reading it, actually.”

If you were looking at Satan, you would see his face soften at the confession. He tilts his head to the side and rests his hand lightly on your shoulder. When you turn to look at him, he snakes his hand down your arm to hold your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He takes a step closer to you and brings your hand to his lips. “If you picked it out for me, I'm sure I'll enjoy it.”

You feel your face bloom with heat from the unexpectedly sweet gesture. He gives you a teasing smile when you still don’t say anything.

You look down, away from his almost smug expression, and focus on his hands. They’re empty. You look back up at him.

“Did you not find one yet?”

His expression doesn’t falter. “I left it at the register so we could pay together. I also got a few other things that interested me from downstairs.”

“Let’s get going then.” You grab his hand tight and pull him along.

You make your purchases downstairs and get something from the café. As you come back with both of your orders — one latte complete with kitty foam latte art and one caramel black milk tea — you find Satan sitting on a loveseat, reading the book you got him.

“You’ve already started??” You put the drinks down on the coffee table in front of you and nearly trip over the bag of your books to get to his side quicker.

“Careful, MC,” he grabs your arm to steady you on the couch. “How else are we going to determine who won?”

“No fair, you got a head start! And you know I don’t read as fast as you, Sa- Stan.” You catch yourself before you say his real name. You don’t think anyone’s paying attention — or really cares — but sometimes you get funny looks from strangers when you say that name in public. Satan cringes at the “nickname”. It bothers him to no end when you use it and that always tickles you.

“Well, MC,” he says pointedly, reaching for something in the bag of books. “That's why I chose something that was reasonable in length.”

The book he presents you is still easily over 100 pages in length but, compared to the other books he has recommended to you, this one actually is quite reasonable. You hold the book in your hands and consider it. You don’t have anywhere else to be. And this place stays open pretty late. You shrug, plop down next to Satan, and get to reading.

Hours pass and Satan easily gets thru the book you gave him and several others he picked up for himself. He even got up once to buy another one after he went through his whole stack. All while you’ve been engrossed in the read Satan picked out for you.

Line after line, page after page, chapter after chapter, you devour the book like it was made for you. If you didn't know any better, you would say it was enchanted, or that Satan did some funny business to the pages to make you keep reading — without stopping — until the very end. But you do know better, and you know that this book is just that good.

It's really late now but you don’t care. You’re loving every minute of this.

Until you get to the end.

You stare at those last few words at the bottom of the page. Your mind is racing. In your haste to get to the end, you skimmed and skimmed paragraph after paragraph to find those words you were desperate to see. You couldn’t believe it. That can’t be how it ends. You don't know how long you stare at those cruel letters but you definitely aren't reading them anymore.

You frantically flip to the beginning of the chapter and read through it again. Maybe you just missed something? Maybe it will be different this time. You hardly register the tears in your eyes before they blur your vision completely and you can no longer continue reading.

You shut the book and study the front cover through your tears. So innocuous. Who knew this damn book would break your heart so thoroughly? Your grief quickly transforms into rage, directed not at the characters, or even the author — but at the damned demon that recommended the book to you in the first place, who was thoroughly enjoying all your precious reactions while sitting calmly next to you.

You stand up and turn to him, without lifting your head. You look at the front cover one last time before you raise the book high in the air and throw it back to Satan as hard as you can. You’re not worried about hurting him — his reflexes are so fast, you’re sure he’ll be able to catch it. Besides, there are very few materials in all three realms that can cause serious harm to a demon — a paperback is not one of them.

Unsurprisingly, he catches it before it makes contact with his face. “Did you enjoy it?”

You look up in time to catch that smug grin plastered across his face.

“What… the FUCK?”

You take a step towards him, fists balled with rage at your sides. You’re getting ready to square up when he says, “We’re in public, dear. You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”

Despite his words, you can see in his eyes that he would really love for you to make a scene. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction but he’s already eating up your barely contained wrath. His easy smile never leaves his face, as if this was just one big joke to him.

That’s it.

You lunge for him, hands going straight for his neck. He catches those, too, of course, but with his hands occupied, he cant stop you from slamming your knee down on the cushion between his legs. Just a warning. That wipes the grin clean off his face. In fact, he looks almost impressed. He closes his legs around your knee to keep it from moving any closer.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” Even though your no match for his strength, that doesn’t stop you from trying to get him — to what end, you aren’t sure. Do you actually want to hurt him or are you trying to release your frustrations in a very unproductive manner? These are the thoughts you would be having if your mind wasn’t blank with rage. “It can’t end like that. It fucking CAN’T!”

And the object of your frustrations is loving every minute of this. You’re sure he’s humoring you when you get awfully close to reaching his neck. “Careful, darling. If you don’t calm down, I might transform and then we’ll both be in trouble.” You can see that warning from earlier in the night flash again in his eyes, like he wants to get in trouble with you. The vibrant green is almost glowing like fire.

“How could you do that to me?!” You continue to struggle in his grasp. “How did you know how to hurt me so perfectly?”

You start to smell sulfur before you finally slump against him, absolutely spent. The burst of rage and the time of night have finally caught up you, the smell of sulfur fading with your energy. He releases your hands and they fall uselessly to his chest. You lay your head there, too.

“That was so fucked up.” You feel Satan’s chest rumble with a noise of agreement as he wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on the top of your head. You take a deep breath and let it out shakily, tears still flowing and staining his sweater.

“Did you like it?”

You let out a high-pitched, “Mmmhmmm”, not trusting your voice won’t crack if you try to speak again. Satan rubs your back.

You take another deep breath and say, “It was so good but so… sad at the end.” He holds you tighter.

“I know. If you don’t like how it ends, we can always write our own ending.” You lift your head from his chest and look at him. It's the same thing you suggested to him when he read that book that made him cry. You smile sadly at the memory. Looking into his eyes now, you find the hidden sadness, beneath the hot anger, beneath the cool mask that he wears. His eyes search your own. You wonder what he finds in them.

Finally, you say, “It’s the sad that makes it good.” He nods in agreement. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. He laughs.

“I’m normal, I swear,” you say. “Can we just stay like this a little while longer?”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving for anything in all three realms.”

And you two are at peace.

Before the confused barista at the coffee bar comes over and says, “We’re gonna be closing in 10, so could y'all…?”

You shoot up immediately and wipe whatever tear stains from your face that remain. “Oh my gosh, we’re so sorry!”

You extricate yourself from Satan and pull him off the loveseat you were lounging on. You gather your things as Satan scowls at the poor barista. “It’s so late, I have to get home to my little boy.”

Satan looks back at you and smiles, knowing exactly who you’re talking about.

You scoot out the door, the bell above the door jingling one last time tonight, and make your way back to your apartment.

Once you are outside on the sidewalk, you slip your arm through his and say, “So, what did you think of the book I gave you?”

“It was… an interesting depiction of demons. I liked it, though it did feel a little preachy toward the end.”

“Soooo,” Your hand finds his and you entwine your fingers together. “Who won?”

“Well, let’s see, considering I didn’t cry and try to hurt you over how emotional I got over your book…”

“Alright, I get it, you don’t have to rub it in.”

Satan chuckles. “Winner gets whatever they want, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Embarrassment floods your system and your cheeks feel warm. Why did you say that? Why did you think you would win? Hopefully, he’ll ask for something easy for you to give him.

“Don’t worry, MC.” Satan laughs again. “I got everything I wanted already.” He brings your entwined hands to his mouth and kisses your hand softly. You rest your head against his upper arm and play with his fingers with both of your hands.

“I saw you read a lot of other books in there. Any good ones?”

He proceeds to tell you all about the other books he got today, some were “absolute drivel” and others were “not too bad, actually”. But your favorite one was when he talked about a book about storing and displaying his books that will be “quite useful at home”.

You smiled to yourself.

You know your demons so well.

#obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me satan #obey me mc #satan x mc #satan x reader #satan fluff #originally posted on ao3 #jsyk all the books are real they are real and they can hurt you #op #fic

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pluckyredhead · 1 year

Text

Roy has always been a science guy

Well, okay. Not always. But yes, before the New 52.

I think we can all agree that New 52/RHATO Roy bears little to no resemblance to pre-52 Roy. Lobdell basically just took a stock 90s hacker character (Lobdell can only write stock 90s characters) and called him “Arsenal.” Which, sigh.

HOWEVER. This idea of “science genius Roy” is really entrenched in fandom now. Plus the way my brain works is I tend to try and figure out a way to synthesize contradictory elements of canon and make them work, rather than just going “no, that’s stupid” and ignoring it. Especially since this was the only version of Roy we had for like seven years.

And the thing is, 2000s canon? Makes a pretty good argument for “tech guy Roy.”

See, after I read all of RHATO and RH/A in 2020, I went back and reread the 2001 Green Arrow series, and I noticed Roy is consistently, unquestionably the techiest Arrow. Now, admittedly that’s a bit of a tallest hobbit situation, since Ollie and Connor are staunch Luddites and Mia has the scientific know-how of an ordinary teenage girl in the early to mid-2000s. (I bet she’s great at texting on a flip phone.)

But there’s this repeated and very cute thing where whenever a member of the Arrowfam busts out new tech, they’re like “Roy gave me this. 🥰 ” Which I love, because it makes Roy feel very present and part of the family even though he lives on the opposite side of the country at this point in canon.

But it also makes Roy come across as by far the most technologically savvy member of the family.

Roy invented a stun grenade arrow for Ollie!

He provides them with weird motorcycles!

Roy begging Ollie to evolve out of the 14th century is such a good mental image.

But wait, there’s more!

A GREEK FIRE ARROW. Roy out here reinventing lost 7th century technology and putting it on arrows.

A tiny arrow to put...in your pants? Okay.

Roy is so well known for his love of tech that Dr. Light knows about it, apparently! (Yes, Connor wielding an enormous gun while Dr. Light is racist towards him fucking sucks. Fun fact: this issue is why I rage quit reading GA on a monthly basis in 2006 and didn’t pick it back up again until Rebirth. This page wasn’t the only reason but it sure didn’t help.)

When Roy does show up on the page, he continues to be tech-savvy:

I love that he just had those tiny clippers on him.

The “Roy and Connor bond” issue is a delight on many levels but Roy casually turning his Ferrari into a thing we still can’t do nearly 20 years later is one of my favorite aspects. As is Connor affectionately teasing him.

This scientific prowess carries over into Outsiders, which isn’t a surprise because Judd Winick was writing both books at the time and he loves a techy Roy:

Roy worked with S.T.A.R. Labs, the best scientists in the DCU, to reprogram a robot from the distant future. Now, obviously that wasn’t successful because she was a Brainiac, but they were able to essentially create an AI with a complete personality existing alongside the Brainiac programming, which is pretty damn impressive. (He was also able to reactivate her in Graduation Day, also by Judd Winick.)

And he created a headquarters that responds to him like this without any visual commands or pressing any kind of buttons??? What???

Plus, he canonically specifically has a kink for fucking in that souped-up airship he mentioned up above. Oh, Roy.

Also, on a much simpler level, you can make a strong case that he’s more inclined to trick arrows than Ollie (and Connor actively thinks they’re ridiculous). He likes gadgets!

Now again, this is not me arguing that New 52 Roy was well-written or that RHATO was a good book. I feel like that version of Roy is, like I said, a 90s hacker who sometimes picks up a bow, and Roy should always be archery first, tech second.

But my inclination is always to try to reconcile canon as much as I can, and incorporate as much as possible into my versions of the characters, so when I write Roy, I tend to nod to the New 52 science aspect by going back to this era. I can’t really get on board with the boy genius stuff or the Roybots, but I’ll often have him messing around with new trick arrows in his downtime, because I like the idea that he’s a tinkerer who loves toys. He’s also been an all-around weapons expert since the early 90s (rather than just arrows), so it makes sense to me that he’d want that range (pun intended) to be as wide as possible.

In conclusion, Lobdell is a hack, but Roy is still a STEM guy, and he definitely has to fix Ollie’s phone every time he goes back to Star City.

#roy harper #arsenal #arrowfam week 2022 #meta

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iztarshi · 3 months

Text

Day 1: Helpless

“I wouldn’t have expected that to affect Shredder,” Donatello says thoughtfully. “Bebop and Rocksteady, obviously, but Shredder was already human.”

“We knew it wasn’t retromutagen, or we’d be turtles right now,” Leonardo answers. “I suppose there’s no reason it would only affect mutants.”

“I wonder whether we’d have been better off as turtles,” Donatello says. “According to Krang it’s going to wear off in twenty-four hours, swimming around with empty heads could have been a nice break.”

“No way, dude! Check us out, we are ready to party,” Michelangelo puts in, spinning enthusiastically to show off his hawaiin shirt.

“Then again, some of us always have empty heads,” says Raphael. Personally he is not happy about this at all, although probably happier than he’d be if he was a turtle right now. If there’s anything he’s thankful for it’s that they were still in disguise when Bebop and Rocksteady messed up and flooded the warehouse with whatever that stuff was. He feels quite exposed enough without his nice, friendly shell wrapped around him without literally being naked. When he lifts his hand he can see five pale brown fingers, thin and fragile. It’s weird.

“But, like, we gotta take advantage of this,” Michelangelo is continuing. “Shredhead’s already vanquished for the day, April’s not stalking any gangs, we’re not gonna explode… right?”

“As far as I know,” Donatello says.

“Donatello, you are so reassuring,” Raphael tells him. Right, Michelangelo’s been human before. He even fought as a human. The thought sends shivers down Raphael’s spine and he can feel his spine, the sensation of it pressing against his skin with all the hairs above it on end. If a villain threw him into a wall right now it would be right there. On the surface. With all his nerves wrapped around it. He backs casually into a wall.

“I hope April’s not in any trouble. We’re not much use to anyone right now,” Leonardo says. He unsheathes a sword and looks concerned when his hand’s grip leaves its point wavering and askew. “We should train.”

“Why?” asks Donatello. “By the time we’ve relearned our weapons in new bodies it will have worn off.”

“Yeah!” Michelangelo says, grabbing Leonardo’s arm and leaning up into his face. “Let’s just take our minds off it. I know where there’s a concert.”

“Well… I guess there’s not really anything else we can do…” Leonardo says, in the hesitating tone he uses when he knows they shouldn’t really stop for pizza but is going to be persuaded anyway. “And it would be interesting to see how people treat us when we’re not turtles.”

“We’re still turtles,” says Donatello. “Underneath.”

“Come on, compadres, let’s party.” Michelangelo grabs Leonardo to solidify his agreement and pulls him out of the warehouse. Donatello follows them and, after a moment to peel himself off the wall, so does Raphael.

Outside the warehouse there’s a chill wind blowing through the evening streets. There’s also Donatello, starting at his arms in fascination.

“What, did it just hit you you’re not green?” Raphael puts a hand on Donatello’s shoulder and tries to ignore the give under the cloth of his shirt instead of the leathery resistance of scales.

“My hairs are standing on end,” Donatello says. “Gooseflesh. Which is an odd name for such a mammallian experience.”

“Weird. You’d think humans would react less to cold than we do,” Raphael says.

“Well, I’m sure we haven’t been fully cold-blooded since our mutation. But humans do generally handle cold better than we do, this is just one of the ways their body does handle cold.”

“Dudes, forget the science lesson,” Michelangelo calls.

There aren’t many people on the street which is good because Raphael’s struggling not to flinch every time they pass one. This is stupid, he’s not this nervous when they’re in disguise, tonight they’re normal humans and have nothing to fear except… muggers. This is New York. When he’s in disguise he’s still a turtle underneath, not in the way Donatello says they still are, but in the far more reassuring way that means someone hitting him will find him unexpectedly hard.

A man in a long coat pushes past them, shoving Donatello — distracted by the streetlamps coming on this time — almost into a wall. Raphael grabs him before he can hit it and then wonders why his heart is beating so fast. He’s seen April shoved into walls before. He’s acting like humans are made of tissue paper.

He yanks Donatello to his feet and yells, “Hey! We’re walking here!” after the human’s retreating back.

“Are you all right?” Leonardo asks, coming back to look Donatello over with an anxiety that makes Raphael feel a bit better about his own reaction. “What were you hanging back for?”

“I was trying to make notes on whether the colours look different,” Donatello says, sheepishly. “But I don’t know.”

They set off again with Michelangelo still leading but Leonardo now following behind them like a sheepdog. Raphael tells himself not much can happen under the eye of their fearless leader and tries to relax.

“Guess we’d better get used to that happening,” Raphael mutters. “Since I don’t suppose we’re going to a nice classical concert with nice cosy chairs instead of the kind of concert where we’ll be squished by a million humans.”

“Put a sock in it, wouldja?” Michelangelo says, stopping to scowl at him. “How often do we get the chance to mingle?”

“Maybe I don’t want to mingle. Maybe I just want my shell.” Which would have sounded like typical Raphael grumbling if his voice hadn’t gone rather squeaky on the last word.

Michelangelo’s expression softens and he glances uncertainly at Leonardo who says, “Let’s go home.”

“But -” Michelangelo says, crestfallen.

“I’m not saying we have to stay there. We can have a break and a snack, maybe change into something more appropriate for a concert.”

“If we’re going to mingle with humans we shouldn’t really be carrying weapons,” Donatello puts in.

Leonardo looks like he regrets saying anything about changing before valiantly continuing with, “Exactly. Let’s go.”

Leonardo’s leading this time, so Michelangelo falls back to the rear and surprises Raphael by wrapping his arms around his back from behind. He can feel his spine relaxing with the warm, heavy buffer of Michelangelo between it and the world and gives Michelangelo’s arm a grateful pat.

It’s pretty sad that for once Raphael has the chance to go anywhere he wants without issue and instead he’s glad to be back in the sewers. Home, sweet home.

In the disguise room, Raphael grabs for a leather jacket. Leather’s tough, not the way his shell is, but at least the way his skin normally is. Donatello starts looking at leather, too, while Michelangelo, apparently happy in his hawaiin shirt, goes to fetch them snacks. Leonardo follows him out maybe to help, maybe to put his swords away and kiss them goodbye.

Looks like it’s neither, though, since Leonardo returns with a large square of something that looks like very shiny plastic with chicken wire embedded in it and starts rummaging through their backpacks.

“That’s my experimental steecrylic,” Donatello says, reproachfully.

“I’m just borrowing it,” says Leonardo, finding a backpack it will fit in and coming over to loop it over Raphael’s shoulders. “It’s really tough. I smacked it with my sword hilt and it didn’t affect it at all.”

“How many things in my lab did you test by hitting them?” Donatello demands, before leaving to see for himself.

Raphael reaches around to knock on the steecrylic. It’s pretty solid and, yeah, he does feel better for having it there. “Could do with some cushioning,” he says, taking it off to tuck a few shirts into the backpack around it. Leonardo smiles at him way too fondly and he ducks practically behind the backpack to hide from it.

Michelangelo enters the room with — what else? — pizza and and asks. “Are we good to go once we’ve eaten?”

“Yeah,” Raphael says. “Let’s mingle.”

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday1 #87 turtles #tmnt 1987

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thoughfullovercreator · 2 years

Text

Hurt/ comfort

MINORS DNI

Steam

Fyodor Dostoyevsky x fem! reader

Trigger warning: angst (?), unhealthy relationship, implied intercourse.

This is +18 (minors don’t read this, go away).

_____________________________________________

__________________________________________

You dumped him.. what a shame really.

He was thinking amused.

All these moments spent together.. for you to dump him. What a bad joke.

Did you really think you can dump me like that ? I am the best partner she could ever have, she’ll find no one like me.

After another day of Fyodor working and not spearing you a glance, you got fed up pretty badly, quit the house, came back 3 days later to announce him you no longer wanted to be in a relationship with someone so uncaring like him. How would you be called a couple if sometimes he wouldn’t spare you a single glance in a period of three days ?!

If he loved me, he would take the time to pay some attention to me, his partner. Instead of that, he’s spending the whole day in front of his laptop, working. You thought.

So you took your things and left. Your pride would never let you stay like this. This wasn’t the kind of relationship you wanted and you were determined to move forward.

The problem is that Fyodor will not let you go. You’re his and his only, he hasn’t juged it necessary to end the relationship for such a trivial matter so he’s not willing to free you. Plus, he knew this was going to happen at some point, he’s far from stupid. He sensed you were tense as of late, your patience was running thin and he was upsetting you. Only, he decided to put his work first.

When you were peacefully at your new house you thought you were in secure and that he let go of you. That you were master of your life and choices and that you did well. Little did you know that a certain demon is just behind the entrance of your house waiting for the right moment before opening your door.

Fyodor has a certain crush on you, that’s precisely why he dated you in the first place. You were rebel, defiant, full of life and gracious, you were also ambitious, reasonable and strong. He wouldn’t accept letting someone else have you or even the idea of entering your shared bedroom and not finding you ready to cuddle him, is unacceptable. That’s why he’s here now, ready to jump on his prey.

He missed you so much, your smell, your skin, your .. everything. He craved having a hold of you again. All he wants now is to shove you in your shared apartment and chain you so you’ll never go away.

Suddenly he hears a laugh coming from the other side of the door.

You must be talking to your irking friends again..

Oh your sociability, you were enjoying too much the company of other people, you’re so open that people are naturally drawn to you. And he dislikes that , he hates the stares that you get from your guys friends, he hates when they monopolised you or when someone texts you late at night and you being so available for them. You should only be available for him.

He was jealous, possessive. He knew in his toxic mind that if he let you, a friend of yours would jump onto the occasion to get closer to you in hopes of being with you. And he’ll never allow such thing.

He was still waiting in front of the entrance of your new house. He waited for you to go take your night shower as you always do, so he could sneak inside the house without you noticing or trying to stop him.

He was carefully listening to what’s happening inside the house when he finally heard your footsteps, a door opening, then closing.

You finally went to take a shower. It was now time for him to enter.

Tik tik tik.. BINGO.

The bobby pin opened your door.

He silently entered the house, checked around and saw your clothes on the couch, those you just took off to go wash yourself.

He was finally smelling your sent.

Then, an idea popped in his head.

He slowly took his clothes off in order to avoid making any sound, then, casually made his way to your bathroom as if he was in his own house. He, very, very silently entered your bathroom.

Because of the sound of water falling, you couldn’t hear the door opening and closing and the fact you were facing the opposite direction of the door prevented you from seeing your « ex boyfriend » casually making his way to you with his usual smirk, only this time, his eyes were dark from the excitement of having you at his mercy not even one foot away from him. He didn’t waste any time before entering the Italian shower you were in and hugged you from behind, smelling you, touching you.. oh how he missed this. It’s been only two weeks since you dumped him, and still, he was craving you. He was never a dependent man and he’s still not one but let’s say.. he was smitten by you.

Feeling suddenly someone against you scared you to death, you jumped and trembled from fear, until you heard a certain voice behind you, whispering you to calm down and kissing your skin.

- « Calm down it’s just me. » He said

You slowly turned your head to look at him, still hugging you from behind, nuzzling his face on your neck while slowly massaging your skin. Needless to say you were flabbergasted and you haven’t calmed down much. Knowing him, you knew he was up to something but seeing him hug you showed that he wasn’t there to harm you.

- « What are you doing here Fyodor ?! You broke into my house AND had the audacity to enter when I am showering ?!! » You angrily spat. You weren’t going to let him disrespect you like this.

- « Well I am free to see my partner whenever I want to, no ? » He added with a sultry voice and a mischievous smirk looking at you with a predator’s eyes.

When you were going to object and say that you were no longer together, he beat you and added:

- « Plus, I don’t like the fact of you taking decisions that concerns the both of us.. You want to split but I don’t. As you belong to me, I get to choose. I consider we’re still together. Moreover, you’ll never find someone like me so why fight ? » He calmly added with a smirk.

You were flabbergasted in front of such a man. You would’ve never thought that if you were to end the relationship, Fyodor would have that reaction. Meanwhile, he continued trailing kisses up your neck and jawline as if nothing was happening. When you snapped out of your shock you removed his hands from you and turned to properly face him, you see him smirking and shamelessly looking down at your exposed body with darkened eyes and, of course his smirk.. wider than usual. You felt… naked but that’s what you were. You had to concentrate to not let your eyes roam down his body that was naked too.

Once you focused, you started:

- « Fyodor, in case you haven’t noticed, I am a grown woman and you don’t get to choose wether I stay with you or not. I ended the relationship for solid reasons and if you don’t like it, then it’s your problem, should’ve thought about it before. Now get out of my house. » you simply said, looking at him straight in the eyes, charisma emanating from you.

Oh god how he loved when you would stand your ground and defy him. A wild thing. That was something new to him since everyone was scared of him in the outside. Seeing you like this is just so entertaining to him. He was looking at you like one would look at a little child giving threats. He knew he could take you home anytime he wanted so he was just pleased by what he had before him.

In an instant he slammed you against the wall, leaning towards you so your faces would be only an inch apart. He’s looking at you in the eyes with an intensity.. it was overwhelming. You suddenly felt very little (feeling accentuated by your height difference) and couldn’t do anything besides maintaining the eye contact with him in order to put up a fight, just for your pride. It was your way of showing him that you weren’t going to submit to him. He loved it. It made it all the more enjoyable to dominate you. Suddenly his lips locked against yours in a very deep, passionate kiss. You tried to push him off but he pinned your wrists against the wall and forced you to kiss him back.

It was at this moment you knew it was over for you.

Fyodor was the type to get what he wanted one way or another and you couldn’t escape him. He would either use gentleness or force and he wasn’t very patient. All of this was a message for you to understand. He was deciding, not you.

The problem is that you still had a weak spot for him.. it’s been only two weeks since you broke up with him and either way you didn’t have the choice but to accept him again in your life.

——————————————————————

After your hot.. steamy shower you both got out of the bathroom. He then, demanded you to pack your things so you would go back home, to your shared apartment.

When you two came back, he turned towards you, with a deep stare, his violet eyes gleaming dangerously and said :

- « Next time you try to run away from me, when I find you, I’ll chain you to the bed. »He sinisterly warned.

You shuddered at his tone. Everything in his facial and body language told you he was extremely serious and that he wouldn’t hesitate to do that.

- « Understood ? » he added with a glare.

You curtly nodded, still shuddering.

He smirked.

- « Good girl, now come .. » he grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him.

You were stuck.

#fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bsd fyodor #bsd imagines #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #bsd anime #bungou stray dogs

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

Note

Ms. Llama I love how you do the prison au boys but I have to know how inmate mc meets inmate boys 👀

I think I may have done this take on the prison au before, but it was so long ago that I wanna do it again from scratch anyway!

Mc is either framed, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up taking the fall for a crime she didn't commit. Thanks to overpopulation issues in human prisons, she's given two options; carry out her full term in a 'normal' human prison (even though there's nothing normal about prison), or take a reduced sentence inside a majority Monster population prison. She chooses the latter and joins a minority of human prisoners inside a mixed human/Monster prison.

Sans: Everyone knows Sans. Everyone likes Sans. He’s everyone’s friend, the casual smiling face, his stupid jokes and easygoing gait allow him to cruise and get what he wants without drawing too much attention to himself. Picking on Sans gets you immediately disliked by pretty much the entirety of the prison, because why the hell are you picking on the 1HP guy, you goddamn bully? Only a select few have figured out that he’s more than the goofy, harmless smile he puts on.

He’s her cellmate. It’s the usual song & dance with Sans, he’s sharp and cold toward her at first, writing her off as just another violent human and clearly annoyed he has to share a cell with her. But for no reason easily discernible to her, after a few days he suddenly warms right up and becomes willing to help her in any way she needs. He’s vital to her survival at the prison... he’s already been there a while, he shares all the unspoken rules and regulations. He has some friends, and his approval seems to come with a comfortable level of mutual respect from other inmates... he helps her slot into the rhythm. She’s desperate for a friend in this terrifying unfamiliar hell, and he’s more than willing to step up, to be the one she relies on.

She doesn’t know what he’s in for. She doesn’t ask; she assumes it can’t be that bad, seeing as he’s so well liked by the other prisoners. Everyone seems to get along with him, talking to him like he’s a friend... They wouldn’t get comfy with him if he did something truly awful, right?

Red: He’s still the king of this particular hole, running it from the inside out. Everyone fears and respects him. She doesn’t need to know the ins and outs of the prison to tell he’s the big shot- just from the way he sits at his mess hall table, minions flitting around him like fish around a shark, she can tell he’s bad news. She does her best not to make eye contact, not to catch his attention... and for a few hours, she does just that, managing to escape his notice and convincing herself that the two of them will never meet.

Until he happens to see her.

‘Smitten’ is a good word for how Red feels- and unlike her Nurse AU counterpart, Prisoner Mc doesn’t have the luxury of being able to make Red keep his distance. He can get as close as he damn well pleases. He’s an incessant flirt, constantly calling her pet names, calling her over to his table in the hopes she’ll sit with him, trying to give her gifts and special privileges while subtly flexing his power and control... don’t you wanna be comfy? don’t you wanna be safe and relaxed? She turns down his gifts for fear of being indebted to a hotheaded mob boss while behind bars, much to his chagrin. But he gets it... it’s smart of her. He likes 'em smart. No matter what he does, she won’t give in to him- she’s convinced he’ll lose interest if she keeps him at arm’s length long enough.

He’s the king of the prison, for sure. He wishes she wasn’t so resistant to being his queen.

Skull: Skull has a bad habit of attacking/trying to eat human prisoners who get too close to him, so like before he’s cordoned off- but experimentation by the prison found he behaves better when he can get some fresh air. A section of the protective custody area was rebuilt entirely for him, so now, he has a tiny corner of the courtyard fenced off with barbed wire so he can sit outside and calm down, surrounded by people without being able to attack them. That’s how Mc meets him; she sees him through his fence.

He’s a frightening, silent beast, always wearing his mask and always with his massive claws in restrictive gloves. Other prisoners jokingly call his corner the ‘bear cage’. And now, he’s got a new hobby- Mc watching! Anytime she’s in the courtyard he moves over to the part of the fence that’s closest to her and stares unbrokenly. His behaviour after he’s seen her is always great to the point that it’s suspicious... but who knows. Maybe soon, if he keeps up his good behaviour, he could be released back into the prison population.

#llamagines #prisoner mc au #he's just saying hello with his eyes why are you so scared

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0809wrld · 2 years

Text

20:00

☆ sub!hongjoong x (hard)dom!reader

☆ 1118

☆ phone sex, “long” distance relationship, dialogue heavy

☆ (extreme) degradation, name calling, dirty talk, reader addressed as Mommy, mention of free use type of situation, implied aftercare

Your evening began with you lounging on the couch, halfway through an audiobook before you get a text notification—the ding snapping you out of the novel.

Hongjoong: call?

You: yeah, give me a sec

Hongjoong, your sweet boyfriend who can’t go one night without a phone call with you. You two attending different universities didn’t faze either of you, but it did leave for some lonely nights. Nights where Hongjoong just wants to call and hear your voice, hear about your day, and maybe do some other… things. You can’t complain, though. You miss him just as much as he misses you, and you appreciate having such a caring, attentive boyfriend. You finish the current chapter of the book before texting him back.

You: ready!!!

Your phone rings almost immediately after hitting send, you wonder if his eyes had been glued to his phone, waiting for you.

Hi, baby, you answer with a singsong tone.

Hey, how was your day?

You and Hongjoong go back and forth, asking and answering about your days. What was for breakfast? Someone almost ran you over with the campus scooters? Are your exams soon? How is your roommate never there? Casual conversations that you two can have over and over again, until Hongjoong asks the question.

Can… can you do the thing? He sounds so shy that you can hear the blush you know he has. You know what the thing is, but acting like you don’t is most of the fun. You can’t recall how many times you two have done this, at some point you thought Hongjoong would get tired of the shy act and drop it, but it seems to be part of the fun for him as well.

What thing, Hongjoong?

You know what I’m talking about. Please?

I really don’t, I’m not a mind reader sweetheart. You’re gonna have to tell me. You hear his whine from your phones speaker. Hongjoong usually likes to draw this out, working the both of you up. It especially helps you fall into the role anyway, it’s difficult to make the switch where you can give Hongjoong what he craves. After some more back and forth, Hongjoong caves.

Please be mean to me mommy?

Poor Hongjoong, he already sounds gone.

Oh, I see why it was so hard for you to ask. So pathetic, asking me to be mean to you.

You can hear his breath hitch.

You better not be touching yourself, Hongjoong. Sometimes you surprise yourself with how cold you can sound.

He answers frantically. No! No, I’m not mommy. I promise. Didn’t say I can touch.

That’s right. Maybe you aren’t so stupid, hm?

Despite how much you know Hongjoong loves this (and how much you love it too, if how wet you are is any indication), there’s always something nagging in the back of your mind that says you’re always going too far. Hongjoong never safewords, he’s never had any reason to.

You know, I never thought there were people who liked being degraded. I definitely never thought one of those depraved people would be my boyfriend. You definitely don’t seem to be the type. I wonder how many other freaks see us together and think I’m the one who’s in this position. Imagine how your friends would react to knowing this is how their Hongjoong gets off.

Fuck…

I wonder what my friends would think of you, knowing this. They’d probably think you’re a depraved pervert, but they wouldn’t be wrong.

Mommy, stop—

Stop why? You like the thought of my friends image of you changing? The Hongjoong they knew before, so polite and confident. They’d know it’s just a facade then, your true place being under me. A dumb slut whose only thoughts are when he’ll come next.

You let it fall silent, wanting to listen to what your ears can pick up from Hongjoong. You speak after a moment.

Hongjoong. The way you call his name demands attention. Touch yourself, but I swear to god if you cum, you will be afraid to see me.

F-fuck mommy, I’m sorry… thank you.

Dumb thing, what are you even apologizing for.

I-I don’t know—

Do you know anything, Hongjoong?

No answer. Tsk. You decide to play with your previous idea some more.

My friends would probably like to treat you like the dog you are—

Mommy, stop, stop gonna cum, need to stop please—

Already? He must be extra sensitive today.

Then stop, that would make sense, right? Do you really need me to think for you?

You wait, wait to hear his breathing even out. As I was saying, they would love to tease you. They can be meaner than me, Joongie, so you’d be in for a treat. They definitely wouldn’t show mercy and let you touch yourself like I do. Probably would keep you on the edge for so long you pass out.

Ah…

Or, see how far they can push you with just their words. Imagine their faces when you cum in your pants, untouched, from being treated poorly. They’d truly understand how pathetic and desperate you are. At that point, they’d send you back to me, disgusted with the mess you made of yourself.

Yeah, yeah… I’m…

You wait patiently to see if he’ll finish without any encouragement, nothing.

What is it, Joongie? You soften your voice. It feels like the right moment to start wrapping this up, you’re feeling drowsy and want to make sure Hongjoong is well taken care of after this.

‘M disgusting, f-fucking gross, dirty, I’m, I’m— He stutters through the whole sentence, only stopping when you cut him off.

You’re all those things baby, and you’re mine. Love how dirty my angel is. You hear whimpers and huffs from his end. Are you touching yourself?

No mommy, I’m not. Just too much, so much. So close, mommy, need it.

Oh baby, I know. Mommy wants you to cum, okay? Be a good boy and cum for me angel.

You hear muffled moans and whimpers, followed by heavy breathing. When it sounds like he’s caught his breath, you speak.

Good job baby, did so well for me. So proud of you, Joongie. Everything was okay?

Yeah, everything was really, really good. Thank you…

There it is again, you know there’s something being left unsaid. You don’t want to probe Hongjoong, but you don’t think you’d be able to sleep not knowing what it is.

Is there something else you wanna say?

Yeah, uhm… he laughs, nervous and lighthearted. What you were saying… you know about cumming untouched and stuff,

‘And stuff’. You laugh to yourself at how shy he is after this.

I did it… came untouched.

Take a shot for every time you read Mommy

a/n: aftercare did take place 🫶🏽 I didn’t know if everyone would consider this hard and extreme (I do 🤨) so that’s why it’s tagged like that. “Long” distance i mean you can decide how far the schools are ❤️❤️. Thank you for reading please lmk if I need to add tags!! And maybe rb if you liked this 👉🏽👈🏽🥺?

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #jj:hongjoong #100

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will80sbyers · 1 year

Note

Regarding the whole Mike being redeemed for Will thing - I think for the casual viewer it’s just frustrating to see him making the same mistakes over and over. He ignored Will in S3, they fought, Will forgave him. Then he ignored Will again pre-S4, was a jerk for no reason to him at the airport, and we still have no explanation about why. We have to keep in mind that the theories for Mike’s behavior in S4 are all based on subtle things and the proof we have that Mike *maybe* did actually call Will is a blink-and-you-miss it conversation. To the GA Mike ignored Will twice for El two seasons in a row.

that's because the storyline is going towards Mike having feelings for Will, he didn't ignore Will in s4, Will was the one distancing himself FIRST and Mike felt like he lost him and was feeling rejected himself first at the airport and acted accordingly, after Mike gets with Will in s5 all of that has a clear explanation...

Mike has codependency problems with El and feelings for Will too and that's the point, that's why Mike can't balance his relationship with El and Will... the story is not over and judging Mike without having the whole context is absurd.

People are too harsh on him online because they don't put themselves in his shoes, he is terrified of losing the people he loves and is acting accordingly, he is scared and wants to protect himself when he feels rejected by others...

if people want to be angry at Mike for how he acts they should be angrier about how he's a shitty boyfriend to El but to be honest El is not that much better of a girlfriend in season 4 seeing that she lied to him for 6 months and then acted defensive instead of wanting to open up to Mike and talk about their problems...

but they are ALL KIDS.

they are growing up and learning from their mistakes and they don't mean to hurt any of their friends!!!

Will lying to Mike in the van and talking for El was a mistake too

Will calling El stupid was a mistake

El spying on Mike and lying to Mike and wanting Angela to keep lying to Mike as well after was also a mistake

Mike lying to El and being a jerk to Will about d&d was a mistake...

BUT ALSO... GUESS WHO ALWAYS APOLOGIZED FOR HIS MISTAKES -> Mike Wheeler!!!!

El never apologized to Mike for spying on him or lying to him... and I can forgive her anyway because she has gone through so much trauma in her life and I know she doesn't mean to cause harm

Will apologized but only this season saying he was being a jerk to El because he recognized he was jealous towards her!

Mike has openly apologized MANY times and is constantly trying his best!

They all make mistakes, they are human children growing up and learning and having NORMAL conflicts in relationships!

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #ask #el hopper byers #stranger things

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rulesofdisorder · 2 years

Text

hey everyone it is once again Aedion Ashryver Defense Time brought to you by the fact that i have seen yet another Aedion bashing video on tiktok.

So let’s again run through the reasons that i think Aedions actions in both Empire of Storms and in Kingdom of Ash were, if not justifiable (which i think they were), completely understandable.

We will begin with why I think it is utter bullshit that Aelin never told Aedion any of her plans. Aedion is a well respected and well fought General who has been fighting for their country since he was around 13/14 years old. You cannot reach that level of military leadership at as young of an age that he did, despite being an enemy prince, (i believe he was General by the time he was 16/17 but don’t quote me i might be wrong) without being damn good at military strategy. Even though Aedion has all of these qualifications, Aelin never once told him a plan. When he yelled at her in Empire of Storms it was because he believed that the only army that they had to fight for Terrasen was the Bane, Aedions army of allies and friends that he has gathered over the years. Us as readers eventually find out that Aelin had reached out to her own allies that she gathered but didn’t want to tell anyone because she “didn’t want to let anyone down if they didn’t show” which is a bullshit excuse I think. There is no reason that you should not tell your General your war strategy plans or the number of allies you may or may not have. And it is worth remembering that Aedion is not just the General of her armies but also her cousin. So of all people she really didn’t have to worry about letting him down. He would have understood if she had just told him.

Next we will be discussing Aelin and Lysandras stupid plan that is reveled at the end of Empire of Storms. (something that I have already made several posts about so if this sounds familiar i apologize)

So, Aelin and Lysandra have the brilliant idea to make a plan that states that if Aelin is killed or captured, Lysandra will shapeshift to look like Aelin and lead in her place. They will then have Aedion have kids with Lysandra in order to pass them off as Lysandra and Rowan’s because he looks just like Aelin so there would be no question of the childrens parentage and the royal bloodline can continue without Aelin.

They made this plan without even consulting Aedion. Despite a large portion of the plan involving him having children and then giving them up to he raised by Lysandra, the woman Aedion loves, and Rowan, his cousins mate and husband as well as a man that Aedion considers a brother. I don’t know about the rest of you but i would be furious. Aedion will be forced to have kids that he can’t even call his own and he has absolutely no say in the matter. I don’t know why these women who have had their choices taken from them time and time again thought that this would be a good idea.

I would also like to note that literally anyone who spends even a second of time in Aedions presence knows that he has some of the worst parental issues and trauma that i have ever seen. A huge obstacle in Aedions life has been him not knowing who his father was. His mother not telling anyone who his father was got them both kicked out of the Ashryver family and got him sent off to Terrasen, a complete other continent, after his mothers death to be raised by Aelins parents, the only people who would take him in. And they think he’s just going to be okay with the fact that he will have to have children and then not raise them or call them his own? It’s insensitive and completely over looks his trauma. (This also explains his hesitation to allow Gavriel into his life once he finds out that Gavriel is his father.)

Throughout the series Aelin has consistently not told Aedion huge important things some being:

1. Not telling Aedion that she had given the blood oath to Rowan, despite there being opportunities to say so, thus allowing Rowan to drop it casually in conversation, and resulting in Aedion finding out about it in a rather not good way.

2. Not telling Aedion about the armies she was trying to gather despite him being the General of Terrasen.

3. Not telling him about the plan that involved him having children with Lysandra to pass off as Aelin and Rowan’s.

Given all of these reasons, i think it is perfectly reasonable that Aedion is angry and frustrated and mean at the end of Empire of Storms and throughout Kingdom of Ash. I would have been worse actually.

And I have mentioned in a previous post that I truly don’t think Aedion was all that angry at Lysandra, he was angry at Aelin. But Aelin just sacrificed herself for them all and might never come back and Lysandra is there and wearing Aelins face so Lysandra gets the full force of his anger at both of them, which is unfair but also understandable.

I would also like to point out that Aedion is one of, if not the, only character in the series who consistently apologizes for his actions or feels remorseful.

He apologizes to Aelin after he gets mad about the blood oath and he apologizes to Lysandra for yelling at her and treating her poorly in Kingdom of Ash. And yet he is the only one that the fandom doesn’t forgive (it could be argued that the fandom also doesn’t forgive Chaol which i also think is kinda dumb but that’s the topic for a different post)

People say that they think Aedion was acting out of character in Kingdom of Ash and i don’t think that’s the case. I think people just didn’t pay attention to his character or motivations previously.

I think that Aedion is the most human character in the books because he has flaws and doesn’t always react in the most story-convenient ways. I think that a lot of people would react the same way as he does, myself included, had they been in his position.

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yvesdot · 2 years

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PLEASE tell me about social media in the Sims

Oh my God thank you all I got these within MINUTES of that post. Sure!

INTRO

The Sims 2 was released in 2004. Because of that, there is no social media in that game. There aren't even cell phones or laptops-- Sims have big clunky desktop computers that they use for things like playing video games and looking for jobs.

The first expansion pack, University (released 2005), added cell phones, which in my experience players rarely use. You have to sit through 2004 game loading time to get to a community lot (public/commercial, as opposed to private, lot) which sells them-- you need to have a cell phone store somewhere in your neighborhood-- and after all that it provides little utility. The base game (TS2 without expansion packs/DLC) includes (free to use) phone booths on every community lot by default, and landlines are pretty cheap. In the game, you just don't need it.

Obviously, in real life I love having a personal phone and would never have a landline. I can check the time, browse various sites, research any question I might have, and chat with my friends who aren't around. I like always having my phone on me-- but I do not live in The Sims 2.

The Sims 4 does have phones. It also has a pack called Get Famous, which-- and I'm not saying I understand this at all-- allows your Sim to get some kind of quirk that defines them as a celebrity. My Sim's quirk was phone addiction.

I'm never going to play this stupid evil game again. ('ω')

But, okay, why is that my reaction to my Sim being addicted to their phone? Why does it bother me that they pull it out and browse, or whatever? Why do I never use TVs in my Sims' homes, and why don't I get them cell phones? Do I just hate realistic gameplay, or the modernization of the games? Am I a hypocrite for having pink CC laptops in half of my TS2 builds?

Turns out no I was right about everything obviously as always.

SOME REASONINGS

The basic answer is obvious: not everything realistic is something I want in my game. I wish mindless social media scrolling and binge-watching and capitalism didn't exist. I don't want to add CC Starbucks cups to my game because I don't need Starbucks to be in more places than it already is. Abortion mods personally make me sad, because abortion is a solution to a number of problems I wish we didn't have. In a game with distinct WooHoo (protected sex) and Try for Baby (what it sounds like) options which both make Sims just as happy, why can't every pregnancy be wanted and healthy?

Obviously, there are a lot of Real Life Things in TS2 basegame, like the fact that the central mechanic hinges on time and resource management: you have to figure out when to put your Sim to bed and when to take them to the bathroom to optimize everything else (fulfilling their Wants, making them money, causing chaos, etc.). I find myself much more entertained by planning my Sim's day around their varied needs than I would be trying to figure out TS2 tax mods. Then, too, everyone has a different threshhold for what they consider a good or bad realistic addition, including additions to gameplay. I can't play with the mod ACR (Autonomous Casual Romance), for example, because I am a control freak and if my Sims jump into bed with random people I explode. I'm not against any given mod, particularly because I know that it's just my personal taste to play so carefully. That being said, TS2 is in many ways a game about control: using all your power to help your Sims reach the goals you and the game set for them.

More importantly, though, I play the Sims character-focused. While I love building houses and towns, I don't think about the game as gameplay- or worldbuilding-first; all elements to me are a scaffold for the characters, or the Sims! I play The Sims because I love my Sims the way I love the characters I write and read about and the people I hang out with. This is actually the same thing people are doing with, say, ACR, because they like to feel like their Sims are more 'real' and have their own preferences. By default, for example, the game doesn't set gender preference-- you do, when you instruct your Sim to check out or flirt with or smooch another one. I do occasionally indulge in using ACR (with the main function turned firmly OFF) to randomize sexual preferences in my neighborhood so that I can be surprised. Of course, the latest version allows you to make everyone default bisexual if you'd like...

(I do, for the record, LOVE the people who make tax and abortion and death by illness and welfare mods. I find their ability to handle chaos and ride the wave hands-free admirable, and I especially love watching them play and reading their stories, because everything can hit the fan in an instant. That kind of adaptability and dedication is insane! I think individual players should be able to do and add whatever the crap they want to their games. Have no fear; I am not against the pregnancy-enabled Orgy Rug.)

So, in short, I want my Sims to be happy and fulfilled in good relationships. In my opinion, social media does not provide any of this. I know you want this to be at least 5,000 words of a response, though, so let me prove it to you ^__^

THE SIMS 2 BLOGGING WANTS

TS2 actually does have a comparable feature to TS4's cell phones, which is blogging. If you have the expansion pack FreeTime, your Sims can have hobbies, and let me tell you those little bitches Want nothing more than to Blog About [Hobby]. I have a mod now that tanks the frequency of these Wants and it still comes up too often-- I'm talking every time the Wants rerolled (another Want fulfilled, Sim went to sleep and woke up, etc. You get about 4 Wants each time), I'd get a Blog About [Hobby] Want and it drove me nuts. Yes, it's repetitive, but it's also... unsocial.

In real life, if I'm blogging or scrolling through Tumblr or whatever, I know that every individual user is a human person. I'm experiencing social interaction by chatting and peeping. I am, right now, chatting to beloved friend lazarusemma, in addition to two anonymous persons whom I appreciate very much for showing their interest in my interests. It's similar (but not identical to) my being at a party where my friend says "oh please talk about The Sims 2" and then two people yell out from the crowd, "yeah, talk about The Sims 2!" There is a demonstrable social aspect to all of it.

In TS2, though, there's no way to convey that your Sim is doing that. The reason phone calls work so well is that they're essentially identical to having a Sim walk by, appear on the lot, and chat to your Sim (other than that, of course, you can't play ball over the phone). You see the Sims chatting about various topics, the relationship bars go up, your Sim's Social need fills, and of course on your end you see your Sim walking around and making hand gestures as they talk on the phone. It's really adorable! And, importantly, it's character- and relationship-based. You see your Sim making social connections.

The blogging is a mystery. Is my Sim expressing strong opinions on crafting? Are they making friends through their LiveJournal? Is there drama? Who's reading that blog? I have no idea. It makes no coherent difference to my Sim's life to blog, whatsoever, which is simply not accurate to the social aspects of blogging in real life. It's like if you integrated sewing but all your Sims could do was sit at a sewing machine for 5 hours and nothing would happen. (In practice, sewing increases the Sewing talent & interest in Arts and Crafts, allows Sims to craft and then sell or keep usable items, fulfills Fun needs, etc.)

I'M CREEPING UP ON A CONCLUSION NOW

It's also worth noting that you can't really replicate IRL dynamics in the Sims this way to begin with. IRL I do not have people walking by on the lawn who I can talk to, not just because people don't tend to walk by but also because we live in a world where you might not like someone for reasons beyond "they have Level 10 interest in Money and I have Level 0" or "they have 0 Nice Points." People are transphobic in real life. Furthermore, travel in The Sims 2 is either simple (call someone you know to come over, and they show up within the hour) or impossible (Sims in two different neighborhoods can't & won't ever interact). The Internet solves a problem (physical accessibility of a person or resource) that simply does not exist in these games.

All this is to say that I find some of these mechanics "unproductive," in the sense that I see no benefit to them for the Sim's fulfillment, relationships, etc. If they write a novel in TS2, it takes hours and hours and hours and then it sells and they can take it out of the bookshelf and read it. Blog post in TS2? Into the ether. Does not affect anything in the game. It takes less time for two Sims to have a landline phone call than to call one of them over to the other's house, but when you have those two options, you don't really need IMs (real thing in TS2!) or cell phones. I'm racking my brain to find a use for cell phones and I guess if another Sim was using the landline it'd be helpful....? But I don't play in big families, so, again, subjectively useless to me. What I really want as an answer to any gameplay mechanic is: what goal does this achieve better than any other current mechanic? Writing a novel, calling a Sim, and using a sewing machine all have a good answer, while I personally feel cell phones and social media do not. That doesn't mean you can't add them, just that I find them useless.

So, at the end of the day, I'm right about not everything realistic being an inherently good gameplay choice, particularly when it forces me to remember substantive real life issues (I wish I had more control over my phone! I wish companies weren't inventing new ways to keep me scrolling!), while adding nothing of value to gameplay and forcing my Sims to stop what they're doing to perform an animation which has no material significance to their lives, meaning, no significance to my gameplay or investment. We should also be asking ourselves why we want to imitate real life, and whether we can, before we start doing it. Yeah, sure, you could integrate credit card payments into The Sims 2 basegame... but would it actually make the game more fun to play? What factors make credit cards necessary IRL, and do or should they exist in TS2?

I find this to be part of TS4's trend of throwing everything into the game to see what sticks, which for me made for pretty overwhelming initial gameplay, though I'm completely willing to admit I "played it wrong" by starting with a bunch of packs. (I didn't want them, but the copy I was... borrowing... came with them all.) I know social media in TS4 has been updated since-- I'm just not a fan of the game for other reasons, and personally, I don't think I need social media in my games no matter how well-integrated they become. I wrote this post for funsies (*‘ω‘ *) The Sims 2 reigns supreme!

#txt #the sims 2 #<- for tagging purposes if you know anything about this game PLEASE ignore me I'm a rando.#I promise I will someday deliver well-thought-out posts on trigger warnings and original fiction but for now... happy eats.#yves talks #yves talks sims

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popchoc · 2 years

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Maya & Dearborn, #123 please 😜

Maya Bishop & Charlotte Dearborn, Station 19

123: "fuck you." - "when?"

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

There it is again. The high-pitched ringing in her ears, blocking out every other sound trying to get in.

It started this afternoon, right after that water heater exploded in her face. At that moment Maya believed it was a fitting reaction to the loud noise, but it's been hours now, and yet the ringing keeps coming and going - completely out of nowhere. And though it only lasts for a minute or so, it's highly uncomfortable.

It's also why it takes her a bit to realize the woman at the sink next to hers is talking to her.

"St-io- -in-tee- r-ght? -m Ch-r-tt-, -om -elf."

"I- I'm sorry, what?!" Maya answers, turning towards her and trying to focus the best she can. If only she could read lips.

(Talking about lips, this woman has quite a pair.)

While Maya's a little distracted by the view, the woman keeps talking to her; unaware that Maya doesn’t hear her.

"I -m lieu-en-t a- -ta-ion -wel-, - kno- y- -iend, He-e-a."

Feeling her frustration rise, Maya tilts her head and shakes it with vigor. When it doesn't do the trick, she starts tapping her ear, which seems to amuse the other woman.

"Got som- wate- in ther-?" she grins.

"Something like that," Maya answers, finally picking up most of it - at least she hopes so. She turns off the tap, then looks over her shoulder as she reaches for the towel dispenser - which, of course, is empty. "Have we uhm... have we met?"

(She would know, right? Yes, she would definitely know.)

When the woman hands her a paper towel from her side, their hands briefly touch. Maya mumbles a thank you, and notices with relief that the ringing is finally gone.

"Not personally," the answer sounds perfectly clear, "But I've seen you around. You know, in the field."

Maya doesn't know. But that could be because she missed half of what was said before. And that's not something she'd like to admit.

So she just nods.

The woman leans one hip against the sink, then casually crosses her arms. Maya is no stranger to bathroom chats with random chicks, but for some reason she's not so sure if this one may lead to something fun - despite liking what she sees.

"Rumor has it you guys got yourself trapped again."

Her smirk is challenging.

Maya mirrors her pose. "What do you mean, again ?!"

"Don't you know? Nineteen has quite the reputation."

Never accepting any trash talk about her station, Maya takes a step forward, trying to overawe. Yet with her challenger stepping back simultaneously, her attempt seems more like the start of the cha-cha-cha.

Maya pretends not to notice it. "Bullshit!" she calls out without blinking.

"You think I'm making this up? You people keep getting yourself in trouble every other week. Nothing wrong with a reputation though. Yours, for example—"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Maya stops her, raising her hand. "My reputation?!"

Bright laughter echoes through the bar's bathroom again. "Well yeah. I mean, within a different scene, but you know..." She clicks her tongue. And this time, Maya does know.

She narrows her eyes. "Are you slut shaming me?"

The woman cocks her head, an almost innocent look crossing her face. "Not at all! I'm just... curious what the fuzz is all about."

Maya snorts, then shakes her head - not willing to take the bait any longer. "Fuck you," she simply tells her off.

The woman's response comes fast, before Maya gets the chance to turn away from her.

"Sure," she chuckles, raising her brows, "When?"

Frozen in motion, Maya stares at her. At this annoyingly cocky, but also annoyingly hot woman right in front of her. Who's clearly having way more fun than she is.

(Which seems highly unfair.)

Not giving it another thought she moves in, crashing their lips together with force and impatience. Their tongues quickly find each other. Their hands follow. It's a hungry kiss. A good one, a really good one, and stopping seems the most stupid thing they could do.

Maya gives herself one second to break it though, giving in to the need to open the stall door closest to them. And - admittedly - to win this thing.

Heavily panting, and already directing the both of them towards the empty stall, she manages to have the last word: "Now."

(After all, it's been a long day. And it is still Wednesday.)

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

150 random writing prompts (closed)

#writing prompts #fanfiction #maya bishop #charlotte dearborn #station 19 #so here i was thinking this was one going to be super easy as they had enough to fight about #(like the incinerator or andy or some feut between stations)#only to check and be reminded that maya had no idea who dearborn was - bringing me back to square one #hoping this works as well #thanks for the prompt - a challenge indeed!

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amarriageoftrueminds · 2 years

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Sometimes I wonder why peggy Stan's get mad when people have a valid criticism. Especially with Jewish or poc fans of marvel when they point out the problems with peggy carter.

And when they point it out they call them misogynistic . Like that and " but she it's a nazi " is their only argument and it makes me sooo mad like who are you to speak up over a Jewish or poc when they have valid criticism.

The mcu and its fans have a history of issues that they refuse to accept and quit frankly I can't wait until the mcu is over with and done influencing comics.

*😩 I already typed this out and then stupid tumblr deleted it*

I’m afraid I don’t have to wonder why! You can’t criticise White Feminism to a White Feminist without them taking it (correctly) as you criticising their whole worldview.

And since they don’t like to think of themselves as White Feminists, it’s a nasty wake up call; and nobody likes being woken up early!

I had an Anon recently asking me to detail exactly how/how many times Pggy’s org has been ““infiltrated”” by Nazis.

Altogether I found SEVEN separate occasions where she is either: knowingly and cheerfully colluding with Nazis, and/or aiding them in becoming immortal (in three universes, just that we’ve seen so far), and/or allowing Nazis to flourish by gross incompetence, and/or being shown recruiting bad guys and Nazis for SHIELD off her own bat, and/or admitting that she would “consider” making deals with them because Nazis science is “valuable” to her (in her own words).

Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me... seven times?

Add in the fact that she was based on a Nazi, which in the process wiped out the characterisation based on a real life Antifa WWII heroine.

And the worrying similarities between her onscreen behaviour and that of characters like Red Skull and John Walker.

And that the only named Jewish woman in the MCU is sterilised by GSW on her show but WASPy Pggy is literally impaled and just walks it off? And that there are no speaking non-white women at all, in a show half set in New York?

Then the character’s physical and sexual assaults on Steve in CATFA (when Pvt. Lorraine does it it’s a sexual assault, but not when she does it? yeah, that’s not how that works!) and on poor Cevans (repeated again IRL by HA, on stage, in front of an audience, as if it’s a joke!)

These things should’ve been enough on their own, for any decent person!

But on top of that you also have HA’s horrible behaviour; IRL to her fellow actress, the way she endlessly praises her character and how great her own performance is (seriously, who does that?! the ego on this woman!) and that her idea of addressing lack of rep for POC in her precious show was to... tell people to wait their turn?

This character is just One Big Yikes from conception through to execution and even behind the scenes.

(And, from a purely feminist POV; she fails everything she attempts to do, meaning she is so unimportant to every plot that she fails the ‘Sexy Lamp with a Post-It Note Stuck To It’ Test, her own ‘empowerment’ only comes from men, she is only treated as having said something important if she’s quoting a man and/or pretending she was in a powerful dead man’s confidence, and men in every single appearance are so determined to 100% ignore everything she says and do the opposite that Steve will even pause screaming in agony from inside the vitaray tube to tell them not to do what Pggy says.

But the writers and actress think Steve listens to her!

Only so he knows exactly what he’s NOT going to do...)

Honestly, I’m at the point now where if a woman tells me they’re a Pggy Stan, the only charitable excuse for them I can come up with is that they must just be a casual fan who hasn’t paid enough attention to notice how messed up the whole thing is.

(Or, for the other kind of fan, the toxic dudebros who transparently only like Pggy for one reason but will pretend it’s for any other reason. Yeah right! 🙄 They’re the sort who think EG was a masterpiece and totally in-character.)

But with that creepy dead-eyed fuck Feige, who’s just like them, now in control of her and Cap’s trajectory in the comics?

Heart-breaking.

That man is so stupid he thinks the MCU is Earth-616.

In terms of rep for POC and Jews, the Disney buy out of Marvel was the worst possible thing that could have happened. I can only imagine Kirby & Simon are spinning in their graves.

And, I watched a vid essay the other day about the queer-coding (via effeminacy and/or predatoriness) of Disney villains, because Walt Disney was homophobic (real shocker).

Holy shit, even though I knew, I didn’t really realise how many there were! The Evil Queen, Maleficent, Captain Hook, King John, Ratigan, Gaston, Scar, Jafar, Governor Ratcliffe, Ursula, Hades, Cruella de Ville, Loki...? Disney only stopped making villains gay (debatable) so they could make them black instead. 🤦‍♀️ And that’s where we are right now...

#long post #antipeggy #antisteggy #p*ggy meta #mcu meta #mcu critical #steggy is hydra trash party #meta #mcu #antiendgame #endgame steve is a skrull #sleepzonesworld #toAyourQ #dat's me #cynthia glass

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