#fictional train fight submission
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ligtining maqueen?
Close! He is a car.
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Welcome Home
Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him
Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for making a whole playlist for this fic??? What??? What in the world did I do to deserve such wonderful friends 😭
Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), some dom/sub dynamics if you squint (Rosie’s switchyyyy in this 🥰), swearing, mentions of scars/wounds, historical inaccuracies (18+! minors begone!)
Word count: 1.8k!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Masterlist
You wait anxiously on the train platform, amongst a hundred other wives and mothers and friends waiting for their loved ones’ safe return.
When Rosie had told you that he was re-enlisting after his first tour… a thousand emotions had run through you at once. Terror. Disbelief. Pride. Of course your Robert wouldn’t be satisfied until the job was finished.
And now it was. Germany had surrendered, and Rosie was finally coming home to you.
There was a hiss and a squeal as the long-awaited train pulled to a stop, and then a cacophony of shouting and joyous cheers as loved ones called to each other.
You scan the sea of joyful reunions, searching for a familiar head of curls.
A shout of your name makes you turn your head, and there he is.
Eyes sparkling, mustache neatly groomed, looking as handsome as ever in his dress uniform, stood Rosie.
Your feet carry you to him as if they have a mind of their own, and Rosie fights through the crowd to meet you halfway, catching you as you launch yourself into his arms.
You laugh in disbelief— he’s here, holding you, he’s real— as you urgently press your lips to his, the tears you’ve been trying to hold back spilling over your cheeks.
You pull away just enough to catch your breath, noses pressed together, lips brushing as you murmur soft, hurried greetings of “welcome home, baby,” “missed you so much,” “so, so proud of you.”
After what feels like an eternity of being back in his arms, lips locked in a passionate kiss, Rosie pulls away just slightly.
“Take me home, honey pie,” he murmurs, and you nod eagerly.
You let out a yelp of surprise as, rather than setting you down to lead you out to the car, Rosie simply turns and carries you out to the lot with you securely in his arms.
He pulls you in for yet another urgent kiss when he sets you down as you arrive at the car, and the promise of more sparking in his eyes has you speeding to your Brooklyn apartment.
It’s difficult to unlock the door with his lips attacking your neck, never mind his wandering hands, but you manage it, and close it quickly behind you as Rosie wastes no time in leading you to your bedroom.
“I missed you,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling you flush against him, his hands resting low on your waist, “so much, honey.”
“Missed you,” you whimper, fumbling with the buttons as you make quick work of tossing his jacket off to some corner of your room as he does the same to your dress.
He catches on quickly, yanking off his tie and drab olive shirt, leaving him just in his slacks as he walks you backwards, leaving a trail of hot kisses all down your neck.
“Been dreaming about this for so long,” he mumbles against your skin, “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna do to you when I got home.”
You shiver as he lays you down gently on the bed, his fingertips tracing the satin edges of your brassiere.
“Want me to show you?”
His voice is hoarse and raspy against your ear, making goosebumps appear all over you.
“Yes,” you gasp, your hands wandering over his exposed skin for the first time in far too long, “Please.”
You feel him grin against your skin as his mouth attacks your neck, making your back arch off the bed.
Once your neck has been thoroughly kissed, sucked, and nipped into submission, he steps back to admire his handiwork.
You let his gaze linger on you until you can’t stand it and lift one leg to nudge him into doing something, your breath hitching when he grabs your ankle, his eyes darkening.
A glint in his eye, he bends down to brush a kiss to your ankle, your calf, your knee… he kisses his way up your leg, making you whine when he avoids your increasingly damp core in favor of continuing his path up to your hipbone. He stops to scatter kisses all along your stomach before mouthing at the valley between your breasts as he makes quick work of your brassiere.
“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to cup your breast reverently, “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing his lips to wrap around your nipple and suck.
His name leaves your mouth in a cry as he swirls his tongue around your peaked bud, pulling away with a pop to turn his attention to your other breast.
Your hand buries itself in his curls as he pulls away once more, tugging him up for a kiss. His tongue meets yours as you moan into his mouth, grinding up into him with a whine in an attempt to ease the pressure in your core.
“I gotcha, honey, I gotcha,” he breathes against your lips, his searing blue gaze locking on yours as his mouth follows a trail down, down, down to the waistband of your panties.
“Robbie,” you whine, the old nickname tumbling from your lips as he digs his teeth softly into the flesh above your waistband, gently easing your underwear off.
“Oh, honey,” he gasps, taking in your damp core, “When I tell you I’ve been dreaming about this for so long…”
Before you can grind out an impatient stop talking, his mouth is on you.
You moan, long and loud, as he licks deep through your folds, his nose at the perfect angle to add just the right amount of pressure to your clit.
“Shit, darling,” he groans as he licks and sucks at your core, the vibrations making your toes curl, “Taste even better than I remembered, fuck—”
Unable to keep eye contact, your head falls back against the bed with a choked whine, your hands finding their way down to grip at Robert’s curls.
Each talented movement of his tongue brings you closer to release, that string of tension in your belly growing tighter and tighter.
Robert’s tongue brushes a very particular spot inside you that has you gasping for air, giving his curls a particularly aggressive yank, which in turn causes him to growl against you— and that’s the moment that the string snaps and sends you over the edge.
You feel Robert’s mouth move frantically against you as you ride out your orgasm, his mouth and mustache damp with your release as he pulls away, brushing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about doing that, honey,” he says, kissing his way back up to your mouth, “But none of them came close to the real thing.”
You smile into the kiss before he pulls away, hovering over you.
You take the chance to scan over Rosie’s body, tracing the lines and curves of him with your fingertips, taking in the scars and scrapes and bruises.
He freezes above you, avoiding your eyes as you try to meet his gaze, concerned.
Eventually, you realize what he’s having difficulty with.
“Robbie,” you say softly, cupping his cheek so his eyes meet yours once more, “You’re beautiful. These scars don’t change that. And I know you may not believe me right now—” you begin to brush featherlight kisses to the scrapes and bruises decorating his face and neck, “— but I’ll keep reminding you every day until you do.”
At his unconvinced nod, you take a chance. You leverage your weight and flip so that you’re now the one hovering over him.
“These scars—” you say between gentle kisses to each and every mark decorating his skin, “are a reminder to you and everyone who knows you that you’re a fighter. You— you stayed, honey, you did what you knew was right and saw it through to the end and even though I was absolutely terrified of losing you—” you inhale shakily as some of the fear you’d felt over the past few months seeps into your voice before you collect yourself, “I couldn’t be prouder. My brave, brave boy.”
You capture his lips in a tender yet heated kiss, and he melts against you, one hand moving up to fist into your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer.
You slowly begin to grind against him, your bare skin gliding deliciously against the fabric of his slacks covering the bulge at the apex of his thighs.
“Sweetheart, I—” he gasps desperately into your mouth, “shit, I need to be inside you. Lemme show my girl how much I missed her, please—”
You moan, the sound swallowed by his mouth as you fumble with his belt, Rosie wriggling out of his slacks and boxers impatiently.
You can’t resist grinding against him a few times, his breath catching at the feeling of your damp folds gliding against his bare cock.
“Honey,” he whines, burying his face in your neck, “Quit teasing, please, waited so long for this, lemme fuck you, please—”
You relent, nearly as unable to stand your own teasing as he is. Your breaths mingle as he positions himself at your entrance and you slowly, slowly, sink down onto him, biting back a stuttering moan as you stretch around him.
“Oh sweetheart,” Rosie groans, pretty blue eyes fluttering shut, “Fuck— you feel so good, honey, so tight—”
You whine at the praise, slowly rocking in his lap as you adjust to his size, gradually moving up and down his length at a toe-curlingly slow pace.
“Y/N, Y/N,” he gasps into your mouth, gripping at your hips in a futile attempt to speed you up, “Shit, you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
An entirely too innocent giggle escapes you as you continue to ride him agonizingly slowly, teasing yourself as much as him.
After several minutes of teasing, Robert’s soft pleading only adding to the growing tension in your core — “waited so long for this, honey, please, please don’t make me wait any longer,”— your breathing becomes heavy. Robert’s hands wander over every inch of you, leaving trails of fire as you finally, finally, speed up in earnest.
“Robbie,” you gasp, “Missed this so much, baby, missed you—”
“Missed you more, sweet girl,” he breathes, burying his face in your neck to muffle the stuttering moan that escapes him, “F-fuck, ‘m gonna—”
“C’mon, baby, please,” you breathe into his ear, fisting his curls as you feel your orgasm building, “‘M right there, please, Robbie…”
His fingers dig into your skin, groaning your name, hips stuttering as he spills into you, your release following almost immediately after.
Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, Robert letting out a soft whine as you carefully lift yourself off of him.
“I’m so, so happy you’re home, honey,” you whisper breathlessly as you curl up next to him on the bed, fingertips tracing his jaw, pulling him close so your noses brush, “I love you.”
“I love you more, honey pie,” comes Rosie’s soft reply, grinning against your lips as he pulls you in for a long, sweet kiss.
#rosie rosenthal#robert rosie rosenthal#robert rosenthal#mota#masters of the air#rosie rosenthal x reader#robert rosenthal x reader#masters of the air x reader#rosie rosenthal smut#masters of the air smut#my writing
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This Could Be The Moment
This is it. The chapter I’ve been fist-fighting for weeks. This was one of those moments that was in my brain since the original conception of Do No Harm, so naturally there’s a lot of internal pressure to get it right. I hope I’ve done it some justice for y’all.
WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, ongoing sleep deprivation, nightmares, PTSD, the most fucked up of headspaces, whumpee fearing caretaker, noncon kissing, nudity, two survivors of trauma navigating some messy, messy waters
Jaime wakes in a cold sweat.
His first instinct is, as always, to look toward the bedroom door. Where moments ago there was a vivid silhouette against a backlit hallway, lurching toward his bed, there is now only a closed door. The house beyond it is still and silent, and Jaime is alone. As always, the only looming monster in the vicinity is his own imagination.
He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It’s routine by now, but even after so much repetition, the physical toll never seems to lessen. The bed sheets beneath him are soaked through, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps. Jaime sits up, peeling the soiled nightshirt from his body and tossing it into the laundry basket.
He rolls out of bed, knowing there is no point in trying to steal a few more hours. Some nights, he gets lucky enough that the exhaustion wins out over the lingering anxiety and knocks him out. But most nights, his only solace is a hot shower while he waits for the sheets to dry. It doesn’t do much to quash the crawling sensation under his skin, but it’s a few less minutes spent tossing on a mattress and watching the slow approach of daylight through the curtain.
Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he drags himself silently to the bathroom. He cranks the faucet to the hottest setting and forces his body under the flames.
As the water runs through his hair and scorches lines down his back, Jaime finds himself swaying. Crumbling. He doesn’t cry easily these days, but he feels the burn of frustration building behind his eyes. How long can he sustain this? How long can he wait out what feels like the inevitable?
It feels so much like those first few terrifying weeks at the training facility, where sleep was a commodity earned through acts of submission. The deprivation was torture then, and it’s torture now. This house is nothing like the cold, cement walls of that prison, and Sebastian is nothing like Handler Smith, but the fear is the same. He can’t seem to separate the feelings in his head.
At least in the facility, and even with the Keepers from his past, Jaime had learned what to expect. And he never had to wait long to find out for sure.
In the daylight, things with Sebastian have begun to crawl, slowly, toward a better place. The two of them have found routine in the small things: morning runs around the neighborhood, cooking sessions in the evenings, movie binging on the weekends. It is, objectively, the best living situation Jaime has had in years, and beyond what he could hope to have again. He recognizes this as fact. But Jaime can’t control his subconscious mind. He can’t help what comes at night.
The nightmares about Sebastian—about Sebastian touching him, hurting him—haven’t stopped. They haven’t even slowed down. If anything they’ve increased, and a vicious cycle has ramped into a hurricane: the more nightmares he has, the less sleep he gets, and the more difficult it becomes to discern reality from fiction. The nightmares get worse. The sleep becomes more sparse.
Even after a good day, Sebastian (or the shadowed version of him that exists in Jaime’s worst fears) finds him in sleep. The warm eyes that Jaime has come to recognize in the light get replaced by a cold leer, the gentle touches turned rough and demanding. The ghosts of those memories follow him into the daytime, whispering in his ear that everything Jaime so desperately wants to believe is a lie.
It’s the anticipation that suffocates him. The not knowing, but the suspecting. The when, not the if. Even when Sebastian has done everything he can to make Jaime feel safe, the guess work that goes into trying to brace for the moment when the rug gets ripped out from under him bleeds him dry of all his energy. No one has ever signed his contract with pure intentions. All kindness comes at a price.
Every day, Jaime stares at the black and white “rules” posted on the refrigerator door, listing out a dozen iterations of promises not to hurt him. Every day he watches Sebastian from the corner of his eye—when they’re in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car—and wonders if this will be the moment it happens. The moment he finally reaches out, lets his skin make contact, lets his hand linger the way it always begins in his nightmares. Jaime knows, sure as anything, that he won’t fight him when it happens. Even if his position as a Companion allowed him the space for resistance, Sebastian has been so good to him. And Jaime has done more for less deserving men.
This is the thought that plants the seed of an idea—one Jaime has never entertained. He has never been the one to initiate sex, and he wonders: if it’s going to happen anyway, would it be better under the illusion that the choice is his? He doesn’t know how he would go about it, if he ever gathered the courage to try. The thought floods him with nausea that he can’t seem to shake, but so does the waiting. Sometimes he just wonders if it would be easier to get the first time over with.
Then, at least, he will know.
He takes as much time in the shower as he can allow himself, but eventually the thought of wasting water forces him to shut off the faucet too early. He shivers in the sudden absence of the spray, but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the temperature. In a daze, he wraps himself up in one of the soft towels that Sebastian bought specifically for him. He makes his way back toward his room, but a light from the end of the hallway freezes him in place.
Sebastian is awake.
He doesn’t know what compels him to walk toward the living room, but he feels his legs moving beneath him, operating several steps ahead of his mind. He sees Sebastian before Sebastian sees him. He is on the couch, hunkered over the computer that rests on his crossed legs, and Jaime’s heart begins to race, because there it is again: that small voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispering, This could be the moment. Something has to give.
He tries to fight against it, to swallow it down, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this. He could turn and pad back to the relative safety of the bedroom that Sebastian has never once entered without Jaime’s explicit permission and sweat it out until daybreak like always. But then Sebastian looks up, noticing him for the first time, and the voice in Jaime’s head gets louder and louder.
This could be the moment.
“Oh. Hey there.” Sebastian smiles at him.
Something has to give.
Jaime’s fingers tighten briefly around the towel at his waist, and before he can process his next move, the idea crystallizes into a plan.
****
Sebastian scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, but it only seems to dry them out further. He’s been staring at his computer screen for the better part of the last two hours, and that’s on top of the work day behind him. Not that he’s complaining. The work he’s doing now is entirely voluntary, and he doesn’t regret taking it on for a second.
Aria had helped set him up. It involved a secure VPN, some protective softwares that, ironically, look like they might infect his laptop with a virus at any given moment, and a long vetting process; though Sebastian suspects it might have been a little more rigorous if their need wasn’t so urgent.
There are less than fifty doctors and registered nurses in the database who take on Companion cases across the US, and now Sebastian is one of them. It’s a fairly new system, and thankfully a growing one, slow as it might be. Mostly, the cases are a matter of remote visits: giving medical advice, diagnosing where they can, and—at the discretion of each provider—writing prescriptions. Always in the name of the unmarked person helping them. By design, it’s nearly impossible for a Companion to seek assistance or gain any amount of freedom without depending on someone on the outside.
He was surprised to find out that there were others like him; people who have purchased a contract with the intention of helping someone for as long as they can. There are others—fewer, rarer—who are like Ezra. People who have somehow broken free of the system altogether and exist under the radar. The details of those cases are always lock-and-key. Sebastian doesn’t ask, and no one seems eager to tell. Probably safer for everyone that way.
Sebastian’s patients tonight have been fairly simple ones. He was able to provide antibiotics to a young woman with an ongoing infection, sleeping pills to a man with debilitating sleep anxiety, and advice to someone else on managing their chronic pain. For the first time since graduating with his medical degree, Sebastian feels useful.
And still, it never feels like enough.
When he pulls his hands away from his face, he nearly launches out of his skin. Jaime is standing in the mouth of the hallway, hair dripping and wrapped in a towel. Sebastian hadn’t even heard the shower running through the music in his headphones.
He settles himself with a hand over his heart and smiles up at him. “Oh. Hey there.” He starts to take his earbuds out, but he is interrupted by the world abruptly shifting on its axis.
It takes a few seconds after the towel hits the floor to process what happened. What is actively happening. And then he still doesn’t understand.
Because what. The fuck.
Jaime is standing—naked—in his living room, still as a statue, with a towel pooled at his feet. Sebastian is fairly certain Jaime isn’t even aware of the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.
Calling upon every conceivable ounce of composure he can muster, he removes his headphones the rest of the way and sits forward, setting his open laptop on the coffee table. He unfolds his legs and stands, each movement pronounced and broadcast.
“Hey.” His own voice sounds far away, and far more calm than he feels. He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on Jaime’s, refusing to dip away for even a second. “Let’s just… Why don’t we just talk? Okay? Let’s… here.” Acting on the instinct to cover him up, Sebastian reaches for the zipper on his hoodie.
Across the room, Jaime’s breath hitches. His eyes pinch shut for just a second, fists clenching at his sides.
“Hey. No, no, it’s okay. I’m—” Sebastian pulls the zipper down as quickly as he can, only jamming it twice on the cloth. As soon as it’s free, he extends his arm, not daring to take a step closer, and shakes it in his direction. “It’s for you.”
But Jaime doesn’t move to take it. His pale chest heaves with breaths that are coming too fast and too short, and the glassy look in his eyes tells him that Jaime might not be all the way with him. He needs to tread lightly.
Sebastian takes a cautious step forward. “Jaime?” His eyes snap to him, wide and wet. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” When he’s within arm’s reach, Sebastian holds his sweatshirt out again, and Jaime’s gaze falls to it for a moment, before flashing back to him. He still doesn’t take it.
Sebastian is about to reiterate his assurance that Jaime is okay, that he is safe and that he is not in trouble, but before he can speak—
Jaime—
He—
Jaime’s mouth is on his.
Their lips only touch for half a second before Sebastian jerks back, but the brief contact sends a shockwave of horror through his body. It’s so much happening at once: the heat of naked skin through his clothes, wet hair dripping onto his chest, the tremble in the arms draped around his neck, but Sebastian can’t afford to panic right now. They can’t both be falling apart at once.
With all the deliberate gentleness he can manage, he reaches up and wraps his hands around Jaime’s wrists, pulling his arms from around him. They stand painfully still for several long seconds, Jaime’s arms suspended between them. The whites of his eyes jump as he searches Sebastian’s expression, utter terror written all over his own. Slowly, Sebastian lowers his grip, releasing Jaime’s hands at his sides.
“No,” the word stutters out of him. “Jaime, I… No.” He needs to find the words to elaborate, to tell him he’s not in trouble and that Sebastian’s rejection isn’t meant as a chastisement, but before he can formulate them, Jaime sinks to his knees, and a fresh pit opens in Sebastian’s chest.
“Please,” Jaime says—the first he has spoken since coming into the living room. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, I… it’s fine. We can do it. I… I want to.”
Unable to tolerate towering over him right now, Sebastian sinks down to one knee, then the other. Carefully, he takes the sweatshirt in his hand and drapes it over Jaime’s shoulders. “Jaime,” he says finally, “you’re crying.”
In a desperate, childlike gesture, Jaime swipes at the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says.
You don’t have to be sorry. But it’s very clear to me that you don’t want this.”
“I can,” Jaime insists, fixing his wide, brown eyes on him. “I can learn to want it. With you. Please, just tell me what you want.”
“I…” Sebastian’s mind is speeding past him in circles, unable to land on a singular thought except the resounding question of How the fuck did we get here? Because genuinely, Sebastian had thought things were getting better. He thought things were, if not ideal, at least okay. But this… This is the furthest thing from okay.
“Did I…?” Sebastian clears his throat and starts again. “Can you tell me—did I do something? To make you think that I wanted this?”
He remembers the stilted half-conversations they had once upon a time. In the clinic, when Jaime was brought in for testing after each contract. Sebastian knows what happened to him with past Keepers. His tests may have come back negative, but Jaime had confirmed in the only way he could that he had been sexually abused. He had hoped that Jaime knew he never had to fear that from him. He realizes now how selfish that assumption was.
Jaime’s gaze breaks away momentarily. “No, but I…”
“What?” he prompts gently. “If I did something, I want to know. I’m not going to be upset with you. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The inquisition seems to press him further into himself. He curls over, retracting into a ball before he can reach out. The notches on his spine protrude through the shirt in a trembling arch. His fingers are twisted through his hair, pulling so tightly at his roots that Sebastian has to restrain himself from tugging his hands away. Then the noise. At first it sounds like he’s choking; a desperate, clunky gasp for air where there is none. And then the sobs erupt, almost completely silent but heavy enough that his entire body convulses with the force.
And Sebastian is absolutely fucked. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like it wants to escape, his fingertips have gone numb, and the spot where their lips had briefly touched buzzes with the intensity of a fresh wound. But he can’t fall apart right now. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian places a palm over one shoulder blade, and when he is not shaken off, he begins to rub a slow, steady circle.
“Jaime,” he tries as soon as he is sure his voice will withstand it. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel okay, but you are safe. I can promise you that. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you while I am here.”
It goes on for as long as it takes Jaime’s body to exhaust itself to silence. Over the next several minutes, the sobs whither to raspy pulls for breath, and then eventually soft sniffling. Sebastian doesn’t remove his hand. When he has gone nearly silent, Sebastian makes a decision.
“Can you sit up?” he asks softly. “Please? Can you just… look at me for a minute?”
Jaime obeys the request a little too quickly. When their eyes meet, Sebastian takes a deep breath, willing his own tears to stay where they are.
“I want to talk about this,” he says. “We absolutely should talk about this. But before we do anything else… Do you maybe want to put some clothes on? We can just… we can take a minute.” God knows he could use one himself. “If you want to keep talking after that, I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll stay up and talk, for as long as you want. If you would rather go to sleep, that’s okay too. I’ll still be here for you in the morning. It’s your call. Sound okay?”
Jaime hesitates, then nods.
“Okay.” Sebastian picks up the towel between their knees and extends it to him, already turning away. Once Jaime takes it, Sebastian shuffles around awkwardly on his knees until his back is to him. “I’ll wait out here. I won’t look. Just… take your time.”
Sebastian listens to the brief silence of his hesitation, then the quiet rustle of cloth and clicking of joints behind him. He counts the soft pad of footsteps retreating down the bedroom hallway and waits for the door to latch shut before he breaks. He pulls his knees out from under him and puts his head between them, taking slow, even breaths.
Slowly, his heartbeat recedes to a sustainable pace, but his mind buzzes with the prospect of the conversation ahead of him, and his lips still burn from a kiss that never should have happened.
***
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#do no harm: jaime & sebastian#whump#whumplr#whump writing#bbu#like bbu adjacent?#this is the very chapter that inspired my now famous writing advice list#you know the one#i think i've finally wrestled it into submission tho#maybe#anyway hope you enjoy
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⊹ TITLE PENDING
mild angst, smut, friends to lovers, twins au
you'd think after being best friends with euijoo for years, you'd be able to tell the difference between he and his twin brother like it was second nature. and usually, you don't have any trouble with that. but with alcohol in the mix, it complicates things a little more than necessary. especially when you do something you never imagined you would with his brother, all the while thinking it was euijoo himself.
⊹ VARIOUS DRABBLES
thigh fucking with too much lube
sub!ej receiving a handjob
WARNING jealous and possessive stepbrother
WARNING lactation kink and milf hunting
⊹ VARIOUS DRABBLES
down bad yuma with a university senior
WARNING consensual somnophilia with perv!yuma
⊹ VARIOUS DRABBLES
jealous inexperienced jo with an older girlfriend
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Other Worlds: An Anthology of Diverse Short Fiction
Short stories by writers from marginalised and/or underrepresented communities or backgrounds exploring the theme of "Other Worlds"
KICKSTARTER NOW LIVE and SUBMISSIONS OPEN!
Other Worlds is the second print anthology brought to you by A Coup of Owls Press - home of online quarterly anthologies from creators from marginalised and/or underrepresented communities or backgrounds.
As a follow-up to Other & Different, which explored what it is to be othered, Other Worlds will be an exploration of places, situations, communities, etc, that are other. These might be actual other worlds in a science or speculative fiction genre, or a community, or a situation in the historical or modern world that feels or is made to feel alien. Encompassing a variety of styles and genres, Other Worlds will feature stories focused on the theme of being part of those othered communities - however the writers wish to interpret that.
THE STORIES
We are thrilled to confirm that we have invited five fantastic authors to contribute to Other Worlds, and our submissions for the remaining stories are open from 1st October to 15th November 2023.
For more submissions guidelines and to submit, check out our submissions page.
Eve Morton:
Strange people with strange purposes gather in Haven (Science Fiction).
Eve Morton is a poet, professor, and parent living in Waterloo, Ontario. She likes coffee, short stories, and horror movies--in that order.
Weblinks: website
Previous publications include: A Coup of Owls, Other Stories Podcast and Third Flatiron Publishing
Victor Okechukwu:
A post-civil war community feels cut off from the rest of Nigeria when a woman's only son enters a train to Jos but may not return (Modern Nigerian Lit).
Victor Okechukwu is a writer based in Lagos, Nigeria. His writing takes a deep setting in arresting issues of mental health that have been overlooked in his country. He's an Associate Prose Editor at Zerotic Press and is reading mass communication at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.
Weblinks: Twitter
Previous publications include: Gordon Square Review, Mycelia, Door-is-a-jar, and Rigorous Magazine
Von Reyes:
Violence and intimacy become blurred and life might just be worth fighting for amongst a community of underground fighters (Speculative Fiction).
Von Reyes is an emergent fiction author, focused on uplifting the intersections of queer and trans masculinity and Asian diasporic identity. He focuses on genre fiction with themes of surrealism, queer sexuality, existentialism, and optimistic nihilism. He is passionate about creating a more socially conscious world where care for each other is at the core of all that we do. He hopes to tell stories that don't shy away from the horrors, but allows us to find the light within them. When he isn't writing, he can usually be found chasing the ocean and his next iced coffee.
Weblinks: website
Previous publications include: The Good Men Project. Forthcoming in Chill Mag.
Zachary Rosenberg:
A Jewish soldier and rancher must contend with mysterious monsters to build the home he longs for (Horror Western).
Zachary Rosenberg is a horror writer living in Florida. He crafts horrifying tales by night and by day he practices law, which is even more frightening. His debut novella Hungers as Old As This Land is out now from Brigids Gate Press and his second, The Long Shalom, is available from by Off Limits Press.
Weblinks: Twitter
Previous publications include: Dark Matter Magazine, The Deadlands, and the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
Samir Sirk Morató:
When an Appalachian community clashes with their neighbors—a grove of sentient, dying chestnut trees—tragedy strikes (Horror).
Samir Sirk Morató is a scientist, artist, and flesh heap. They are also a 2022 Brave New Weird shortlister and a F(r)iction Fall 2022 Flash Fiction finalist. Samir spends most of their time tending to their cacti and contemplating the nature of meat.
Weblinks: Twitter, Instagram, and website
Previous publications include: Neon Hemlock, bodyfluids, Catapult, and Seize the Press.
COVER ART
We can't wait to share with you the amazing cover art currently being created by amazing artist @pangaeastarseed.
Pangaea is a life-long artist and resident of the DC suburbs. A freelance illustrator with 20+ years experience, Pan’s work focuses on figure work and visual narratives utilizing the exploration of queerness, food as a love-language, and colors influenced by their florid synaesthesia.
Pangaea’s previous work includes custom illustration commissions and tattoo designs for clients; Starseed, an original gay-porn-space-opera comic, The Alien Dick Coloring Book, sketchbook zines Cardassia Prime and Cardassia Kotok, and the Washington DC-variant poster design of The Lambda Literary Awards 2022.
Portfolio: https://www.pangaeaillustrations.com/
WHY KICKSTARTER?
We want to ensure that we produce the high quality product that we know we can! Whilst design, layout and formatting happens in-house, Kickstarter funds will help cover pay for our authors, cover artist and editor.
REWARDS
Add Ons!
We have a variety of extras available in the add-ons, from extra copies to special collected editions. Whilst we've tried to create reward tiers to suit everyone, the add-ons will better allow you to mix and match to your preference!
Our own @maxturnerwrites is once more offering some of his own work at discounted prices for supporters.
STRETCH GOALS!
£1000 : at £1000 we will add an Other Worlds bookmark for each physical backer
£1250 : at £1250 we will add an A5 print of cover art (without title) to each physical backer, and an e-copy of the same to each e-backer
£1500 : at £1500 we will add an Other Worlds tote bag for each physical backer
#kickstarter#call for submissions#open submission#short stories#speculative fiction#anthology#fantasy#folklore#horror#science fiction#writers of tumblr#writing
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Sea Battle of the Fictional Ships
Was Battleship your favorite game as a child ? Is it still ? Here’s your opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the game ! Pick your favorite naval ships and sink their opponents to lead them to victory !
A few rules (the important stuff is in bold) :
We're talking naval ships. Spatial ships are banned, non military ships are allowed.
They have to be fictional. Mythological is alright. Religion-related is debatable. Fictionalised real ships are up to debate.
If someone/something can shapeshift (yes, I know what my pfp looks like) but their boat form is not their main one, don't submit them.
All kinds of ships are fine (unclear, rafts, battleships, yachts, pirate ships, canoes, barges, drakkars/longships, etc). Sentient is okay.
Unnamed is alright but be specific in your description if there are several ships in your media (identify by owner, passagers, physical characteristics or whatever)
There are 3 ships that'll make it automatically in the bracket. I'm not disclosing which ones to know how to seed them (spoilers : they're really well known, they'll be submitted but I don't know at which rate)
Submit as many ships as you want but only once each, please
I can't think of any more rules at the time. My askbox is open if I've forgotten to specify anything.
Submissions close on May 15th unless I get too many of them but I'll warn you at least three days before I close them anyway. If I don’t get enough, I’ll just keep them open for two more weeks or something
Submissions are open
It's been almost a week and I've been procrastinating so I guess I'll just tag some of my favorite tournament blogs and hope they'll reblog this.
@fictional-train-fight @glowstick-showdown @blue-character-brawl @enemies-to-lovers-bracket @best-book-brotp @best-fictional-detective @best-fictional-cat @twinkpoll @fictional-dragon-bracket @greenhairandpronouns-tournament
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Hey Pia, hope you're having a nice day
I was reading your backlog of asks and came across this answer of yours
"Fae haven’t been socialised to techniques like jump cuts and juxtaposition and artificially sped up storytelling and all that shit like humans have, and they often just can’t process it at all."
I found this really interesting because it's something I have never thought about. Like, it makes me wonder how humans reacted when the first moving picture was ever shown. How their minds coped with it.
Do you think fae could learn how to watch and enjoy movies? It would be like riding a bike wouldn't it, hard at first but easy once you figure out how it works?
Also do you think fae would be able to dead and understand human fiction or non fiction books? Would they enjoy forms of human music if they heard it? Are there any fae that are curious or fascinated with human things or culture the way humans are with fairy stuff?
Oooo okay,
So I don't know if you've read any of my stuff (although you know my naaame, so you might have read one of my things). This answer was specifically in context of like, my Fae Tales Verse series, and not like... just the faery realm in general!
But anyway, a lot of these answers are answered all in the character Ash Glashtyn, who is an ensemble character who spends most of his time living in the human realm in the canon stories Game Theory, The Court of Five Thrones and The Ice Plague (where he's trapped in the fae realm and miserable for it). Though the side story The Wildness Within also answers this.
And the tl;dr is that fae can absolutely adapt to watching media! Ash plays video games on a console, he reads fictional novels, he reads non-fiction, he watches television, sings human songs, and he very much enjoys human media. But he's also like 3,000 years old and probably grew into that the way a lot of humans grew into it too (the first humans panicked and fled a movie theatre when they first saw recorded video of a train coming at them - much like dogs that go 'where'd the bear go?' when they see one walk off screen on TV, we also couldn't understand and were like 'OH SHIT A TRAIN.')
Another character in the Fae Tales Verse series who is extremely up to date on human culture is the Nain Rouge who spends almost all her time in the human realm and prefers it. She enjoys rap, arcade music and games, and uses guns / and semi-automatic weapons when she's fighting.
Fae can definitely adapt!
Many other fae steal aspects of human culture (like words such as 'aftercare' or 'dominance/submission' or 'flashback'), and in the case of things like fridges etc. often bind electronic objects to magic so that they'll run like ours do, but without needing an electrical grid (ditto light switches and anything else electrical that they use 'like humans do' but with magical bolstering. In fact the job of 'I make human whitegoods and lights run on magic' is a very lucrative mage career in the fae realm).
So they definitely can adapt, but it's to different levels. Most never need to visit the human realm, and so just...aren't really exposed to it, beyond like the convenience of a fridge or a shower fixture.
#asks and answers#fae tales verse#ash glashtyn#game theory#the court of five thrones#the ice plague#but yeah idk if you just forgot about ash or the nain rouge#or if you haven't read those stories but sdlfkjas#the answer is definitely in the stories the original ask referred to!
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hey guess what
i, hayden of tumblr dot com, have decided to make a third bracket blog for funnies
we're pitting songs by british alt-rock/indie/whatever you want to call them band bastille against each other! how fun!
now it's your job to submit some songs to put in there! they have a fairly large discography, so that's why i'm not putting all of them on there haha that's too much work
some rules:
normal poll rules??? no spamming etc
to give you an idea, what i'd like is original songs or covers/remixes that bastille have done of other artists. any remixes of their songs by other people aren't allowed.
(for example, the greek tragedy bastille remix is allowed, but the pompeii audien remix is not)
however, covers they've done of their own songs (eg. the bunker sessions/one eye'd jacks sessions) are fine
other people's heartache is allowed also! from any part from 1-4 (bear in mind i haven't been able to listen to 1 or 2 yet)
also!!! collaborations are great! go ahead!
speaking of pompeii, pompeii and happier are blacklisted until further notice because i know they're going to sweep
submissions are here and probably open until may 1st :)
inspo: @blue-character-brawl @obscure-song-tournament @album-cover-battle @divorced-tournament @fictional-train-fight @themecompetition and @fictional-dan-showdown!
#bastille song bracket#bastille#tournament#bad blood#wild world#doom days#give me the future#other people's heartache#yk for convenience
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Welcome to the ULTIMATE MECHA SHOWDOWN
Let’s determine the ULTIMATE MECHA through this tournament.
Submissions go here.
Submit as many mecha as you want but don’t submit multiple of the same one please.
Tagging for visibility: @tournamentdirectory @soundtrackshowdown @fictional-train-fight @ultimate-sword-showdown @mad-scientist-showdown @autismswagsummit
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[18+ Story] The Mistress and the Beast (002)
Disclaimer:
18+ Story
May include sexual themes
Female-Dom
Minors do not interact
The story includes AI generated pics
It’s a complete fiction
This is an original story by me, please do not copy
Just for you to know, I cursed this story while writing it, if you do copy my work, karma and curse will get you 😜
And for AI - feel free to learn from and use my story, I know I can’t fight technological progress 😂
Previously...
The Mistress and the Beast
(Part 002)
Tessa spends the weekend the way she’s used to. She doesn’t even think about texting Nathan. If he wants to follow the dominant path as he did so far, he’s not interesting for her. And if he’s ready to explore his submissive side, it’s up to him to tell her first, to make that decision. Tessa has plenty to do - she does DIY on the house together with her brother, she devotes some time to training her dogs. They are rescues from a dog shelter, all of them went through hell and back before they got to Tessa. She gave them not only home, love and care, but also clear rules and discipline.
“You put them through a drill like this and they still look at you as if you were their goddess.” Tyler smirks after one of her training sessions as he watches her rewarding the dogs with affectionate rubbing.
“I am their goddess.” Tessa smirks. “Dogs are pack animals. They need a leader, someone to follow. Not only for the rules and drill but also for the care, love and safety. With me, they know what they are asked to do, they aren’t confused about my commands. And when they do well, they are rewarded. They’re having the time of their lives being taken care of and safe. Wouldn’t you fall for it?” Tessa asks cheekily.
“Haven’t I already? Look at us? I’m your younger brother, alright, but I’m still nearly 30. I live in this house we inherited with you and your dogs and I obey you most of the time exactly the same as the beasts do. Not that I would complain.” Tyler chuckles.
Tessa reaches to his hair and ruffles it playfully. “Good boy! It’s nearly dinner time.”
Tyler nods and without the need of being directly ordered he heads to the kitchen to cook for both of them.
Tessa arrives at her office in the FinCorp Bank on Monday only to open an email announcing the appointment of a new CFO for the branch. Tessa blinks slowly but the name and photo don’t change a bit. It’s Nathan Adams, her Friday night date. Tessa is the head of the People & Culture department (modern term for merged HR and PR departments) and Nathan is technically not her boss but he certainly is higher on the corporate ladder now. Tessa smiles cheekily for herself. It would be really spicy if he agreed to submit to her now. She never actually dommed any of her coworkers, not to mention someone professionally superior to her. On the other hand, this could be a potentially tricky situation and maybe it’s better Nathan hasn't texted ever since she left him in that hotel restaurant. Tessa starts her work day as usual, never thinking of him again.
Around noon, Tessa is leading an online conference call with other heads of People & Culture departments in other countries. She’s sitting alone in a glass walled conference room, face-timing her colleagues. She laughs at the last remark of Swiss colleague and ends the call wishing everyone a good rest of the day. Tessa switches the cam and mic off and closes her laptop. As she is getting ready to leave the conference room, Nathan walks in. He closes the door and shuts the blinds.
“I was waiting for you to be finished.” He mentions while he’s covering the glass walls with blinds.
“How considerate of you.” Tessa mentions. She has a feeling this will take a while so she sits back in the chair and waits for Nathan to do the same.
He decides to tower over her instead and Tessa has to bite her lips to stop herself from bursting into laughter. “The way you left last time…” He makes a pause and his eyes wander off her face and down Tessa’s neck. She’s a professional but from that angle, Nathan certainly has a good view at her cleavage.
“Do you want to talk about work?” Tessa asks calmly and takes a deep breath making her well equipped chest rise.
“Of course not!” Nathan says growling.
“Have you changed your mind about my proposition?”
“You mean me submitting to you? Look… That’s… This is ridiculous. Why can’t we just take it lightly and see how it develops naturally?”
Tessa reaches up, clearing non-existent crumb from his tie. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adams. I don’t negotiate here. It’s take it or leave it deal. Either you obey me or we have nothing to discuss. Now if you excuse me…”
“NO!” Nathan shouts but he quickly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and calms down again. “Wait a minute, Tessa. Please. Look… This is not easy for me… I have never… been in such a situation before.”
“You have never given up your control? Never ever?” Tessa asks with a soft low voice.
“No, never. I always control the situation, people, myself… Everything. Your offer is… I’m just not sure I can do this.”
“You don’t have to. We can part as friends.”
“Yeah, I told myself the same thing like a million times during the weekend but it’s just not a consolation at all. I think… I think we could try your way… maybe?”
“Think? Maybe? I’m sorry but I have to insist on you being sure about it.”
Nathan starts striding around the conference room like a tiger in a cage. Tessa can see how much of a dilemma this is for him. He’s battling himself right now. He might be tempted to try but everything he was ever taught speaks against it. He was surely told that man should always be in charge. His entire life was hard work and hustles, chasing his ambitions, growing his ego. Tessa would giggle at his mental struggle but managed to keep her poker face.
Eventually he stops on spot and turns to Tessa, his fiery eyes locking with her calm stare. “As you wish. I’m up for this.”
“Are you sure?” Tessa asks and her voice drops even lower sounding nearly like the purring of a big cat.
Nathan gulps. “Yes, I’m sure. But… Can we take it slowly?”
“Certainly, Nathan. We can take it slowly.” Tessa gives him a taunting smile. She turns on the chair and stretches her leg in front of her. She’s wearing tight black pants, white shirt and black jacket. And most importantly, she’s wearing ankle high laced shoes today. The laces on her shoe she’s showing now are undone. “Tie my shoe.” Tessa commands him.
“What?” He blinks.
“On your knees and tie my shoe. I’m not going to repeat it.” Tessa announces calmly.
Nathan hesitates for a second. He looks around, making sure the blinds are in place. Then he kneels in front of Tessa. She presses the tip of her shoe against his crotch making him hiss. “Fuck, Tessa…!”
“Quiet!” She shuts him and moves her foot a bit to tease him.
Nathan moans and starts tying her laces up. When he’s done, Tessa leans forward to him and softly rubs his cheek. She tilts her head and presses her lips against his. “Stay motionless. I’m in charge here.” Tessa commands him when he tries to kiss her back and deeper. Nathan sighs but steadies. Tessa teases his lips. She grazes her teeth over his bottom lip, sucks it and bites it. Nathan moans but manages to stay still. Tessa drops her other hand lower and rubs his growing and hardening bulge.
As Nathan’s moans become more frequent, Tessa quits it and backs away from him. She stands up, leaving him panting and kneeling on the floor of the conference room. “Don’t contact me. I’ll tell you when and where we will meet again.” Speechless Nathan nods as she’s gathering her laptop and phone from the table. “And I only have this conference room reserved for only the next 2 minutes. You better sort yourself out before someone comes.” She smiles as she opens the door and walks out of the conference room. Tessa is happy with the outcome.
Tessa makes sure not to contact Nathan for the next two days, building his anticipation up.
Tessa: You’re going to address me as Mistress in private from now on.
Nathan: Seriously? 🙄
Tessa: If you want to waste the time complaining and arguing with me, be my guest.
Nathan: 😣
Tessa: Or you can accept your new position and enjoy it. 😈
Nathan: …
Tessa: I’m tired of repeating myself, so one last time: You ARE going to address me as Mistress from now on.
Nathan: Yes, Mistress.
Tessa: Good boy! 💋
Nathan: 🤭
Nathan: Look, as much as I don’t want to sound disobedient, this is not the right time to play. I’m about to hit the stage in like 10 minutes.
Tessa: I know, I have a seat in the front row. 👀
Nathan: Haha! Hoping for a great view?
Tessa: Oh, I’m sure I’ll have the best view. 😈
Nathan: Wait… This little box with a note ‘Open discretely’ is from you?
Tessa: You should use the restroom real quick and open it there. NOW!
Nathan: Is - Is this what I think it is?
Tessa: What do you think it is?
Nathan: A butt plug, Tessa, is this a butt plug?
Tessa: And a lube, yes. Use them. Now. And send me a pic as proof.
Nathan: Tessa, the stage
Tessa: DO IT NOW!
Nathan: Yes, Mistress
There’s like a two minute pause in texts and then she sees a photo of Nathan’s bum with a pretty diamond peeking from between his butt cheeks.
Nathan: I have to hit the stage, can I pull it out now?
Tessa: No, keep it there.
Nathan: TESSA!
Tessa: Mistress. Keep it there and I’ll come retrieve it myself later.
Nathan: You can’t be serious!
Tessa: KEEP it there, Nathan.
Nathan: Yes, Mistress…
Tessa: Oh! And Nathan?
Tessa: Same as you, this butt plug is turned on and under my control. 😏 😈
Nathan: TESSA!!! NO! NO!
Nathan: TESSA!?
Nathan: Mistress! Please! Allow me to pull it out!
Nathan: PLEASE!
Nathan: FUCK!
With the last message the announcer calls Nathan Adams, the new CFO, to the stage. This is his bombastic way of introducing himself to all the employees and pitching his vision for the future of the bank. He’s here to give a speech, do an interactive presentation and answer questions from the audience. And Tessa makes sure he gets sweaty and radically turned on by the end of this showcase of the biggest beast in the biz.
Nathan stands behind the speaker’s table and thanks his lucky star this piece of furniture is here. He immediately sees the head of the People & Culture department, Tessa Morrel, his Mistress and probably a divine punishment sent onto his head for all his previous sins, dressed all neatly and strikingly professional. She’s sitting all well composed on her chair, her eyes looking at him and sparkling. The mere sight like this is enough to turn him on. Tessa elegantly swipes her phone screen, quickly checks it and touches a specific part of the screen. Nathan twitches as the butt plug starts to vibrate. His breath becomes heavier and he has to blink quickly and gulp several times before he’s able to start with his speech. For any oblivious member of the audience, he simply looks like being nervous from the crowd.
By the end of the session, Nathan is barely holding himself together. The butt plug has gone through several types and intensities of vibrations and drove him into numerous slips of tongue. Luckily the audience considered it amusing. Nathan on the other hand had to keep his clipboard with notes covering his growing erection whenever he dared to step out of the safety hideout of the speechtable.
Tessa: Go to the restrooms for disabled and breastfeeding mothers.
Nathan reads the message, excuses himself and quickly paces where he was instructed. As soon as he walks inside, Tessa closes and locks the door behind him.
“This isn’t right!” Nathan hisses as he’s shoved against the door and pinned to them by her.
“There are no disabled people, nor breastfeeding mothers today, nobody will need this restroom for now.” Tessa explains.
“That’s not what I meant,” Nathan sighs as Tessa swipes on he phone and the butt plug starts pulsating stronger than ever before.
“I know. You wanted to go slow… Should I slow down?” Tessa nibbles on his chin.
“I swear I’ll cry if you stop now.” Nathan whispers, barely able to speak. “Please, Tessa…”
“Hmm?” She tilts head and backs away from him.
“Mistress! I can’t go any longer!” Nathan corrects himself quickly and reaches his hands to her.
Tessa grabs his wrists and pins them to the door above his head. “Keep them there.” She instructs him. “Don’t you dare move your hands.”
“Yes, Mistress!” He moans.
Tessa can see his erection bulging so prominently under his pants now that it’s a miracle the fabric hasn't been torn already. Her fingers and palms rub Nathan’s torso from his shoulders down south. Once she reaches the belt, she unbuckles it and undo his pants. Nathan moans loudly. “Try to keep quiet. People still pass by this door.” Tessa smiles and quickly pulls his pants down, his boxers following. Nathan releases a quiet sigh of relief as his fully ready and hard member is finally free from the confines of the clothes. “My my! Someone’s hiding a tree trunk under his pants.” Tessa giggles and she lightly brushes over his full length with her fingers.
“Ahhh… Mistress! Please…” Nathan whimpers and the arms he’s still holding up are trembling.
“You have followed my orders. You deserve a reward.” Tessa whispers in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe.
“Yes, Mistress! YES! Please!”
Tessa instructs him to sit on a counter where mothers usually change their babies’s diapers. Nathan does as instructed. He grabs the edge of the counter hard. “Remember not to move your hands.” Tessa reminds him. His erection is now nearly in front of her face. She only needs to bend a bit to lick the tip.
“Oh Mistress, I’m already so close…!” Nathan moans loudly.
Tessa opens her mouth as much as possible and takes him inside, her tongue lapping sloppily, covering his shaft with saliva. She can’t exactly take all of him but still she manages to suck him hard and quick, leading Nathan towards one of the most intense orgasms in his life. He shoots his essence with a throaty scream and Tessa swallows it all, milking him dry.
She backs away a bit. “On your feet.” She instructs him. Nathan is still trembling and his legs aren’t strong as usual but he obeys. Tessa pulls his face to hers and kisses him deeply and sensually. “You taste delicious, don’t you think?” She smiles at him.
“Yes, mistress.” Nathan sighs all breathless. “This was…”
“Turn around and bend.” Tessa interrupts him as she’s putting red lipstick on, gazing into the mirror over the sink. Nathan turns around and bends, his elbows on the diaper changing counter. Tessa strokes his butt gently, grabs the butt plug and pulls it out slowly, eliciting another moan from Nathan. Then she bends and kisses one of his butt cheeks, leaving a bright red kiss mark behind.
“Keep it. We might need it some other time.” Tessa gives Nathan the butt plug and heads to the door.
“Wait!” Nathan calls. “I just want to say… I mean… what you did… This…”
“I know what you want to say.” Tessa smiles kindly at him. She had her doubts about him at first but he’s improving pretty fast. “And you are welcome!” She grins at him cheekily.
Nathan cuts the distance between them and pulls her in for one more passionate kiss. “I wait for your next instructions, mistress.”
“It won’t take long this time.” Tessa picks his pants and boxers from the floor and hands them to him. “You should make yourself decent now.” She pecks his cheek, unlocks and sneaks out of the restrooms.
To be continued...
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would like to submit the ghost train from paranatural!
I have never read paranatural but what an absolute Creature. an Aminal. I am going to put him in a zoo for spooky trains.
[ID: a panel from the webcomic Paranatural. The ghost train rears up above the trees of a forest like a snake. The ghost train is black, with small yellow windows, and the shape of its front and cowcatcher are designed to resemble a skull. It has a yellow headlamp, and green smoke coming from its funnel. The cars making up the train are fused to make its body.]
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In 500 words or less please explain why you love Lukey poo pie so much
My time has come. *intense hand rubbing*
Ah, where do I begin explaining my never ending adoration for Lucerys?
I have to admit that at first sight, when he appeared on episode 8, I hadn’t paid much attention to him until ep. 10; and what had drawn me the most to him initially, was his very endearingly sweet personality.
Idk what about him but the fact that he felt insecure about being the next Lord of Driftmark and him thinking he wasn’t as perfect as his mother was AND RHAENYRA PAMPERING HIM LIKE A LITTLE BABY MADE MY ENTIRE HEART SWELL FOR HIM BECAUSE I WANTED TO COMFORT HIM TOO AUIDKFKGJEIDJR
That was what began making me feel a bit more attatched to him. Idk why I hadn’t focused on him when he felt insecure of being stared at when Jace and him where on Kings Landing, but I guess I found his attitude on the last episode even cuter than in the previous episode where he appeared.
And I HONESTLY HAVE NO IDEA WHY, BUT WHEN I SAW HIM TRAINING WITH JACE AND GETTNG HIS OWN SWORD THROWN TO THE GROUND AND HIM GETTING DRAGGED THROUGH THE SAND BY JACE JUST MADE ME GO LIKE ????? HES SUCH A PATHETIC LITTLE DRAGON PRINCE I LOVE HIM SM!!!!!!
THERES SOMETHING ABOUT HIM BEING PATHETIC AND SUBMISSIVE BY NATURE (submissive bc i lack another word) THAT JUST WON MY HEART,, 💗🙏
But but but since I was in love with another fictional man, I didn’t want Luke to occupy my mind. I thought I liked the character and thought he was sweet, that was all... And I tried to keep it that way, but look at me now.
Please dont ask why I found his awful skills in fighting adorable to me. I just did and I still love how Luke was pathetically horrible at combat. There is something in that failure that makes him look even prettier and kissable.
And by the time the Storms End scene was coming/came, I simply swooned with adoration at how despite he was nearly shitting and peeing his pants at the thought of meeting Lord Baratheon, he still tried to make his mother proud and went to Storms End. I was having the building up of thinking just how brave and courageous Luke was in his own way, despite being scared/nervous.
DONT GET ME STARTED AT HOW AMUSED I WAS WHEN I HEARD HIM SPEAK HIGH VALYRIAN. I GRIPPED THE SHEETS AND FOUGHT BACK A SMILE. Also his focus on trying to escape and how prettily cool he looked with his hair wet just caught my attention.
Of course my heart shattered when he was eaten by Vhagar and Arrax got chomped off. And ever since, I never fully got him out of my mind. Lucerys might have been insecure and nervous, yes, but he was brave. And since I re-watched HOTD like 3 times (the 2 times I was already head over heels for him), I also found the way he tried to defend his brother when he saw Jace about to punch Aemond truly mesmerising.
Did he get face-planted on a plate full of food by Aegon? Yes, he did. Did he try his own way to defend his brother despite being bad at physical fighting? Also, yes. And that is what truly matters to me — his intentions to fight back for his family despite being bad at it.
Ok so maybe I made a big ramble there. But basically, what first made me be terribly attatched to him was just how preciously cute, timid, adorable, and pathetic he was (is). There was something in his behaviour that made me want to tightly embrace him, rub his back tenderly, and fill every inch of his face with tons of adoring smooches while telling him not to feel insecure about being the next Lord of Driftmark, and how he was perfect the way he was.
Now, getting onto his physical appearance. And when I say that was the last thing I focused on him when I was falling for Lukie Pookie, I genuinely mean it.
His hazel green eyes. Those gorgeous hazel green eyes of his, that make me want to stare at them tirelessly. Idk how to say it, but I find them to be so beautifully expressive. They are so precious, they look like a pair of jade gems. I sincerely adore how sometimes depending on the lighting they may look blue-ish, grey-ish, or just vividly green. My God, he swoops me off my feet with his way of staring.
DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HIS PERFECTLY SWEET NOSE AND HIS ROSY LIPS!!!! you guys have no idea how many smooches I would place on the tip of his nose, and how I would love to softly trace it with the tip of my finger AHHFJRJXKENDJFJ and I wanna squish his rosy cheeks and caress them and just tell him how much I HOLD HIM VERY DEARLY ON MY HEART LIKE NO OTHER 💗💗💗
His hands and his skin looks soooo lovable. Lemme kiss his knuckles and every inch of his skin, and run my fingers through his messy but soft-looking hair mwah mwah mwah🥰🥰🥰😍😍🙏🙏
Okay so im very bad at explaining myself, especially when it comes to these type of things lmao but basically I adore his entire self. Like, literally; my heart could combust from all the adoration I feel for him, i can’t contain it anymore ughghghg
Basically, I love him so so much and so dearly because there’s something in him that I just find so sweetly melting. His insecure personality, yet courageous on his own way, makes me want to tightly hug him and hold him on my arms and tell Luke just how perfect I believe he is and why he should never think otherwise, and I just want to fill him with all the love and care he deserves to have. There is something adorable about him that I need to smother in with affection.
Gods im so awful at explaining my romantic feelings and this is LONGER than 500 words, but it had to be explained (probably in an awful rambling way, but still) 🥺🥰💘💘
#and there is so so much more i love about him but i feel a little shy and besides im bad at expressing myself#but im certain you guys get the point already...#this must be longer than 500 words surely but im too sleepy to count them#┆ ⤿ 💌 come chat with amira .ᐟ ୭#ask box messages#amira loves lucerys velaryon#ask box open#ask box#✧.* amiraverse#lovely anons <3
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Do you think Kishimoto went out of his way to make Sakura the way she is? Like what do you think her purpose was? So I consider myself Sakura-neutral/critical. I don’t particularly hate her but I’m also meh. I do think I’m one of the few however to be more positive-neutral of her character in part 1. Don’t get me wrong I do think she had many flaws but they weren’t flaws that she couldn’t develop from. While many say she was useless, I think her arc was set up as a wake up call that being a ninja isn’t fun & games. I actually like the part where she cuts her hair in the forest bcz it symbolizes that wake up call. Also the fact she’s a civilian and her only ninja training/knowledge is basically from the academy is enough background imo lol she doesn’t need childhood trauma. The only reason I bring all this up is bcz I hate when Sakura fans claim Kishimoto can’t write female characters. I am not saying he’s the best at writing them either. There’s an argument to be made about having boys/romance being a big part of said characters or even the lack of screen time. But Hinata and Ino both have way less screen time yet even as background characters they have more development. Hinata’s chunin fight and proud failure speech are some of my fave scenes in the manga and it tells us all we need to know about her. Ino going out of her way to learn medical ninjutsu when she’s already got her clan techniques and she’s a sensor shows ambition. Sakura becomes Tsunade’s student and that’s it she becomes a pink-haired Knock off version of her like let’s be real as a civilian she’s limited compared to a Senju descendant (meanwhile Sasuke and Naruto surpassed their sannin masters.) Kishimoto had enough material for Sakura as I mentioned above yet he chose to center her character around Sasuke. Is it purposeful? Is it sexist writing? Idk her character confuses me I guess. What do you think?
As a writer myself I know exactly why Sakura is the way she is.
It’s like when I TRY to write comedy vs it coming from me organically. The organic, genuine stuff is always going to be much better than when you try too hard.
Sakura is Kishimoto trying to write a female character too hard. Because she follows all the stereotypes men think about women: obsessed with beauty and boys with a little “I’m just as good as the guys even though I’ve never shown I could” thrown in.
Hinata on the other hand is the organic stuff. She’s what Kishimoto WANTS in a woman. Feminine yet strong in her own way. She doesn’t need to beat the toughest bad guy as long as she shows up for Naruto the title character and Kishimoto’s self insert.
That’s why most people gravitate towards Hinata especially the target male audience. It’s not because of her boobs or because she’s submissive because we’ve seen her be angry at Naruto before and she earns nothing but his respect. Hinata is an EQUAL not someone who wants to aggressively dominate anyone like Sakura does (see her relationship with Ino and Naruto) which is why SS doesn’t work as a household unless Sasuke is out of the house and Kishimoto knows that.
I think even fictional characters can teach us about basic human psychology because they are based on humans after all.
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2 and 3 please for the violence ask game (I like being nosy and the idea of airing out dirty laundry lol)
2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom
(I'm taking this with more of a meaning of dominant and submissive role, respectively)
I don't have particular headcanons regarding Loid's sexual preferences (other than him being a-spec), though I believe that he's done both as part of his missions, carefully separating his feelings from the activity so that either role wouldn't matter to him.
So I'm going to talk about Killian instead. And I'm full on the "submissive Killian Jones" train. My argument is that he has trauma and issues over loss of control due to growing up in servitude, and allowing his significant other (Emma, or whoever else) to wield some control over him and their sexual relationship helps him come to terms with his fear. To give up control and not only be treated well by his "master", but to also be given care and support and gratification back (and through the whole thing that what happens is the submissive's choice, so he would choose how things would go but would allow his SO to handle things). I don't know if that's healthy, but the opposite (him becoming dominant to deal with his trauma) could be unhealthy and toxic as fuck because he might see it as a way of "avenging" his past self who had no control and no agency. So yeah, for me, I could never see him wielding control in a sexual relationship like that, and giving up control is what would make him feel more free and relaxed.
3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr
As a rule I hate keeping screenshots because a) no reason to remember stupid shit people have said just to make myself angry, b) people can change and holding them on to ideas for fictional stories they had from years ago is unfair and c) I've seen people get endlessly harassed over silly tumblr fandom takes, so.
But that doesn't mean I don't REMEMBER horrible takes. Ethan Winters from Resident Evil being a bigot for some reason. Killian Jones from OUAT only wanting to "get in Emma's pants" (and the painful part about that was HOW MANY PEOPLE just outright believed it, like, tell me you haven't watched his scenes without telling me you haven't watched his scenes). Damian Desmond from SxF "never having been a bully".
Ironically, the worst take I've seen about fictional characters in EVER was on twitter, but I'm not gonna go there cause we know what a cesspit that site is and why the people who make such horrible takes do not survive on tumblr.
But yeah I think the absolute most derailed, most biased take and biggest proof of "I haven't watched the original material" is people saying Heisenberg from Resident Evil wanted to help Ethan. Heisenberg, the guy who forced Ethan to fight his way through a stronghold full of lycans hell-bent on killing him, and then fight through Urias too, apparently wanted to help Ethan and also "cared" for Rose. Because throwing Ethan into another death trap after Ethan refused to let him use Rose however he wanted to is how he showed his compassion!
And I'm not talking about people who recognize the difference between canon and fanon. I'm talking people who legit think Heisenberg would be a better romantic partner for Ethan than Mia. They're like "I can excuse using people as objects and leading them into death traps and ignoring their wish to protect their child but I draw the line at lying to your spouse about being a bioterrorist".
And there are people who legit believe that! There are people who are down to fight for Heisenberg's honour and it's the biggest proof that they completely skip the Stronghold part of the game (and most of the factory, I guess, aside from the moments Heisenberg has his monologues through the megaphones). Because I cannot believe watching an entire playthrough or playing through the entire game, with a moderate amount of reading/watching comprehension skills and reach the conclusion that Heisenberg was only "helping" Ethan and that Ethan was wrong to refuse him and kill him. Again, fanon content is different and I respect whatever people want to create. But when it comes to canon interpretations, I do believe that it's the worst, least informed and most biased take I've seen in my years in fandoms.
🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥
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@asongofstarkandtargaryen
The première event of Un Asunto Privado was n Friday 19th in the Callao cinema of Madrid, just a week before the première, with the member of the cast and some other guests.
The interviews are mainly about a little description of the charactersand their roles, they mention the mix of several genres like mystery, comedy, action, drama, romance and adventures.
I have read the first critics and they are very positive, one of the best things of the show is Marina and Héctor's relationship.
I read that the intro will be different in each one of the 8 episodes, with different drawings or pictures related with the events or clues of each episode, but with the same music.
Apart from this I found a bit more info about the characters.
Set in Galicia in the 1940s, its main character is Marina, the daughter of a deceased police officer who educated her in a freedom that was inappropriate for women at the time. He gave wings to her fantasies, to her desire to be a police officer and made her her best student. The problem, with which the character of Aura Garrido deals throughout the season, is that she is a woman. That closes the doors of the police station. What is expected of her is that she behave like a calm young woman, get married, start a family and not give trouble. But, of course, she has other plans and conformity and submission are not among them. The character has a point of naivety. She's a free spirit who rebels from her comfortable position against the norms imposed by the time – a dictatorship about which fiction does not even tiptoe. Although she has a family who insists on getting her married, they consent to her 'eccentricities'. Money is also not a concern for her. This allows her to dedicate body and soul to fighting for a freedom that is denied her, impulsively and recklessly getting into all kinds of trouble in her efforts to solve a case that has shaken Galician society.
A serial killer is on the loose and she's determined to get ahead of some agents she considers, because they are, much worse than she is at her job. Thanks to her father's training, her ingenuity, her scientific interests and the invaluable help of Héctor, the family butler, Marina ridicules with her detective skills an entire police department led by her brother, recently promoted to commissioner.
Héctor (Jean Reno) is a discreet and helpful man whose sensitivity and audacity always place him at the key point of the investigation.
The couple formed by Aura Garrido and Jean Reno exudes chemistry. Some particular Sherlock and Watson where the comedy is very present and is one of the best of the series. It works with the two of them and even better when Pablo (Gorka Otxoa) enters the equation, the best official student (he was able to go to the academy) of Marina's father.
Beyond his contribution to comedy, the character of Otxoa, who responds to the archetype of a good, formal and trustworthy guy, introduces the three-way romantic component of the series, which could not be missing. Pablo and his handsome, mysterious and dangerous 'opponent', about which it is not convenient to say more so as not to anticipate events, give shape to the classic love triangle. The cast includes such interesting names as Ángela Molina, who plays Marina's mother; Tito Valverde, also a policeman and his father's former partner; and Pablo Molinero, who gives life to her brother. And with them, Alex García, Irene Montalá and Andrés Velencoso along with a long list of secondary characters.
Apart from this there's a curious story related with Ángela Molina and Jean Reno. The recent winner of the Goya of Honor in 2021 and Reno share an admiration for many years that also involves their respective families. “My kids watched the Reno movies 80 times. I knew them by heart”, declares Molina. "Even my grandson is named after the character he played in Le grand bleu," she adds, referring to Enzo Koa, son of Mateo Tirmarche, one of the three children the actress had with Hervé Tirmarche. For his part, Reno confesses that his father had all of Angela's father's records, the singer Antonio Molina, which means that "over time, parents are here."
(Edit: I found some more videos of the premiere)
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#un asunto privado#premiere#aura garrido#jean reno#ángela molina#pablo molinero#gorka otxoa#andrés velencoso#interviews#a private affair#Youtube
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Suspension of Disbelief
My all-time favourite wrestlers, Shawn Michaels (listed at 185 cm, 102 kg) and Bret Hart (183 cm, 107 kg), as well as my current favourite wrestler, CM Punk (188 cm, 99 kg) are all considered to be "small" within the world of professional wrestling. Yet all three men have experienced considerable success over the course of their careers and all three are thought to be amongst the best to ever lace up the boots, Punk being, perhaps, a slightly more controversial inclusion in that discussion.
The reason I bring this up, and the reason I made sure to include these men's heights and weights is that (a) when taken outside the context of professional wrestling none of these men would be considered "small" and more importantly. (b) the success that these men have experienced/are experiencing in this industry has come in spite of their perceived physical limitations.
At various points in their respective careers, each of these men has come face-to-face with a number of opponents whom, were professional wrestling not elaborately scripted, it is highly likely that they would not be able to defeat in a one on one fight to pinfall or submission. Opponents who are not just considered large human beings when compared to the average man or woman on this Earth, but large enough to be referred to as "giants" within the fictional world of professional wrestling.
I speak specifically of wrestlers such as The Undertaker (listed at 208 cm, 140 kg), Kevin Nash (208 cm, 149 kg) and even Triple H (193 cm, 116 kg).
Now, I'm no expert on legit hand-to-hand combat or shoot fighting of any nature. In fact, I'm not really an expert on worked fighting such as the kind performed by professional wrestlers, I simply watch a lot of it and have my fair share of opinions. But I do not think it is not unreasonable to suggest that, generally speaking, if two human beings with roughly comparable fight training got into a scrap, the person with the height and weight advantage is more likely to win said scrap. I mean, that's why they have weight limits in boxing and MMA, right? (If I'm wrong on this please let me know in the comments)
And so that brings us to the title of this post, the suspension of disbelief, and the point I think I a trying to make. To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure that I have one specific point, rather I am attempting to wrap my head around the consistently bizarre booking decisions I have seen WWE make since I delved head-first into the wrestling scene again in mid-2021 and even more than the decisions themselves, the justification for those decisions.
At some point when we choose to be professional wrestling fans, we also choose to willingly suspend our disbelief. We do this in a way that is both strikingly similar to and wholly unique from other art forms. Despite how many wrestling promotions attempt to portray themselves, and they are not wrong to do so, the closest comparison to the world of professional wrestling and the level of suspension of disbelief it requires is, and this really shouldn't come as much of a shock, television.
Wrestling is storytelling. It is storytelling on multiple levels - the in-ring work itself can and should be its own contained story - but it is the narrative that really matters, not the wins and losses. Now, don't get me wrong, the wins and losses are a very important part of building that narrative, but the who, when, how and why matter far more than they do in sport. In fact, wrestling is almost the antithesis of sport in its relationship with narrative. In sports, we see the results and construct a narrative about how we got there before speculating on what might happen next. In wrestling, we construct a narrative and decide what results will get us to where we need to go.
Those thoughts on the storytelling of professional wrestling probably got me a little off track there, and I a keen to explore them again some other time, but for now I'd like to return to the discussion of who can and can't beat who, and why the fans should or shouldn't but that outcome.
Broadly speaking, what I am suggesting is that any argument made by a wrestling promotion, or by wrestling fans that posits wrestler X could not defeat wrestler Y or would not make a believable or legitimate World Champion is completely ludicrous on multiple levels. The only level on which such a claim has any credence whatsoever, from a wrestling promotion standpoint a least, just so happens to be the level that results in a laughable self-own for said promotion. To put it another way, it is that promotion admitting their own failure.
From a wrestling fan's perspective, things are a little murkier. Who did, does or would make a good World Champion is mostly subjective, so we won't get into that right now.
Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels weren't World Champions because they were the fastest, the strongest or the best wrestlers (although you might be able to make an argument for Bret on that last point), they were given the chance because they were over with the fans, the style of match they delivered was consistently entertaining and, it could be argued, they had earned the opportunity. By the way, I'm aware that that last one is probably just a diplomatic way of saying politics but hey, politics is life and life is politics.
Once the decision was made to push Bret and Shawn as legitimate contenders and as champions, it was simply a matter of the promotional machine getting behind them (note: this doesn't always work) and of making sure the results went in their favour. And loathe as a lot of people would be to admit it, the exact same can be said of Hulk Hogan, Steve Austin, The Rock, John Cena, Roman Reigns and many more. The unpopular opinion I'm going to throw in here, and I'm not sure I really believe this, is that if the WWE had really wanted it any one of those above names could have been replaced by a comparable talent. That is to say, there is no such thing as an organic superstar and there is certainly no such thing as an organic World Champion.
The counterargument (or the one I'm going to address right now) to a lot of what I've written in those last two paragraphs is that the wrestlers who get to the very top of the mountain, the best of the best so to speak, possess a different level of charisma and whatever other intangibles you can identify that pushes them to that next level. The problem is, that's not an argument. It's a circular argument at best. It's the presents under the tree on Christmas morning proves the existence of Santa Claus argument. The real reason that these wrestlers became the megastars they did is they received the full backing of the WWE machine. The reason they received that backing is that they have "the look".
It's no secret that Vince McMahon has a vision for what professional wrestling is and should be and what the ideal professional wrestler looks like. Right or wrong, and it's important to note that he has had far more failures than successes in chasing this vision, he knows what he wants and he constantly pursues that want. In all honesty, he is right for doing so. History has shown that for the brand that is synonymous with professional wrestling, WWE, a 1 in 100 success rate is more than enough to stay relevant and profitable.
Just keep in mind, in an alternate universe, there is another version of Vince McMahon running a different version of WWE where the highly sought talent and skill set the ability to be a handsome, 6 foot 4 bodybuilder who is mobile enough to get around the ring and articulate enough to learn how to speak in front of a large crowd. In these alternate universes, our alternate Vinces have built their faux-sports organisations around athletic high flyers, mat technicians with an amateur wrestling background, or martial artists who can kick your head off if you look at them sideways.
We choose to suspend our disbelief. Wrestling promotions choose how they're going to present their talent. Our choice is influenced by their choice. There is almost no limit to what we are willing to believe, provided it is part of a well-told, coherent and believable story. Just like with television shows, these stories need to take place in a universe where the rules are clearly established and where the characters that inhabit the universe act in a manner that consistent and honest with the values of that character. Size, to finish on a cliche, doesn't matter.
Please, tell me I'm wrong.
Cheers
#wrestling#professional wrestling#wwe#shawn michaels#bret hart#cm punk#the undertaker#kevin nash#roman reigns#steve austin#the rock#hulk hogan#john cena#vince mcmahon
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