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scoobydoodean · 4 months

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what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

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tonyzaret · 11 months

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The problem with Wokeness is not just that it has destroyed our nation’s most precious institutions- it has also begun to infect my Thick Anthropomorphic Animal Role Play server

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mindblowingscience · 6 months

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Biologists have long known mushrooms of the genus Mycena, commonly known as bonnet mushrooms, as fungi that live off of dead trees and plants. New research from the University of Copenhagen demonstrates that bonnets can also find their ways into young, healthy trees and plants, where they try to cooperate. In doing so, they have made an evolutionary leap which challenges our understanding of the ecological roles of fungi. Fungal spores float through the air. Thin strands of their mycelia creep along surfaces. They seek out defenseless hosts to wrap themselves around in webs of fungal growth. Their victims can then be used to satisfy their own need to devour and disperse. That fungi have begun to invade the living is a horrific thought for anyone who ever thought that fungi only dined upon the dead. Or, at least for those who stream The Last of Us, a post-apocalyptic series in which humans battle relentless fungal-infected zombies. Fortunately, reality is rarely so dramatic. But after Danish mycologists targeted local Mycena, known as bonnet mushrooms, it turned out that certain similarities emerged nevertheless. New research from the University of Copenhagen's Department of Biology suggests that this genus of fungi, which has traditionally been considered saprotrophic—i.e., a decomposer of nonliving organic matter—is in the midst of an evolutionary leap. The research is published in the journal Environmental Microbiology. "Using DNA studies, we found that Mycena fungi are consistently found in the roots of living plant hosts. This suggests that bonnets are in the process of an evolutionary development, from uniquely being decomposers of nonliving plant material to being invaders of living plants, under favorable conditions," explains Christoffer Bugge Harder, the study's lead author.

#fungi #mycology #science #biology #stem #evolution #Botany #Plants #Mycena

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

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hi i literally love all of ur posts u nail all of the characters its crazy.

one of my favorite tropes is hidding an injury and getting the classic “who did this to you.”

if ur still taking requests and are in an angsty mood would u plzzz write this with zoro?

Hhjg I try, thank-you!! But also mood it's just so GOOD and I hope that I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: mentions of canon typical violence, blood/mention of an infected wound, angst]

Staring down at the gash in your side, you bite back a hiss as you prod at it, the weep of milky fluid from it. The split skin is puffy and an angry red, heat eminating from it ㅡ it doesn't take a genius to know that it doesn't look good.

Normally you'd have the little handful of supplies from Chopper, tucked away in your backpack ㅡ but it's gone, along with everything else beyond your weapon.

At least you're not wandering around by yourself, though. As if on cue, there's the sound of footsteps behind you, and you drop your shirt back over the poorly bandaged wound.

"What are you doing over here?"

"Just fine," you answer as you turn towards Zoro. "I wanted to see if we could reach a clearing and get a good read on where we are."

"Fair enough." Zoro studies you for a minute, and you worry that he's going to know about the wound on your side ㅡ the one you'd casually "forgotten" to mention to him. "So which way should we be heading?"

"West," you answer, glancing up at the sky. The sun has begun its slow arc of descent, and you sigh. "We need to hurry, or we'll end up needing to camp for the night."

"Right." You turn to watch Zoro go, feeling the irritated twitch of a muscle in your jaw.

"Zoro. That's east."

ㅡ

By the time the sun has set, it's clear that something is wrong.

There's a fine layer of cold sweat on your face that you scrub at, trying to ignore the heaviness of your limbs and throbbing ache of your side. "We should stop for the night," you hear yourself say, "it's useless to try and navigate after dark."

Zoro grunts his agreement and turns to look at you, brow furrowing. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You want to answer him, you really do. But your ears are ringing, mouth full of cotton when you try to answer. Dark spots dance around the edges of your vision, and you're distantly aware of Zoro's noise of alarm when your legs finally give out.

"'m fine," you finally manage before the dark spots expand, sinking you down into the silent black of unconsciousness.

ㅡ

You wake to the awkward bulk of a backpack under your head and the smell of woodsmoke. Sitting up, you blink when a damp cloth drops from your forehead into your lap.

"Finally awake?" Sitting nearby, Zoro prods at the fire with a long stick before he turns towards you. "You have a fever."

Your hand slides to your side, feeling the stiff press of bandages underneath, the answering throb of the gash beneath.

"Took care of that too." Zoro's gaze is sharp. "I'm not Chopper, but it'll do for now. Mind explaining who did that and why you didn't bother telling me?"

It's clear he's far from amused, and you look away, feeling guilty. "Happened when we all got separated," you say, "and I didn't think it was going to be that much of an issue."

Zoro wants to scold you, but he knows he'd be a hypocrite if he did given the amount of times he's blatantly ignored his injuries. Instead he sighs, watching the logs crackle for a moment. "Hope you killed the guy who did it."

"Of course I did," you answer with a hint of pride, and Zoro smirks.

"Good."

ㅡ

"I think this is a little excessive, Zoro."

"You still have a fever," Zoro says as he adjusts his grip on your legs, "and we won't get anywhere if you collapse on me again." He feels you tense, and he frowns. "How are you feeling, anyways? And don't lie."

"A little better." You rest your forehead against his shoulder, and though he won't admit it out loud, the fact he can feel warmth radiating from your skin worries him. "I'm sorry about this."

"Still should have told me," he says, though his tone is softer, his grip tightening on your legs. "Idiot. We're crewmates, aren't we? We're supposed to trust each other."

"I do trust you."

"Then act like it." He stares ahead, footsteps steady. "Don't go getting hurt and then hiding anymore, you hear me?"

"I hear you." You pause. "Zoro?" He grunts in answer, and you exhale softly. "Thank-you."

Zoro tells himself that his heart doesn't pick up a little bit at how soft your voice is, the cling of your body against his. And that he definitely isn't blushing, just a little. "Yeah, yeah. Can't have you die on me and leave me to deal with that stupid cook all on my own."

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous

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fhroggy · 18 days

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Apple Rot: MLP Infection AU - Parts 1-6

Moving my infection au over to tumblr from deviantart! All six written parts are included below, hopefully soon I'll get the time to keep working on this lol

Part One: Introduction

It's cider season at Sweet Apple Acres. The apples are ripe, the barrels are ready, and the ponies are thirsty. It's hard work, bucking down the apples and bringing them inside to press into cider, and Applejack is exhausted. It's hot, and the work she usually enjoys has grown tedious in her misery. She brings the last of the apple buckets inside, coat slick with sweat and hooves dirty and sore. She tosses the bushel of apples in with the rest of them, only to notice a strange apple sitting on top. It's a pale, sickly pink, with oozing black spots. She groans. She'll have to toss it, and thoroughly clean the rest of the bushel to avoid any contamination. But she's just so thirsty. She'll just leave for a moment, just long enough to get a glass of water, then come back and sort through it. She leaves the room, promising to herself that she'll be back before Granny Smith and Big Mac start pressing the cider.

Applejack has barely left the room when Granny Smith and Big Mac come in to get started. They're both excited for cider season, talking back and forth and keeping only half their mind on their work. Without more than a cursory glance at the harvest, the apples are loaded, the cider squeezed into barrels, and the lot ready to drink. Granny Smith, as always, tests each batch before approving it for sale, and though one of the barrels has a strange sweetness she can't quite place, the taste isn't unpleasant, and the barrel goes along with the others outside, where the line of ponies waiting to buy is over the hill and out of sight. One barrel of cider only supplies about fifteen large wooden mugs, and and while it's impossible to tell which customers happened to get the extra-sweet batch, no one complains, and the Apple family considers the day a rousing success, even if Granny Smith had to go inside early since she wasn't feeling well.

The Apple Rot has begun.

Part Two: Unwell

As the sun goes down at Sweet Apple Acres, Granny Smith seems to feel worse with each passing hour. It started with a stomachache, just a few hours into their big cider sale. A barely uncomfortable twinge in her gut, something she could easily ignore with interesting enough conversation. She was old, sure, but she wasn't frail. As she thought this, the twinge in her gut became a writhe, a rolling boil of pain and sickness that progressed into nausea, nausea which she could control only long enough to run out of sight of the customers, spitting up apple chunks, cider and froth as her cider samplings and breakfast expelled from her. A violent upheaval like that was enough to get her inside for the rest of the day, leaving her always-honest and always-steadfast granddaughter Applejack to hold down the fort. In the back of her mind, as she crawled into bed, was that the poor girl deserved a day off. Perhaps tomorrow, when she was feeling better, she'd surprise the dear thing with some apple fritters and insist on taking her chores for her. She was old, sure, but she wasn't frail. She could handle the farm work for one day, at least.

As the night wears on, Granny Smith starts to get…flashes. Flashes of…something. An urge in her gut, a need to feed- but on what? The very thought of apples, carrots, and oats makes her want to throw up even more- but she's hungry. Her bedroom floor has become a shallow pool of black, bloody bile, and even still, she's so hungry. She paces the wooden floor, hooves squishing in her sick, a steady growl in her stomach and in her throat, neither of which she can control. The door creaks, letting a sliver of light into the pitch dark room. Her darling Apple Bloom stands on the other side, coming to check on her dear old Granny.

Granny Smith knows what she's hungry for.

Part Three: Stone Content Warning for Violence/Gore/Death

As screams fill Sweet Apple Acres, miles away in Ponyville, Pinkie Pie and her family are none the wiser. In between planning their wedding and keeping up with their event schedule, Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich have taken a few days off to welcome Maud into their home while she visits between geological expeditions. She isn't in town often, not since her promotion to Lead Field Researcher, and Pinkie wants to make the trip super-duper special. How lucky it was, then, that Maud would arrive in Ponyville just in time for the Apple family's cider season! Bouncing alongside the ponies she loves most, she took Cheese and Maud to the farm and bought them each a large mug, sipping from her own and pausing when she notices the strange taste on her tongue. It's...not unpleasant, exactly, but it's a little too sweet, even for her. As it slides down her throat, her Pinkie Sense tingles, and she gets the distinct feeling that she should not have swallowed it. But- it's probably fine, right? Cheese has nearly finished his mug, and Maud's is empty- though she doesn't recall seeing her sister drink anything. Maud gives her a look, stern and knowing, and does Pinkie see a little bit of concern in her sister's eyes? She shakes the worry from her mind. It's fine. She's fine.

Hours later, now, she and Cheese have been throwing up what seems like buckets of cider, frosting and cake. Maud sits quietly as Pinkie and her fiance take turns in the bathroom, though her poor Cheesie is far worse for wear. He's been positively green in the face ever since they got back, and he's been acting...strange. He's twitchy, and he keeps trailing off when he speaks. The way he looks at her, looks at Maud...there's something in his expression that Pinkie can't place, and she doesn't like it. He's been shut in the bathroom for some time at this point, and she knocks on the door, voice sweet and loving.

"Cheesie? Everything okay in there?"

He doesn't speak, but she can hear a low growl from the other side of the door. It's obvious that he isn't doing well, she needs to take him to Nurse Redheart. She'll have to talk with Applejack about the cider- she loves her friend, but this is ridiculous! It was clearly an off batch, and the Apples should never have put it out for sale. She's disappointed in them, and worried for her fiance. She opens the door, and before she can get a word out, she hits the ground.

Cheese Sandwich is above her, eyes milky white, bloody yellow-white bile dripping from his lips. He snaps his teeth at her, trying to bite her, and she's screaming and crying and what's wrong with her Cheesie and why is he hurting her makeitstopmakeitstop-

And then it does. With a heavy thud, Cheese Sandwich hits the ground, dark blood pooling from the back of his head. Maud stands over him, holding the heaviest stone she could manage. For good measure, she hits him again, and again, mashing him until Pinkie has to look away. She drops the stone on top of him once more, looking to Pinkie. They're both splattered with blood, their eyes wide and afraid as they meet each other's gazes. Maud says the only thing she can think to say.

"I'm sorry, Pinkie."

Part Four: Help

Fluttershy's cottage isn't far from Sweet Apple Acres. She can see it if she really looks, just barely able to make out the outline of the barn against the horizon line. As far out as the Apples are from town, she's even farther, her cottage so remote that only Zecora lives more isolated than her. She likes it that way- she loves her friends, but, she's also a very introverted and private pony, and thrives best when she doesn't have to worry about the way others perceive her. The only company she never truly minds is Discord's, and even he is free-spirited enough that he often disappears for days or weeks at a time. Other ponies might mind the frequent absence, but, to her, it's nice to get the space to herself. She trusts him, loves him, and is glad for the breathing room.

She's just thinking about how nice it is to have such a quiet night after the hustle and bustle of cider season when she hears a pounding on her door. It's a loud, desperate sound, and to her it sounds as if somepony is beating their entire body against the wooden door, forgoing knocking in favor of trying to take it off its hinges completely. She trembles next to her fireplace, legs quaking as the sound beats and beats and beats...

"Fluttershy! Open the door, please!" A familiar voice calls, and while Fluttershy has a sense of immediate relief knowing that she's not in any danger, the fearful edge in Applejack's voice puts her on guard. She goes to the door and opens it up, taking a step back as her friend nearly collapses at her feet.

"Applejack? What's wrong?"

Her friend looks up at her, and Fluttershy gasps.

Applejack is splattered in black bile and blood, and her eyes are wide and fearful. She's never seen a pony look so afraid, and the expression looks foreign on Applejack's face- Applejack is always strong and brave, what in Equestria could have her so meek and desperate that she needs Fluttershy's help?

"It's Apple Bloom," Applejack wheezes, barely able to get the words out between catching her breath. "Granny- Apple Bloom- something's wrong with Granny Smith, she's," Applejack shakes her head. "Granny Smith has lost her Celestia-forsaken mind. She was feelin' sick, I told Apple Bloom to leave her well enough alone, but she went in and Granny bit her!" Applejack wipes the blood from her cheek, smearing it across her face. The substance is thick and congealed, and Fluttershy notices absently that she recognizes the smell. She's smelled it before, whenever she found hurt and sick animals that were too far gone to save. It's the smell of death.

Applejack continues. "Granny just- started tryin' to tear into her, Big Mac got Granny off of her but she's bleedin' real bad and Nurse Redheart is too far away," she's crying openly now, tears cutting through streaks of bile and blood and leaving trails down her cheeks. "I know you take care of the animals, stitch 'em up sometimes, please, Fluttershy, she's my baby sister..."

Fluttershy cuts her off, voice meek but determined.

"Okay. Take me to her."

Part Five: Feed Content Warning for Violence/Gore/Death

Twilight knows she's somewhat of a workaholic. She's been that way for as long as she can remember, and though making friends did help her balance her life more, that curious, studious streak never fully left her. She's up late, later than she should be, and she's about to call it a night when she hears a loud banging on her castle doors. She groans. She loves helping the citizens of Ponyville, but, well, it's always something with them. She calls to Spike, who's been helping her find and return books as she's been going through them.

"Spike, do you mind getting the door? I swear, there's always somepony with a problem that needs fixing...You can take them to the throne room, I'll be down in a sec."

With a nod, Spike leaves the library to go down the spiral staircase and receive their guests. It's only a few seconds later that he screams for her, voice so loud and so panicked that she doesn't even bother running downstairs, using her magic to teleport her to the doors instead.

"Spike? What's wrong?"

He points to their guests, and Twilight turns her head to see Pinkie and Maud are standing in the doorway, both covered in blood, looking positively traumatized. Whatever they've been through must have been absolute hell, and the moment they lock eyes, they both immediately start yelling for her to shut the door, lock the door, keep them out-

"Them?" She interjects, looking over their shoulders into the Ponyville streets. She supposes it's a little unusual to see ponies up so late- upon closer inspection, the way they walk is a bit odd, too- they're...twitchy. Their movements are stilted and stiff, lacking in the fluidity that most creatures have. One walks into a wall, and then just stands there, face pressed to the brick and hooves shambling forwards as if they're trying to walk through it.

A cry in the night snaps all of the strange ponies to attention. Lyra bursts out of her home, screaming and crying for help as Bon-Bon gives chase. She doesn't get far. Another strange pony, Twilight thinks it's Junebug, heads her off and tackles her to the ground, biting into the flesh at her shoulder and tearing it from her in bloody chunks. Lyra is screaming and begging for somepony to help her, her eyes follow the light coming from the palace and Twilight swears that they look at each other- Lyra starts to cry out again, shrieking a pleading "Princess-" before Junebug bites into her throat and severs her vocal cords. More of the strange ponies pile on top of her, Bon-Bon bites into her cutie mark, Clover into her side- and all Twilight can do is stand there and watch. As they feed, she hears sobs, she hears muffled and distorted voices speaking around mouthfuls of flesh, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm hungry," wailing and biting and wailing some more. Once Lyra is nothing but a carcass, they finally pull away from her, and as they finally notice the light from the castle and look in her direction, Pinkie and Maud take it upon themselves to shut the doors themselves, locking and barricading it while Twilight's brain screams at her to get herself together and stop being so useless.

What is happening to everypony?

Part Six: Sorry Content Warning for Violence/Blood

Apple Bloom doesn't feel good at all. Applejack's gone, promising that she would go get help and that Apple Bloom would be okay, she just has to hold on- but Apple Bloom can feel her strength waning. She's trying, trying as hard as she can to stop her mind from swimming in and out of consciousness, and she's trying to keep the pressure on her bandages like Big Mac told her to before he left. He was supposed to stay with her, but the crash from Granny Smith's room had been worrying enough that he'd decided to check on her, promising Apple Bloom that he'd be right back and to just keep holding her hooves down against the wound so that it wouldn't bleed so much. She's pretty sure he's been gone too long, but she's having trouble keeping track of the time. Maybe it really had only been a few minutes.

Really, the bite wasn't too bad, all on its own. Sure, it needed stitches and wouldn't stop bleeding, and its position on her neck made it hurt to turn her head, but it was just a bite. She'd been injured worse by farm animals, and she'd always been okay then. And for a little while she did seem okay- but then the fever hit her, and she got dizzy and collapsed, Applejack crying out for her as she hit the ground. Now her small body flipped back and forth between overheating and freezing, her coat slick with sweat. And she was getting...weird thoughts. Thoughts she couldn't control, thoughts that scared her. Images of her turning and attacking Big Mac and Applejack, the same way Granny attacked her. She didn't like it.

She was jolted from her thoughts when her door creaked open, and a high, lilting voice cut through the eerie silence.

"Apple Bloom? We knocked on the door for ages, and no one answered. I hope it's alright we let ourselves in."

Apple Bloom's glazed eyes slide over to the doorway, where Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are grinning and holding sleeping bags. That's right- they'd agreed to have a sleepover tonight, didn't they? Granny Smith had promised them the last of the cider, and Applejack was going to let her stay up late...in the commotion, they'd all forgotten. She shook her head slowly.

"Guys, I don't think y'all should be in here. I'm sick, and so is Granny..."

"But you were fine when we saw you earlier," Sweetie Belle cuts in again, approaching the bed. "Maybe you ate something bad? I could get you some water and crackers, that always settles my stomach." She hasn't noticed the bite, with Apple Bloom's hoof over it. She gets closer still, and Apple Bloom squeezes her eyes shut as she gets those weird thoughts again.

When she looks again, Sweetie Belle is by her side, but she notices that Scootaloo is hanging back in the doorway, looking around nervously. Scootaloo, to her credit, has picked up that something is deeply wrong, her wings twitching as she takes a slow step back. A part of Apple Bloom is relieved. Good, Scootaloo, She thinks, Back up. You'll need the head start. For what, she isn't quite sure.

Sweetie Belle coos over her, taking on that sugary-sweet caring role that she does when she's trying to be like her big sister. She reaches up to feel Apple Bloom's forehead, and Apple Bloom gets another one of those bad visions. She imagines herself lurching out of bed and biting Sweetie Belle's leg, and when she hears Sweetie Belle scream, she realizes that it wasn't a vision at all. She tastes the coppery blood in her mouth and she's ashamed and afraid but also hungry for more.

"I'm sorry," Apple Bloom chokes out, eyes wide as she sits up, the bite mark on her neck glistening in the moonlight. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie Belle, I don't know why I did that-"

Sweetie Belle is sobbing now, and Scootaloo just looks at Apple Bloom with wide, terrified eyes, frozen in place with fear. Apple Bloom's limbs are twitching, now, trying to force her out of the bed to finish what she's started, and it's all Apple Bloom can do to hold herself back- though she's unable to stop herself from licking her lips.

As the screams and cries and apologies fill the house, Apple Bloom can hear a loud thumping and a crash from the far end of the hall, and all the sudden Big Mac is standing there, covered in blood with a shovel in his teeth- a shovel also splattered in blood and black bile. He drops it from his mouth as he takes in the scene, metal clanging against the floor. When he speaks, his voice is heavy and authoritative, and Apple Bloom has never heard him sound so angry and afraid at the same time.

"Get the hell out of here! Get out of this house and don't y'all ever come back here again!" He yells at the foals, not out of malice but out of concern, and his booming, deep demands have their intended effect as Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo run out of farmhouse and down the road, running home to their warm beds where they can try and forget what they've seen.

Apple Bloom looks up at Big Mac, and her eyes fill with tears. She has blood smeared around her mouth, and a dark part of her revels in the lingering taste. "I'm so sorry, Big Mac, I don't know what happened, I don't- I'm scared..."

Big Mac looks down at her, his eyes so soft and so sad, and, slowly, he picks up the shovel again.

#mlp #mlp infection au #mlp fim #mlp g4 #mlp redesign

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sad-leon · 1 year

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Masterpost :D

!! Please don't repost/dub my comics!!! !!

Art Tag: #sad•leonart

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Kraang Leo: (#k!leo au)

Summary: Leo faces off against Prime in the prison dimension and gets infected, and while he regained control of his mind, his healing journey has only just begun

Fic Link

Two Shades of Blue: (tag: #rise2012crossover)

Summary: Leon accidentally portals himself to the 2012 universe in a moment of panic and has to learn to love himself to get home

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23

Extra Content below the cut:

Lonely Leo: Leo is kidnapped by Draxum as a kid. Five years later, he escapes, but believes he needs to redeem himself before he can go back home

Main Post, Fanfic, AU Tag

Shadow Leo: Leo is hit by a crystal that curses him to become part of the shadows. He lives in Donnie's shadow until the invasion

Main Post, AU Tag

Animatics

2 Arms Left: Since I Saw Vienna, Jubilee Line, Say It (Itte), First Train and Kafka, Saturn

Other: Devil Town v2, Fireworks Beneath my Shoes (Swanatello), Saline Solution (Death Wish), Angel Eyes and Basketball (Death Wish)

Animations

2AL Mindscape, Future Leo and Little Leo, CAS Casey, CAS Uncle Tello, Donnie (unfinished), Gemini Twins

Stickers!!

AroAce Future Leo, Leo holding a Pride flag, Undercooked Leo, TSOB expressions

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fuckitwebhaal · 8 months

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the dark urge

please do not come for me these are just my takes and opinions on the durge route, as someone who has run it through a few times and is pretty familiar with the lore in regards to the previous games. also massive spoilers below. like if you do not want any dark urge spoilers stop reading now.

The Dark Urge (henceforth referred to as DU), whether approached narratively as resisting or as succumbing, is more of a solidly fleshed out origin for a customizable player character compared to Tav. The reason for this is because the DU follows the precedent set by the previous Baldur's Gate games where the main player character is a Bhaalspawn. (If I recall correctly, that was also the intention for BG3, but it was scrapped and the origins split to allow for a fully customizable option).

I'm not going to get into the history of the Bhaalspawn, save to say this much: The protagonist of BG1 & 2, Gorion's Ward, is referenced on rare occasion throughout a DU playthrough and is implied to be dead. (Though they are never named as Abdel Adrian from the TTRPG canon, it is implied that it seems to be following a blend of canon from BG2 and the TTRPG canon). Bhaal, who had split his divine essence into his many children, relied on their deaths and a ritual so that he could return--in a physical sense--to the planes and reclaim his godhood as the Lord of Murder.

You, BG3 DU protag, are crafted purely from Bhaal's divine essence. This was confusing to me at first, because I had believed Bhaal incapable of having any more mortal children (due to not having a physical presence), but it is implied that Bhaal's spiritual and divine essence is strong enough to form you from himself, he is merely lacking the ritual that would return him to physicality. Which is where you come in. And, Orin, I guess.

Because you were crafted from Bhaal, it is implied that any cultural or genetic claim (such as half-elf, dragonborn, or whatever race you choose) is but Bhaal's mimicry of what those stereotypes should be. You're a killer, a Bhaalyn through and through, and you'll be the one to slay the world and slit your own throat on the carcasses left behind to bring about Bhaal's return. The only thing is, you got cocky. Confident. Comfortable. Careless. You got comfortable in your alliance with Gortash and Ketheric. Orin was jealous and wanted your blessing--your place as Bhaal's chosen--, so she struck you down, muddled your mind, and infected you with a mindflayer parasite. That's why you have no memory, and why you ended up on that ship.

So, here you are. You have no memories, but you have a rage and a disgrace and a vengeance you can't quite place. You've got an urge telling you to kill, kill, kill.

Pause. In previous games, the Bhaalspawn protagonist didn't have a "dark urge" that caused you to want to commit violence or murders outside of your control. (Not including Siege of Dragonspear (2016), which does include one uncontrollable murder. This DLC was released as a bridge between BG1 & 2 and came out after the pitches for BG3 had begun). It's implied that this is because of your pure divine creation--think Jesus. Think godspawn. God and mortal. That's what you are, murder incarnate.

The main crux of the DU run, then, becomes this: what do you want to do with this? There are a few paths laid out before you, but the narrative is pretty clear: you are a killer, and you'll always be a killer. This is where I first ran into my concerns with the DU; I was afraid it was going to be an edgelord-y, murderhobo-y playthrough that sacrificed story and companion mechanics for the sake of a bloody kill and edgy narration. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't the case, because the story unfurls really well no matter which way you go.

A friend of mine played the DU run totally evil; every bad option, every urge indulged, so I asked them what they thought of it. They said it "It definitely involved a lot more violence and death than [their Tav] run, but it's not like [they] murdered everyone [they] came across", and "It did feel a lot like someone very confused with themselves becoming very drunk with the power that comes with the urge".

I played my two DU playthroughs in two parallel ways. The first being Kyr; a DU who wanted to resist his urges and talked a good talk, had a good heart, but at every major moment, he failed to resist and ultimately succumbed back to Bhaal's embrace and became his Chosen.

My other playthrough is Nyris; a cynical, mistrustful bastard, he started out a little rocky, but growing with his companions caused him to reject the evil in his blood despite his other moral shortcomings; in the critical moments, he rejected Bhaal's influence and overcame.

How the DU presents to me, then, is this: nature v nurture. Which will win, which will overcome? By playing Kyr, it felt as though the nature was his driving force. It didn't matter how removed he was or how hard he tried to convince others that he could do better--how hard he could try to convince himself he could do better--he was already doomed by the narrative. Bhaal's manipulations drove him back home, and he didn't even realize that he'd been sucked back into the cult until it was far too late.

But, then, what about Nyris? To him, it felt like nurture. If you remove the cult from him, the indoctrination, what was left? A man struggling to make his own identity, but among those who reaffirmed it every chance that they could. He relied on his own strength and that of those around him to overcome, even if he was unsure, afraid, doubted. It feels like the nurture, or lack thereof, of Bhaal and the Bhaalist cult meant that he was free to grow and learn away from it.

It's something I find further supported in conversations with Jaheira and Minsc, who both talk about "their Bhaalspawn companion", otherwise known as Gorion's Ward from the first two games.

[ID: Minsc: "If Minsc did not inherit the flaming red hair of his mother, or the bushy red beard of his father, why would the spawn of Bhaal inherit his wickedness?"

Kyrran: "We should talk about nature versus nurture some day."

Minsc: "It is simple. As with all battles, the winner will be the one that carries the bigger sword."]

So, in my opinion, the personal arc of the DU and one that the player must engage with is the idea of nature versus nurture, and how your DU will cope with the revelations of their paths in light of the new memories and friendships that they have forged. That's not to say you can't always swing to one extreme; never indulge or always indulge, it's still digging into that nature versus nurture idea.

There is, also, the more overarching theme of BG3 in regards to breaking cycles of abuse, power, and control. If you lean into the idea of nature v nurture, and you realize that there were originally foster families involved in the upbringing of the DU (before said families were murdered, or the DU stolen away by the Bhaalist cult), you have to consider two things:

1.) Bhaal is comparable to both Shar and Vlaakith as gods that indoctrinate their religious followers, and

2.) Bhaal is comparable to Mystra and Cazador as those who take control of a severe power imbalance to inflict their will.

The narrative informs you, if you accept Bhaal's gift as Chosen, exactly the consequences that will fall upon you. It is the same as the consequences that are so heavily explained to you in regards to Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Gale, and Astarion.

[ID: *A gift from your god, your Father. An offering of his affection for you, or confirmation that he owns you.*]

[ID: *For a moment, the brine-pool of your brain clears. To die: to rest, to save the world from yourself. To accept, to become his prophet - in any disobedience, subject to his lash.*]

A lot of people say that the DU run is the "evil" playthrough, and it truly isn't. Just like any of the other decisions you make in this game in regards to your companion quest, it is a question of power and control. Power you give up by rejecting Bhaal is also control that he loses over you. Power you gain in accepting him, to exert over others, is also the control he will take. It's up to you how you will approach the DU, but I think it is shortsighted to say it is the "evil" playthrough if you are not fully engaging with the themes. You can make all of the good options that you can make with Tav--but you are fighting the narrative. The narrative has a plan for you. If you want to resist, you will have to fight for it.

#anyways. i will probably add on more to this. at some point.#fiwb meta #bg3 meta #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #durge spoilers #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #dark urge spoilers #bg3 dark urge #bg3 dark urge spoilers #spoilers #spoiler tag #meta tag #meta

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acciopietro · 2 years

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Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?

combining with request #2: Hey 🧍🏻‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)

a week’s isolation - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.

word count: 3,878

tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!

a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.

Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.

A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!

“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”

“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”

“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”

Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.

“Y/N? You have a question?”

“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”

“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”

“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”

“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”

A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.

“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”

Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”

All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”

“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”

“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.

“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”

“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”

“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”

You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”

---

THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.

“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”

“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.

“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”

“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”

Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.

“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”

“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”

“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”

Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you.

“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.

And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you.

One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused.

Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.

By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.

The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”

“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”

“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.

You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed.

Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.

“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”

You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”

You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.

You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything.

“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”

“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”

“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”

“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”

“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”

“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”

Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

“How so?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”

It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.

“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.

“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”

“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”

He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.

“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.

“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”

Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”

You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”

“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips.

“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”

“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”

“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.

“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.

“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”

You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.

“Yes.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.

He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.

“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically.

“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.

Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.

Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.

“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit.

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.

“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.

“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”

“Just do what?”

You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.

“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.

“Well, I don’t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"

And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.

“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.

Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.

Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”

Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.

When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.

“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.

“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”

“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”

“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”

translation:

“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning

“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.

“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love

taglist:

@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777

a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry.

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reachartwork · 5 months

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Quick e-begging thread

Will delete when the situation has ended:

My fiance has recently had a surgical procedure done in an attempt to diagnose some chronic medical issues that have been making their life hell since childhood. Since they are not a US citizen yet (we're working on it!), they are not able to be on my insurance, which means we need to handle the whole thing out of pocket. The procedure went fine, and we paid for it, but now we are running up against the wall of pathology costs, and additional office visits, and prescriptions... and my other partner needs a crown put in their tooth, which is another $1500 or so since their dental insurance thinks root canaling + crowning their totally dead, infected tooth is "non-essential".

And that's not even getting started on all the dental work my fiance will need, which we haven't even begun with yet.

As the primary breadwinner for the polycule, this leaves it to me to cover all these costs, and we're beginning to have to make budget cuts in order to be able to make rent at the end of the month. We're not going to starve nor are we going to get into any permanent hole, but I'd prefer to not eat only white bread for a couple of weeks.

IF AND ONLY IF you have some money to spare to help me and my polycule handle the budget, it would be greatly appreciated. We should be fine in a couple of weeks, so don't drive yourself crazy over it, but the more I can save up the easier it is for us to handle the array of medical treatments we all need. I've been putting off my own stuff, like replacing my 8-year-old wheelchair, to handle the polycule's needs and I'd like it if money wasn't *quite* so tight at the moment.

Thanks!

#help wanted #personal

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niki-phoria · 3 months

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YOU'RE MY HEARTBEAT

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 674

warnings: mentions of blood/broken bones

notes: had an idea and couldn't stop thinking about it so enjoy :) based on the el gigante fight, couldn't figure out how to mention the wolf :// ambiguous ending unless you read part 02

you feel paralyzed - almost as if roots have crawled up from the floor, planting themselves around your feet and twisting around your ankles until you’ve all but been cemented into the ground below. and maybe you are. after all, you had been infected with whatever parasite has taken over the island, turning who you assume were regular, happy people into mindless monsters with the only goal of attacking and killing.

the beast before you growls; its arms flex as it revs up, preparing itself for yet another swing in your direction. thankfully, it’s now that your body finally catches up with your mind, leaving you with just enough time to duck out of the way, only narrowly dodging the tree the monster slams into the ground beside you. you scramble to your feet, shaky hands gripping your gun tightly though you doubt bullets will do any real damage.

leon takes the opportunity, firing a few shots of his own into the creature’s back. it howls in response, twisting around and stomping towards the man.

you follow leon’s lead. aiming at the monster’s head, you fire as many shots as your gun allows into its flesh. despite your best efforts, however, it seems to ignore you entirely. dust clouds your eyes and fills your lungs when it beats its fists against the ground, angrily screaming. you resist the urge to cough, scrambling back up to your feet.

a pang of terror strikes through your body like lightning when the dust around you settles. it feels like one of your nightmares has come to life. leon kneels on the ground, still trying to gather his bearings. a small pool of blood has already begun to gather on the ground near his left leg. through the cover of darkness you can still clearly make out the way he winces as he forces himself to stand.

dread fills you. leon isn’t moving fast enough. the monster is stronger - it’s clearly used to fights like these. leon is simply a man. a hurt man. no amount of training or grenades or guns will ever change that. and he isn’t moving fast enough.

the monster is fast approaching. if you didn’t know better, you would think it’s getting a sickening sense of satisfaction from this. leon is simply another win for the scoreboard. another kill to add to its count.

your body is moving before you even realize. your heart beating wildly in your own ears serves as a sick sort of soundtrack. movie scenes flash through your mind. you can almost see it now - the beloved hero, sacrificing themself to save the life of another. their choked goodbyes whispered through trembling breaths and teary eyes. their head lulling to the side to signify: this is the end. the hero is dead.

you can only pray your story has a different ending.

it all happens in a second. the world blurs. you feel leon’s body against your hand as you shove him out of immediate harm’s way. you feel your knees press into the cool earth below you. you feel your own heart beating rapidly in your chest. you feel… everything.

leon’s pained scream of your name echoes loudly in your ears. there’s a loud crash - the horrid noise of your own bones cracking and bricks being smashed from the force - and, maybe even worse, the gut-wrenching bloom of pain immediately spreads throughout your entire body. you’re sure you’ve never been more aware of each individual nerve ending hidden in between layers of muscle than you have been right now; all of them scream at you. your head spins.

splinters and chipped pieces of rock dig into your arms as you pitifully attempt to push yourself up. your chest heaves as you desperately try to force air back into your lungs. you’re dizzy. disoriented. even in your admittedly poor state of mind, you can tell: something is horribly wrong. leon’s voice is just barely loud enough to cut through the ringing in your own ears. and then, the world disappears.

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my resident evil masterlist <3

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lokischocolatefountain · 9 months

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Comfort || Taken Care of

Based on this request

Series Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+. Like extremely 18+. I’d make it 20+ if that was a thing. Serious filth.

Warnings: Chonky age gap (Joel: early 50s and Reader: early 20s), extremely naïve reader, praise kink, innocence kink, non con, face-fucking, oral sex (make receiving), name calling, daddy kink, slapping, mentions of past abuse, mentions of FEDRA school abuse, dacryphilia, moneyshot, dbf!Joel (as friendly as that grump can be). Joel is a lying liar and the creepiest creep. Proceed with extreme caution.

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: You are as sheltered as can be in a world that has fallen apart. Realizing the errors of his ways, your father has his friend Joel take you outside the QZ to teach you how to survive in the real world. Unfortunately for you, Joel is interested in teaching you more than basic survival skills.

A/N: I finally understand all the AO3 writers who are like ‘sorry for the late upload. My husband died, I gave birth, I was called upon by the US army to stop an alien invasion, my roommate stole all my things and I’m homeless. But here’s chapter 43 of my fic’ cause I am really really going through it rn. I submitted my thesis, I am defending it in a couple hours, I have to move my things to a new place immediately, I have to go to work and yet I wrote this. Who knew writing the absolute filthiest porn could make a girl feel slightly better while being in a dumpster fire…

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he comforts you, his large hand cupping your face as he uses his thumb to wipe your tears. Shame he had to wipe them ‘cause they made you look so much prettier, got his cock so much harder.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed as he unzipped his jeans. Life on the road was hard, especially for a sheltered girl like you. Your dad did everything he could to give you the best he could within the tall walls of the QZ. You knew no pain, no suffering, and definitely knew nothing of the outside world. So here he was, on your dad’s request, taking you out into the real world. The QZ could collapse anytime as QZs often did. So when it eventually did, your dad wanted to prepare you for a harder life.

Thankfully, Joel was a kind man. He held you at night when you were feeling cold, taught you how to hunt and carried your pack for you when you were feeling tired. He also comforted you when you felt lonely.

“Daddy…” you whined, too embarrassed to ask. Calling him Daddy always did the job too. You used to call him Joel, but it changed from when he started comforting you. He told you to call him Daddy, said it was more respectful, so you obeyed.

He never made you feel ashamed for wanting comfort, but something about it made you shy.

“Yes, pretty girl. What do you need?”

You put your hand on his lap and stroked him through his jeans though he was already unzipped and ready to give you the comfort you craved.

It started just a couple kilometers from the QZ. He found you sniffling in the corner of the abandoned building you’d both found shelter in for the night. He was so sweet about it too, asking you multiple times if it was okay for him to comfort you this way. He said your dad wouldn’t like it and that was true— your dad had coddled you too much and now he’d begun overcompensating for it. He yelled at you for crying, made you take up the worst shifts in the QZ and sent you off with his friend Joel— a man feared by all of the QZ— to go out and learn the world.

So you begged him to not tell your dad and put your mouth around his cock. From then, it was the only way you could find comfort.

“I need you to say it, darlin’… What do you want?”

“Please take care of me, daddy.”

“I’m taking care of ya already, aren’t I? Make you food, give you blankets, make sure the infected don’t get to ya… What do you want now?”

“Your cock. Please.”

He nodded and took himself out for you. He sat back on the rickety chair and placed a hand on your head, guiding you down to his cock. You took his tip first and sucked on it. He hissed, so maybe it hurt. But let you keep going. You opened your mouth wider and took him in, inch by inch. It hurt sometimes, but he reassured you that you will get better. You wanted to get better.

The taste was also strange. It needed getting used to. But now that you’d had his cock a few times, you were beginning to like it, to get used to it. It was salty from his sweat and it also tasted just like the skin on your arm. But there was something distinctly Joel about it.

“Just like that, darlin’. Good girl, aren’t you? Look so damn pretty like this,” he said, pushing you gently to take more of him. You gagged a little, but went on anyway. You looked up at him, wanting to smile at his compliment but too full of him to do so. More tears rolled down your cheeks at the compliment. He hummed at the sight and twitched inside you.

“Don’t forget to use your tongue,” he reminded and you felt embarrassed for forgetting already. You wanted to be good, wanted to learn everything he taught you quickly so you didn’t trouble him with the same thing twice. But here you were, having forgotten one of the important lessons already.

You did as you were told and moved your tongue along his cock, feeling his veins and ridges. He was hard, so hard but he was also smooth. He moaned as you did, making you shiver. It felt good to hear him moan, made you feel you were doing something right even though none of this was for his own benefit.

He did it just so he could make you feel better, feel less lonely. Sometimes you weren’t even crying when you got a craving for comfort again. You asked him on random nights to fall asleep with his cock in your mouth. It was becoming a kind of an addiction, like how your dad bought those pills from Joel to keep his nightmares out and now he couldn’t go without them.

You weren’t any help with other things either, even though you’d become a better shot and were more alert when it was your turn to keep watch. Suddenly, you were reminded of the time you missed a shot at a deer and made it run off, leaving both you and Joel hungry for days. You sobbed at the reminder, feeling the sharp sting on your cheek when he slapped you.

“Useless fucking whore!” He’d called you right after slapping you. You’d cried then and you cried again at the reminder, forcing yourself to take in the last of his length to prove to yourself that you would do better. He groaned and tightened his grip on your hair before pushing himself inside your mouth forcefully.

“Look so pretty like this, darlin’. Ain’t seen a prettier sight than my whore crying on my cock.” He said, pulling back before pushing into your mouth again. He hit the back of your throat and it hurt, god it hurt so bad. But he kept a firm grip on you, kept you in your place so you didn’t make mistakes again.

“Sorry, darlin’. Daddy’s gotta do this. ‘s too much,” he said, before grabbing your head in both hands. He hammered into you repeatedly, handling your face like it was something he hated. You didn’t know why, but that didn’t make you feel bad. It did the opposite.

You felt good. Like you weren’t a ‘useless fucking whore’ like he had said you were a few times. You were learning like he expected you to. The first time he did this, you forced him to stop and crouched over a bush and threw up the little food you’d eaten. It still hurt to be this way, but you were getting better. You didn’t have to throw up anymore.

He grunted and groaned, let out a few expletives that would’ve made you embarrassed if you were still back in the QZ. They were words you weren’t allowed to use back there. You’d come back from FEDRA school one day, using a bad word and it set him off. He slapped you, much like Joel would slap you later for missing the shot. When you did it again a couple of months later, he slapped you more times.

It was Joel then who came to your rescue. Promising your dad that you would behave better from now, he carried you off to his apartment and tended to your wounds.

“Ohh, of fuck. F-fuuuck… Mmm, such a pretty hole. Such a good hole for me,” he praised before pulling out of you. You inched closer to him, but he pulled you back by your hair, putting you back in place. You gasped softly when something warm hit your face. You tried to move away from it, away from him. It was wrong. How ungrateful did you have to be to jerk away from him like that when he was taking care of you.

“Fuckin’— fuck. Fuckin’ take it, bitch. Take my cum,” he struggled between pants as he continued doing— doing that. The warm sticky thing came out of his cock. You didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if he was okay. It had never happened before. You panicked and held on to his legs, afraid you did something wrong to cause this.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were screwed shut. He grunted and moaned like he was in pain.

“Daddy…” you called for him gently. When he didn’t respond, you touched his thigh and began caressing it. Slowly, gently like he sometimes did to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, afraid of what you’d done to him. He leaned back on his chair, his hand still in your hair. His breathing slowed down and his fingers massaged your scalp, making you feel good.

“Why’re you apologizing, pretty girl?” He asked, making you sigh in relief.

“I— I don’t— this,” you said, pointing to your face that held the white thing that came out of him. “And you looked like you were in pain.”

He chuckled and looked down at you, before cupping the cheek that didn’t have any of the white thing on it. “You really are so dumb.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you blurted out, not even knowing what you’d done this time.

“I wasn’t in pain. I was feeling good.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm… I know your dad did a lot for ya; you’re his whole world. So it only matters to you when you feel good. But sometimes I need to feel good, too.”

“What makes you feel good?” You asked, desperate to learn, desperate to do for him what he did for you.

“It really helps to have a pretty girl. And you’re a pretty girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good, good. ‘s long as ya know. Pretty girls like you, you have three holes. It’ll make a man feel good. Just like when I put my cock in your face hole to make you feel good.”

“M-my mouth?” You asked, looking up at him with curiosity. You’ve never heard of it being called that… It felt strange, but you weren’t going to protest. He knew best. Just as your dad told you before sending you out. Joel knows best. Do what he says, no objections.

“Yeah. This pretty mouth,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lips. “When I make you feel good with my cock, I feel good too. But only if you’re a good girl. Only if you do as I say. You did good today, darlin’. You thought of me too instead of being the selfish bitch you always are.”

You surged at the praise, happy that you’d finally learned. Finally did something good for him instead of taking and taking and taking like a selfish bitch.

“And I know you wanna learn. So keep being good like this, okay?”

You nodded.

“Keep being good and I’ll teach you about your other holes.”

“Thank you, Daddy…”

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gallifreyanhotfive · 2 months

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 31

The Master and Ace can sense when each other are near because they were both infected with the Cheetah Virus.

The Eighth Doctor met Lucie Miller before The Blood of the Daleks but did not tell her this to protect the timeline.

The Ninth Doctor once told Rose that he had at one point married a woman named Mary Wortley Montagu for love.

The TARDIS translation circuit has a swear filter.

The Seventh Doctor gave his companion Raine presents for every birthday she had growing up.

The Fifth Doctor had been teaching Adric how to fly the TARDIS. During simulations, Adric kept killing everyone while in flight.

The Tenth Doctor kept Winnie the Pooh bed linens on the TARDIS.

Teddy Acree stated that the Eighth Doctor had "destroyed millions and killed himself twice." This was set before the audios, where he would do this several more times.

The Eleventh Doctor once speculated that Gavrilo Princip had been conditioned by the Daleks to assassinate Archduke Franz Ferdinand with the intent of plunging Earth into war, which the Daleks would have used to their advantage. This notion was never confirmed to be true however.

Becky was the Sixth Doctor's dance teacher (and paradoxically the Sixth Doctor was her dance teacher). She is one of the few people the Doctor entertained potentially having a romantic relationship with, but he discarded the notion quickly. She knew what his real name was.

The Fifth Doctor was once mistaken for a hired assassin called the Scorpion. Although he had begun to deny this, Nyssa went along with their assumption, saying that she was his apprentice, the bloodthirsty Nyssa the Destroyer.

Grace Holloway came up with the alias Dr. James Alistair Bowman for the Eighth Doctor while trying to get into the New Year's Eve party. He would continue to use this as an alias occasionally throughout this regeneration.

Roberta Sampson was a young werewolf who became Susan's friend. When she transformed, the First Doctor shot her in the leg with silver bullets and went on trial for her murder. The Second, Third, Fifth, and Eighth Doctors infiltrated the jury to ensure he would be found not guilty.

Despite being Susan's son, Alex was only 7% Gallifreyan. He had one heart, no telepathic skills, and couldn't regenerate.

The Doctor and other Time Lords have body temperatures of about 15 degrees C.

The Eighth Doctor has worn blue eye shadow before.

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merakiui · 3 months

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TWST APOCALYPSE AU.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀʙʟᴏᴛ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ — a horrifying infection that has existed for centuries. it doesn't appear to be contagious (yet), but it has devastating effects on those who fall ill with it. it appears to manifest from within a mage, but researchers at S.T.Y.X. note there are external and internal factors that contribute to the speed at which it spreads. it may be possible to treat an infected individual, but it is difficult if not caught by the second stage and requires immense patience, effort, and resources. the virus appears to deteriorate both the body and mind, rendering the infected a mindless monster after a certain period of time.

it is recommended that you avoid those who are beyond saving, for they are highly dangerous!

ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ — officially identified by the lead research team at S.T.Y.X., these are indicators that one has been infected. [please note that case-specific symptoms, while rare but not undocumented, seem to manifest in especially skillful mages.]

☒ patient coughs up a black, tar-like substance (this is known as and has been identified as blot).

☒ patient experiences heightened emotional fragility (especially for negative feelings).

☒ patient develops unsettling, pitch-black coloration on their fingertips.

☒ patient suffers from fatigue, persistent headaches, and irregular body temperatures.

☒ patient's tears and saliva are dark and thick; near-syrupy. gums and teeth are affected as well.

☒ patient claims to hear and see things that are not there (e.g., the wrong reflection in a mirror, a strangely-shaped shadow, voices).

☒ patient's magestone blackens with blot.

ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ — officially identified by the lead research team at S.T.Y.X. after studying countless subjects.

STAGE 1.

little to no immediate changes or symptoms. patient appears mostly fine. they may not even realize they are infected at first and will only complain of feeling itchy or irritable. magestone has just begun to tarnish.

STAGE 2.

common symptoms begin to emerge and will only worsen with time. magestone slowly accumulates blot. fingertips will have begun to blacken. minor headaches stretch on into longer periods of time and grow to be more painful. patient may appear uncharacteristically volatile. blot eats away at the patient's magic reserves. it will spread quicker depending on how much magic is overused and if the patient shows extreme emotional distress. patient develops a cough.

STAGE 3.

patient will begin to see and hear things. S.T.Y.X. named these shadow apparitions phantoms. patient may cast a shadow (phantom) that is not their own. staining on the patient's fingertips will have spread further through the fingers by this point. magestone is very cloudy. patient is prone to coughing fits. patient is unable to recognize bodily cues for hunger or exhaustion. feelings of emptiness persist. patient may experience a stabbing sensation in their chest or stomach areas. patient may not seem very emotionally or mentally present. spotty memory; they struggle to recall what or why they are doing certain things. patient appears almost lost. patient's body undergoes various external and internal changes: loss of appetite, stained fingertips, rotting gums, weakened teeth and bone structures, tears and saliva take on the consistency and color of blot, inability to fall asleep, etc. the blot eats away at the patient from the inside after magic reserves have been depleted. patient is dying.

STAGE 4.

magestone is consumed by blot and is no longer safe to use. patient's internal structures are compromised and failing. blot sustains the patient; they become a host for the blot, which acts almost like a parasite. patient is no longer conscious or living. peculiar structures like extra limbs or unusual growths sprout from and deform the body. it is consumed by blot. the air around the infected patient is thick with a high concentration of blot. patient only speaks in guttural growls and struggles with certain syllables. some are capable of coherent, intelligent speech, but in many cases communication and language are usually lost, as is the memory of who they once were. S.T.Y.X. has yet to identify the lifespan of an overblot (the term coined for those who have succumbed to the infection), as some overblots can exist for a very long time. at this stage, an overblot patient is highly dangerous and hostile. avoid contact at all costs. [additional research on this stage and others is currently being conducted.]

ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪɴᴅᴇx — below are the dormitory strongholds with notable members and their current status.

RAMSHACKLE.

☒ yuuken enma - not infected. immune.

☒ yuuka hirasaka - not infected. immune.

☒ yuuta mito - not infected. immune.

☒ grim - suspected to be infected. stage: unknown. currently missing. last seen: ???

HEARTSLABYUL.

☒ riddle rosehearts - infected. stage 1.

☒ trey clover - not infected.

☒ cater diamond - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ ace trappola - not infected.

☒ deuce spade - not infected.

SAVANACLAW.

☒ leona kingscholar - infected. stage 2.

☒ ruggie bucchi - not infected.

☒ jack howl - not infected.

OCTAVINELLE.

☒ azul ashengrotto - infected. stage 2, tipping over into stage 3.

☒ jade leech - not infected.

☒ floyd leech - not infected. currently at risk.

SCARABIA.

☒ kalim al-asim - not infected.

☒ jamil viper - infected. stage 1, tipping over into stage 2.

POMEFIORE.

☒ vil schoenheit - infected. stage 2.

☒ rook hunt - not infected.

☒ epel felmier - not infected.

IGNIHYDE.

☒ idia shroud - infected. stage 3.

☒ ortho shroud - not infected. currently at risk.

DIASOMNIA.

☒ malleus draconia - infected. stage 2, tipping over into stage 3.

☒ lilia vanrouge - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ silver - not infected.

☒ sebek zigvolt - not infected.

ROYAL SWORD.

☒ neige leblanche - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ dominic - not infected.

☒ grum - not infected.

☒ shelpie - not infected.

☒ hop - not infected.

☒ timmy - not infected.

☒ snick - not infected.

☒ toby - not infected.

☒ che'nya - not infected.

NOBLE BELL.

☒ rollo flamme - not infected.

#twst apocalypse au #<- i think that was the tag… ^^;;;#now that i think about it idia and ortho technically get their wish of restarting the world in this au T_T #i was going to write body horror for the infected yans but that will be for another apocalypse post #for now i wanted to establish the virus itself :D #also also!!! the yuus are part of this au <3 hopefully they can save (name) from whichever compound they are trapped in >_<

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