#mort: you insult me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diejager · 5 months

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for your cod monster au, you mentioned that graves was making jokes about turning you into a vampire. how did the guys react to that? im curious if graves did it more than once just to rile them up?

Pleasantries cw: mention of turning, mention of blood drinking, tell me if I missed any.

Graves likes to have fun, he loves putting himself first and the world next. He gorges like a wealthy king atop his throne, waving at men and women, coaxing them forward or backward to do what he wants, Graves is a person who does whatever he wants whenever he wants —or at least as much as he can until he gets into trouble.

He jokes on and on about turning you, of sinking his teeth into your soft skin. He can smell the sweetness in your veins, the healthy dose of iron and fat in your bloodstream that would satiate him much more than a homeless person eh picked up from the streets. Yours smelled good and he swears that it would taste as good as it smelled, honeyed and lightly spicy, something that would linger on his tongue pleasantly rather than the repulsive taste of rot.

He might joke about drinking you dry to rile them up, to watch them hold themselves back, heir eyes red and black with anger and disgust. He knows they can’t do anything about it unless they want him complaining and dropping the work, Shepherd would be mad about it. He had an upper-hand over them, the power of dictating whether the Shadows would help them capture Hassan or not with the drop of a hat if Graves didn’t like their characters.

They’re livid, faces red and scowling at Graves, something he relished in seeing, the self-restraint and control they had to wield. He could see the veins in Soap’s neck pop out, knowing that Soap might jump at him if you or the others weren’t there to hold him back. Ghost, ever as stoic and cold with anyone other than his direct squad, was an annoyance to Graves since he couldn’t seem to get to the man. Ghost stayed as cruel and demeaning as he was, spitting crude jabs at him or his Shadows, growling out orders or glaring at him as if he was an idiot. Gaz, as much as Graves would have liked, had little reaction to it, Gaz was naturally softhearted, gentle with you and handled you - moved you away - when Graves was around. Price had the same resilience and self-control as a wise and old dragon, patiently waiting for Graves or his Shadows to leave the room before growling out insults.

He might make the offer - threatened - to let his Shadows have a go at you, letting the hundred of thralls he had have a taste of your sweet blood, the blood from the only human near them. You were practically teasing them about it, neck uncovered and wearing t-shirt rather than long-sleeved ones around base.

Another part of him does it because, as mentioned before, you’re the only one with viable blood for him, not the mutt-tasting blood of a werewolf, the deathly rot of a wraith, the burn of a dragon or the shallow and tastelessness of a harpy. You were the only human on base that had an addictive smell, neither too strong like some women around the base, nor too light like the men who walked these halls. You had the right amount of sweetness and saltiness to you. Sweat and musk didn’t linger on you like they did with men, and flowery and fruity sugar didn’t cling to your skin like it did with the women who sprayed themselves with perfume.

Despite the burning glares Graves and his boys received from the Task Force, he found pleasure in being the source of their jealousy, their stupid possessiveness of a human he could easily turn into one of his to gift immortality and eternal beauty.

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colleendoran · 1 year

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Neil Gaiman's CHIVALRY: From Illuminated Manuscripts to Comics

One of the many reasons I wanted to adapt Neil Gaiman's Chivalry into graphic novel form was to create a comic as a bridge and commentary re: comics and illuminated manuscripts.

We're often told that the first comic book was Action Comics #1 featuring Superman, a collection of Superman comic strips that morphed into comic books as an art form.

Sequential art predates Action Comics #1.

Action Comics popularized sequential art book storytelling that had already appeared in other forms in fits and starts throughout history. Comic books didn't take off as a popular medium for several reasons, not least of which was the necessary printing process hadn't been invented yet and it's hard to popularize - and commercialize - something most people can never see.

You find sequential art in cave paintings and in Egyptian hieroglyphics. I've read that comics (manga) were invented by the Japanese in 12th century scrolls.

And sequential art appears over and over again in Western art going back well over 1000 years, and in book form at least 1100 years ago.

The most obvious example of early sequential art in Western art - as a complete narrative in sequence - is the Bayeux Tapestry.

At 230 feet long, this embroidered length of cloth was likely commissioned around the year 1070 by Bishop Odo, brother of William the Conqueror. It depicts the Battle of Hastings in 1066 and the invasion of England by the Normans. (The tapestry was made in England, not in France, but it is called the Bayeux tapestry because that's where it is now.)

Imagine what a task it was to embroider this thing. Whew. And you thought it was hard learning Photoshop.

This work of art is important in the history of sequential narrative, but the Norman invasion is also important to the legend of King Arthur - and another important English legend - for reasons we'll get into later.

It's complicated.

All this is why you see this art in the background of this page of Chivalry.

Using the Romanesque art style of the tapestry in panel 1, I've added the Latin phrase "Rex Quondom, Rexque Futurus" - "The Once and Future King", the final words of Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur as inscribed on King Arthur's tomb, and the title of T.H. White's famous Arthurian novel. (EDIT) and it has been kindly pointed out to me that QUONDOM should be QUONDAM, which is hilarious and annoying and this is how history gets rewritten by accident.

My original intention was to draw this Bayeux Tapestry scene out and juxtapose it with shots of Galaad interacting with the children, but the two page sequence I imagined didn't really work as well in reality as it did in my head.

Foremost among my concerns was that the tapestry reference might be too obscure for most readers. I wanted to weave the visual meta-text of Chivalry into the story (For further reading on this project and my use of visual meta-text, symbolism, and history in Neil Gaiman's Chivalry, go HERE. And HERE. And HERE. And Yet again HERE.) in such a way as it would enhance the experience for people who "got" the visual meaning, while not dragging things down for people who didn't. So I cut this scene down to one panel.

The tapestry is a complete, long form comic strip created over 1100 years before some people claim comics were invented. So, I loved being able to reference it here.

But even more interesting to me are the sequential art sequences that appear in illuminated manuscripts - comics in book form.

I once got into a rather vicious argument with an academic who insisted illuminated manuscripts were comics. I said no. She said yes. Then she insulted the lowly comic artist and blocked me on Facebook.

Whatever.

My point was not that you can't find sequential art in illuminated manuscripts. My point is that an illustrated book isn't de facto a comic. Most illuminated manuscripts are illustrated books. Some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art.

Just because opera is music, that doesn't mean all music is opera.

Just because comics books are books that doesn't mean all books are comic books.

And just because some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art, that doesn't mean all illuminated manuscripts are sequential art.

But one is.

Let me show you it.

One of the earliest examples of an illuminated manuscript with comic art is The Bible d'Etienne Harding which you can see in this really bad jpg here, sorry, best I could find.

Created around the year 1109, property of a French Cistercian monk, it combines sequences like this with pages of text and illustration.

Not a comic book IMHO, but an illuminated manuscript with sequences of text, illustration and sequential narrative.

It's no more a "comic book" than a newspaper is for having text, illustration, and comic strips in it.

IMHO, academic lady.

And here's a look at the Old English Hexateuch (hexateuch refers to the first 6 books of the Bible) which I think is far more visually complex and interesting work, and comes much closer to the illuminated manuscript as comic, but still intersperses large sequences of text and illustration with sequential storytelling sequences. So I don't consider it a comic, but a book with sequential work in it.

Now this work below is a different matter. This is from the Holkham Bible Picture Book, circa about 1330.

This thing is genius. It measures a little larger than a modern comic, around 8"x11", and almost every page of it is like this spread here. 231 pages of beautifully rendered art, with repeated use of banderoles - "speech scrolls" (basically word balloons) - and captions, and (mostly) real sequential art. I've never seen anything else that comes even close to it, and by all accounts, neither has anyone else.

It may not be a modern comic book - but it's a comic book as far as I can tell. I don't think there's any other illuminated manuscript that is as complete, sophisticated, and innovative a sequential storytelling work.

If this were printed and seen by more people, the comic book medium would have taken off centuries earlier, IMHO. But it wasn't. It was tucked away in a monastery somewhere and few people ever saw it. It ended up being forgotten for centuries until it popped up again around 1816 when a banker sold it to an avid book collector, Thomas Coke, Earl of Leicester, who inherited Holkham Hall and its library and set about restoring and expanding it.

The banker wrote, “a very curious MS. just brought here from the Continent. . . which I think one of the greatest curiosities I ever saw”.

Sequential art got invented over and over and over by one artist after another until one day centuries later, some teenaged boys found their newspaper strips gathered together in a cheap format, and suddenly comic books were popular and like new.

And then a lot of people who didn't seem to realize that books had had pictures in them for centuries got all up in arms about the harms of books with pictures in them.

I think it's funny that it is called the Holkham Bible Picture Book. There really was no "comic" art language when this work was created or when academics began to catalogue this sort of thing. Will they change the name now?

Who can say.

Anyway, another Holkham Bible Picture Book reference for you.

Look familiar?

I referenced it in this scene in Chivalry.

One of the fun things about the Holkham is that it opens with a discussion between a friar who has commissioned the work and the artist. The friar admonishes the artist to do a good job on the project because it will be shown to important people. And the artist responds, "Indeed, I certainly will and, if God lets me live, never will you see another such book."

He wasn't kidding.

You can see the entire manuscript HERE.

Sponsored by my Patreon. Thank you.

#chivalry #neilgaiman #neil gaiman #darkhorsecomics #dark horse comics #illuminated manuscript #medieval art #medieval manuscripts #watercolor #watercolor art #king arthur #arthuriana #arthurian legend #sir galahad

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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La Petite Mort - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir

Summary: R deals with RJ, Lorraine gets jealous

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, tiniest little bit of blood and physical violence

A/N: Turns out jet lag is cool because you can wake up at 4AM and start writing again. The headcanons from yesterday helped me break through the writers block, thank you guys!! Let me know what you guys want to see next!

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part VI

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

The words rattle around in your skull, bouncing haphazardly in the blank space. For a brief, blissful moment, nothing else exists but you and Lorraine. She’s there, right in front of you, in your arms. Her big doe eyes pleading with you, don’t go.

Like many perfect things, your flawless moment is brief and shattered by reality. The hum in your ears begins to fade as voices are raised around you. Your tunnel vision widens, expanding the scope past Lorraine’s freckled nose. Everything seems to be happening in a vacuum, sluggish and unreal. You feel like you’re just an observer of the universe, not meant to interact with its characters.

You look at RJ over the top of Lorraine’s head, his expression furious. You grant him that; you’d be angry if you were him too. The van door behind him is open, the film crew all watching with bated breath, wide smiles on Maxine and Bobby-Lynne’s faces. Maxine shoots you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, making you huff out a laugh despite the situation.

Lorraine wraps her fingers into the hem of your shirt, pulling herself tightly to you, completely disregarding everyone else. You know you’re not going to leave with her wrapped around you, and she does too. RJ shakes his head, his mouth open in silent shock. He throws his hands up, his expression pained.

“What are you doing, Raine?” He asks, pacing, “What is going on right now?”

You don’t speak, only observe. Lorraine squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself against your chest. She’s not ready to deal with him, but she needs to be. You rub her back, trying to comfort her. RJ continues to pace.

“You owe me an explanation, Lorraine! You owe me!”

You disagree with his approach; his tone is far too harsh. But you do agree with what he says. She does owe him an explanation. You crane your neck to see her face against your shirt, dip your head down to whisper to her.

“He’s not wrong. It’s the decent thing to do.”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against your sternum. The interaction sends RJ from confused irritation to absolute outrage.

“Two years, Lorraine! Two years and this is what I get in return? You’re running behind my back, sneaking around and with her?”

That gets her attention; yours already snapped onto him. His face is red, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands shaking. If ever this man can be dangerous, you know it’s right now. There is very little more unstable than an embarrassed man. You eye him warily, unsure of his next move.

Lorraine turns to him, her gaze lowered to his feet, her back only inches from you. She wrings her fingers, and you can’t see it, but you know her lip is being chewed to high hell.

“I…I don’t know how…to explain-“ she starts, “it just happened, and then you came back, and I had a lot to figure out- “

“A lot to figure out?!” He shouts over her, advancing on her but stopping a few feet short, “How is there anything to figure out? You’re supposed to be a sweet girl Lorraine. That’s what I loved about you. But you’re not a sweet girl, are you? You’re just…you’re just a whore!”

His words make you tremble with anger. You understand his plight, can have empathy for the man. But you would not stand for him insulting her. You take a step forward, silently setting a boundary. His lip curls at you, his eyes wild.

“I’m not…I’m not a whore,” Lorraine says, her voice soft and shaking, “I love her.”

RJ looks like he’s had the wind knocked right out of him. His breath comes out in a whoosh as her words snap into the morning air. The audience in the van is dead quiet, jaws dropped open.

“I-I love you, Rainey. I do. It’s you and me.” He says, reaching out to her, his tone changing completely.

She steps back and leans into you shaking her head, “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream, RJ?”

Everyone is shaken, Lorraine is standing up to him. Your chest swells with pride, watching her go from cowering to straightening her spine. Her frantic eyes more sure now, watching him. You brush your fingers against her wrist, reassuring her that you’re there.

RJ shakes his head, “What-what kind of question is that?”

Lorraine tilts her head, “An easy one, I think, for someone who’s in love with me.”

Her expression is pained; she takes no pleasure in this. When RJ answers her with “Chocolate chip,” she closes her eyes and nods.

“It’s strawberry,” you say from behind her and snap your jaw shut. You hadn’t meant to interject, but it was an unconscious reaction.

You take note of the fact that RJ’s entire body goes rigid. His fists curl at his sides, his jaw flexing. You know he’s going to do something stupid in his desperation. He takes a step toward Lorraine, and you feel yourself winding up, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action.

Wayne climbs out of the van and circles around, his hands out in front of him. He wants to diffuse the situation, but you can see in the way RJ’s lip twitches that it hasn’t worked. The moment is a ticking bomb, every second passing by filled with nervous tension. Your heartbeat is slow, steady. Your eyes trained on RJ, tracking his every movement.

Lorraine steps toward him, her brows furrowed, her worry for him growing. He calms slightly, the muscle in his jaw relaxing and his fists unclenching. His eyes grow wide, his mouth downturned. He looks like a child, you think. It almost makes you feel bad for him. Almost.

“It’s time for you to go, RJ. I’m sorry it turned out this way.” Lorraine says softly, reaching her hand out to comfort him.

His fingers wrap around her bicep, and the wild look in his eyes is back. He pulls her into his body, her hands pressing against his chest. She struggles back, but his arms around her keep her pinned there. The whole thing lasts less than a second.

Before RJ can even speak to justify himself, your knuckles are connecting with his cheekbone. A satisfying crunch pops around the bones in your hand, his glasses fly off his face. Lorraine stumbles backward, free of his grasp, as he crumbles to the ground. His shoulder hits the dirt, and his hands fly up to his face, crying out and inspecting the damage. His nose is bleeding, and a red and purple bruise is already forming above his cheek.

“Woah, now!” Wayne cries out as you step over RJ.

He takes a step toward you but is halted by your look. The girls in the van twitter like birds at the commotion, but neither of them protests. Jackson sits quietly, waiting to see the outcome. You’re not sure where Lorraine is, somewhere behind you.

You grab the collar of RJ’s shirt and pull him up to your face. With your free hand, you dust his shoulders off, and you give him an apologetic half-smile. You’re not sorry for punching him. You’re not sorry for what you’ve done with Lorraine. But you are sorry that someone has to be hurt in this situation.

“You don’t love her, man.” You say, your voice low, your faces inches from each other.

RJ deflates, his weight hanging in your hand, “I…I…” he sighs, squinting at you, “I wanted to.”

You see Maxine move out of the van and approach you from the side, RJ’s collar still secure in your grip. She squats down and hands over his glasses, which you take and wipe on your shirt. You let go of him, but you remain in his space, Maxine hovering just outside of it. You place the glasses back on his face.

“She deserves to be loved, not just wanted,” you say, searching his face for a reaction.

Maxine whistles, low and long, “Now there’s some cowboy wisdom. I see why she loves you, handsome. You’re a regular Casanova, ain’t ya?”

RJ turns to look at Maxine, still shell-shocked. You stand and reach your hand down for him to grasp. He hesitates but takes the offer, and you pull him to his feet. His nose gushes with blood, making you wince.

“You’re gonna want somethin for that,” you say, gesturing at the blood geyser on his face.

Bobby-Lynne sidles up to him, a tampon in her hands. She fusses over him, shoving the cotton up his nose while he whines. She pulls him back toward the van, he follows with unsure backward steps, shaking his head. His eyes lock on to something over your shoulder, and you know it must be Lorraine. You turn to watch her, surprised to find the stubborn set in her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her brown eyes cold.

You had only seen that look on her face twice in your lifetime. Once when Mr. Day had to put down a sick cow, Lorraine absolutely insisted she be there. Her father had denied her, and the next day she was in the barn, arms crossed and refusing to leave the cow’s side. The second time you were teenagers, and you were slowly drifting apart. Your parent's divorce sent you down a path of alcohol, drugs, and sex at a young age. Lorraine climbed into your bedroom window one night and would not leave until you explained to her why you were pushing her away. She never left your side, and you never pushed her away again.

And now, as she watches her boyfriend… ex-boyfriend get pulled into the van, she wears that same look. You turn back to the van, watch as the crew piles in. Maxine rolls down her window and winks at you.

As Wayne puts it in gear and begins to roll away, she leans out and yells, “You treat her right, church mouse! Or I’ll come back for her!” She blows a kiss and laughs as the car kicks up dust and rolls down the driveway.

You put your hands on your hips and laugh, shaking your head. When you turn back to Lorraine, her eyes are narrowed at you.

“What?” You yelp, your smile washing away from your face.

“That’s not funny,” she growls.

You smirk, “I mean, it’s a little funny, Rai-“

Your words are swallowed whole, Lorraine’s lips crashing into yours, her teeth knocking against yours in her haste. She pulls you back and leans against the trailer with her hands wrapped in the front of your shirt. She's possessive, her mouth hot against your lips, her hands pulling at you. You fall into her, let her expend her pent-up anxiety with soft sighs through her nose.

When she calms, you push back, creating enough space to look down at her. There is worry in her eyes, set in the lines between her brows.

“You’re not leavin',” she whispers, her hands still tight on your shirt.

You wrap your fingers around hers, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The relief that washes over her is intense, her grip loosening and her shoulders dropping. She leans her head back against the metal wall of the trailer and exhales, her hands shaking. You feel your tension wash away; all you want to do is comfort her in that moment.

You kiss her cheek, lean back and smile softly, “Go back a bag.”

She frowns again, “A bag?”

You nod, “I’m already packed up. Let’s get away for a bit. Somewhere we can talk and sort this out.”

She blinks slowly at you, mulling it over, then nods. You step back, and she releases her hold on your shirt, her eyes searching your face.

“If you leave while I’m in the house, so help me-“

You laugh, “I’m not gonna leave you here, Rainey. I’ll get Pearl and load her up. Go pack a bag.”

——

The drive to Big Bend National Park is probably further than necessary, but 8 hours in the truck with Lorraine seems like the sensible thing to do. Your heart sings at the sight of her in your passenger seat, your bags in the truck bed, horses in the trailer. It feels like living out a dream.

You glance over at her, absorbing as much of the vision as you can. Her feet up on the dashboard, wind whipping in her hair, the radio softly playing your favorite Queen song. You turn your eyes back to the road, tapping at the steering wheel, watching the desert and tumbleweeds roll by.

Around hour four, Lorraine gets restless. She fiddles with the radio, hand surfs the wind out her window, runs her hand up your thigh.

“Let’s stop in Sonora, I’m tired of bein in the truck. And the horses need to get out.”

You glance over at her, apprehensive, “They don’t need to get out, and you know it. We’re halfway there; we can set up camp by midnight.”

She shakes her head, “It’s late, I want to sleep in a bed.”

You chew your lip, torn between wanting to give her what she wants and pushing on until you get where you’re going.

“Hotels round here ain’t exactly welcoming to two women in one room Raine.”

She shrugs, “We’ll get two rooms then.”

You sigh, rub your eyes. The setting sun is making you sleepy, and it has been a long day. You relent with no further pushing from Lorraine. You pull off the highway exit into the small town, and find the closest motel.

The parking lot is nearly empty, a broken down Honda on cinder blocks rests near the front office, and a handful of trucks are parked outside sporadically spaced. You pull in sideways, taking up several empty parking stalls.

“Stay here, I’ll get our rooms,” you grumble, and Lorraine nods sleepily.

The reception desk is vacant when you stroll inside, the dark wood walls and pictures of buffalo making the space feel long abandoned. The only sign of life is the quiet tinkling of a radio playing an old country song. You slap the bell on the counter and wait for a response. A few minutes go by, and none comes, so you hit it again.

You can hear shuffling from a back room, a smoky cough, and then a short old woman titters up to the desk, her hair and makeup bearing a striking resemblance to Dolly Parton. She clears her throat and stares at you, not speaking.

You blink at her, waiting for her to speak, but she continues to stare.

“Howdy,” you say, unsure, “You got two rooms available?”

She narrows her eyes at you, and speaks in a growling smoker's voice, “You dealin drugs?”

You jerk back, surprised, “Uh, no, ma’am. My friend and I are on a trip to Big Bend.”

She cranes her neck to see out the window, eyeing your trailer, “No cartel business at my hotel.”

You put your hands up, “No, ma’am I’m not involved in that. Just a ranch hand, takin a break is all.”

Her expression softens as she accepts your answer. She slides two keys over to you and takes your money.

“Check out is 9 AM. No smoking in the room.”

You eye the burning cigarette in an ashtray behind her and raise your eyebrow at her. Not wanting to push your luck, you nod and sweep the keys off the counter. You tip your hat and back out the door.

Lorraine is asleep in the passenger seat when you round the truck. You open the door and rouse her gently, unlock her bedroom door, and guide her to bed. With her safely tucked in, you leave the keys on her bedside table and head back out to lock the horse trailer.

When you finally settle into your bed, the exhaustion of the day presses into you. The water stains on the ceiling and the faint smell of cigarette smoke don’t deter you from crashing into a deep sleep.

——

Maxine’s laughter fills your mind, her high-pitched voice wrapping around your throat and suffocating you. RJ begins to laugh and then cries somewhere in the distance. The Days pass through your line of sight, waltzing over the dirt, kicking up dust in their wake. CB snorts and stomps next to you. Everything moves in a choppy, jumpy way. People appear and dissolve in your vision, and then Lorraine snaps into view. Everything else fades away, and suddenly you’re sitting on the hay bales in the barn, she’s in your lap, and she’s kissing your neck. Your heart races, and a jolt of electricity shoots through you. You’re not surprised to find yourself in your underwear and then suddenly naked.

It occurs to you that you’re dreaming, but the thought is fleeting. Lorraine slides down your body and settles herself between your legs, her hands on your knees. Your chest heaving, your eyes wide, you run your fingers through her thick hair. When her mouth finds your center, you gasp.

You shoot up in your bed, the water stain above your head swimming into view. Your sleep-heavy brain takes a minute to register the hands on your hips and the lips pressing into your leg. The chain on your door is locked; nothing makes sense. You feel a tongue press between your legs, and you gasp again, throwing the blankets back.

You blink hard, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them, disbelief flooding you. Lorraine fucking Day, snuck into your room, slid under your blankets, stripped you down, and woke you up with her mouth doing unholy things to your body. You push her hair away from her face, sighing at the feeling of her tongue on you.

Your voice is breathy, low, “Baby, what-“

She sucks your clit between her lips and pushes her hand against your stomach. You drop back into the pillow, deciding to just let the moment be what it is. You’ll gather your senses later. Right now, you’re enjoying what she’s doing to you. Briefly, you wonder how she’s so good at this. You let the thought slip through your mind like sugar in a sieve.

Her hand slides up your ribs, her thumb caressing your skin as she squeezes your side. Quiet, indulgent moans leave your throat as she runs her tongue through you, building you up. She hums into you, and it sends you into overdrive. Your hips tilt up gently, seeking more contact with her mouth. She continues, consistent and steady, sucking and licking until you’re rocked by your orgasm. Your body shudders under her, your legs squeezing her head. You fall limp around her, and she presses a last kiss to the inside of your knee.

She crawls up your body, and you can see now she’s bare, naked as the day she came. She sits on your hips, hot against your skin, and leans down to kiss you languidly. Your hands run over her cheeks and back into her hair, anchoring you to her while you come down. She leans back, smiling down at you, and your heart skips a beat.

“Wha-what was that?” You ask, shivering under her.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, her skin illuminated by the strips of silver moonlight creeping in through the blinds, “A reminder.”

You frown, your hands reaching out to hold her hips, “A reminder of what?”

She leans over you, her voice gravelly, “Not to make jokes about running off with Maxine.”

You would laugh if this possessive side of her didn’t turn you on so much. The glint in her eyes makes you feel like you’re made of pure gold, something to be hoarded and guarded aggressively. It’s foreign on her, and it’s delicious. So delicious, you’re practically drooling at the thought of her taste.

You pull her down into a kiss, running your tongue over her lips, your hands abandoning their post in her hair and making their way to her thighs. You want her in every way possible, all at once. You want to consume her, absorb her into yourself, and carry her around with you everywhere.

You settle for slipping two fingers inside of her wet heat, your tongue in her mouth, her chest pressing into yours. It’s the closest you can get to becoming one with her, entangled as far as you can go. She sits up, holding her weight in her legs, and grinds into your fingers, one hand on your chest, the other on her own leg. She doesn’t give you room to move, instead taking what she wants from you, rolling her hips and biting her lip.

You reach up with your free hand and pull her lip from her teeth, running your thumb over it. You don’t think your pupils could expand more than they do when takes your thumb in her mouth, rolls her tongue, and sucks on it, all while riding your other hand. It’s enough to send you into another orgasm.

She releases your thumb with a pop and watches as you shiver under her. Her mouth slightly open, she begins to pant. Your hand goes straight to her nipple, you roll it between your fingers, and that’s what it takes for her. She moans your name out and drops over you, holding herself up with shaking arms. You lift your head and lick at her throat, your eyes rolling back at the vibration when she groans. She tightens around you, gripping your fingers until she cums around them and collapses.

When you pull your hand away, your fingers sticky on her ribs, she’s back to herself. She curls around you, leaves soft kisses on your collarbone and under your jaw. She shivers, presses her face into your neck, and sighs.

“I have half a mind to make you jealous more often if that’s the treatment I’m gonna get,” your voice breaks the silence, a soft chuckle escaping from your chest.

She pinches your side and sits up on her elbow.

“Ouch!” You yelp, trying to squirm away from her.

“That’s not funny,” she says, looking down at you, her hair falling over her shoulder.

You shrug, grinning, “I mean, it’s a little funny.”

She tilts her head, “You make me jealous on purpose, and I’ll just hold out on you next time.”

You gasp, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You know, without a doubt she is serious. Not wanting to push your luck, you pull her down and kiss her softly, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. She pulls back to lay her head under your chin, her breathing even and slow across your skin. Suddenly you’re grateful for dingy motels and Lorraine’s knack for breaking and entering.

#lpm #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader

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thatdeadaquarius · 9 months

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OKAY BUT I HAVE MORE IDEA FOR BLUNT READER CUZ I LOVE THAT AU SO MUCHANDMDJFKSLDKF

So you know how french people's insult are always outta pocket (from a person who's first language is french I can tell you that no other language compares in insult -apart for African languages)

Like,, some "bad" insult here would be : bitch, fuck off, whore,..

Which we can all agree is boring...

BUT THEN IN FRENCH!!!

We be getting creative with it

Eg.

"mange tes mort" wich translates to "eat your dead (relatives)"

"vas te fair enculer" means "go get yourself pegged in the ass"

(yes, we have a specific word for being fucked in the ass 💀)

AND THOSE WOULD BE THE COMMON ONES AS WELL

English could never compare ✨

BUT ANYWAYS

how would the characters react if reader was from france/ belgium/ canada(or any other french speaking country) and started cursing people out like they eould do in their home countrie !?!?

The eay their face would drop

We would make a couple of people cry

AND GOD(us haha) FORBID A KID OVER-HEAR US AND STARTS REPEATING US

Trying to un-teach them would be hell *cries*

Your thoughts?

Love yaaaa~

ABSOLUTE TOP TIER ORAH MY BELOVED!!

Nobody has any idea how much I HATE ENGLISH both for its rules/pronounciation BS/etc. But also, most importantly, THERES LIKE NO GOOD CUSS WORDS- OR LIKE CUSS PHRASES??

I HAD TO PUT THIS GIF BC THAT WAS LITERALLY ME WHEN I HAD THE REALIZATION TO LOOK UP OTHER LANGUAGE CUSS WORDS AND I WAS JUST BLOWN AWAY BY HOW GOOD THEY WERE- HOW CREATIVE- 😫😭🥲 ENGLISH WHY R U SO SHITY IN EVERY POSSIBLE LANGUAGE SITUATION-

like idk we got "eat shit and die / fuck off / go fuck yourself" ???? Like- thats pathetic 😟.

I love hearing someone just cuss smbody out their native language/non-english, it’s so badass and cool to see

Anyway u already know i love non-native english speakers from the bottom of my heart✨️

GOD I FUCKING LOVE BLUNT LANGUAGE AU ITS LIKE ONE OF TOP FAV AS U CAN PROBABLY GUESS I COULD WRITE A LITERAL FANFIC ENTIRELY OFF THIS SIMPLE PREMISE 💖💓💗💞❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

omg so i HAVE SPECIFICALLY HEARD ABT FRENCH BEING RLLY CREATIVEEE

and i researched french cusswords/phrases,,,

😭 BRO IM CRYING

“bête comme ses pieds!” IM ROLLING ON THE FLOOR-

(trans: you’re as stupid AS YOUR FEEEEEETT)

idk what’s funnier, you translating urself in real time and saying all these phrases to ppl,

OR just scaring the ever-loving shit out of every teyvat citizen within a mile radius bc oh wow- you look pissed, so yeah somebody’s about to lose all their self-esteem for the rest of their life bc ur insults are known to be extra cutting bc ur so blunt-

OH CREATOR ABOVE (…oh creator, present??)- you changed to your holy language FOR THIS???

everybody just giving the npc the most bombastic side-eye for pushing you to do this,

or even just you stubbing ur toe/ate food when it was too hot

or my favorite, getting onto ppl like Wanderer when they do smth silly lmao

STOP I HAD A FOUL THOUGHT OF GETTING ONTO Ei AND WANDERER (like ei for not keeping him/at least giving him to someone else to raise, then all the shit he did as Scaramouche lol)

AND THIS CUSSWORD COMES OUT UNDER UR BREATH OR SMTH- DOES THIS FIT BC THIS KILLS ME:

“Putain de salope…” (whore of whore, I LIED IT MEANS FUCKING BITCH LMAO😭)

JUST GETTING THE MOM AND THE SON IN ONE FULL BREATH CRYINGGGG

STOPPP wanderer using it against other ppl ever since u used it lol

oh no stop dont bring the kids into thisss 😭😭

Klee would deffo be the first one to pick up ur words and use them, omg she just uses them as catchphrases like when throwing her bombs 💀

“Mange tes mort!” JUST WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE AS SHE THROWS HER HUGE SKILL BOMB INTO A FISH POND

Venti would definitely make sure the winds “pass along phrases of the sacred All-God language!”

which just means anyone who UNDERSTANDS YOU JUST GETS GENTLY CREATIVELY CUSSED OUT BY THE WIND IM SOBBINGGG

☆

i hope u guys are having a great summer! its basically too hot to go outside where I am, not unless ur going straight into the water or smth

which hey, ill be doing that this weekend, floating down the river about an hour away from my house with friends! :]

which,,, if anyone sees this, U GOTTA HELP ME THINK OF A 1000 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE THING TO DO IDK WHAT TO DO BUT I WANNA CELEBRATE IT BC I NEVER THOUGHT THATD HAPPEN!! lmk what u think in the comments if u read this!

☆

Safe Travels 0rah,

💀♒

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi

#srry i take so long to answer smth so simple #i actually have a surprising amount of asks!#i was thinkin abt it the other day like #damn should i reopen mail box #then i was like #not really bc i still got a lot of stuff to answer!#so now ITS CRAZZYYY to see my first posts/asks and see me trying to get ppl to send asks!#anyway i gotta make a 1000 followers thing bc i love u guys #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #genshin imagines #genshin isekai #gender neutral reader #self aware genshin #genshin impact au #genshin x reader

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starrbitez · 14 days

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Is it a coincidence that both Rick AND Beth abandoned morty for summer? Like father like daughter? And isn’t it interesting that in this universe she doesn’t regret not aborting summer? They way rick hugs summer back in the gotron episode. But he never hugs morty back until fear no mort, but even that has hesitation. He said summer reminds him of Diane. Does Beth think that too? would rick abandon morty for Diane if given the chance— morty clear thinks so from his pov in the hole, but the question is, would Beth give up morty and summer to see her mother? I really want to dissect why everyone in the family dislikes morty.

Jerry calls morty stupid multiple times, and always yells at him for not trying hard enough. I see this as projection, personally. Jerry projects his own insecurities onto his son because he cant be the Only one like this. Morty even says he’s just like his dad, when someone asks “is everyone in your family an idiot?” And morty says “well for sure me and my dad are” in the Pluto episode.

Rick dislikes morty early on because he is supposed to. He knows thats how Ricks are supposed to treat morty, but we clearly see that rick cares the most, especially in Close Encounters of the Rick Kind, where he cries watching memories of morty. Evil rick says that no rick cares about their morty, and from then on we see rick continuously overcompensate with insults towards morty. However, we see that rick truly cares in multiple episodes, to name a few; Meseeks and Destroy, Get Schwifty, Look who’s Purging Now, Rest and Ricklaxation. These are all episodes prior to season five, where rick realizes he is a bad partner and leaves. Something interesting is that in GoTron, Rick only abandons Morty when his ideas are not being backed, and are instead being backed by summer, who he says reminds him of Diane (in fear no mort). It’s interesting because we can assume that rick is looking for comfort and acceptance from Diane, and the closest person he can get it from is Summer. He also values summer in this episode because she has never really stood up to Rick on adventures, something Rick dislikes about Morty.

It’s also interesting to add to the mix that his Morty is Morty Prime, the grandson of the man who killed his family. Rick had no problem leaving the rest of the Prime dimension behind, but on some level i think he knew that he needed Morty Prime (before he had even really gotten attached). Rick values the one thing he has against Prime, but he knows that Prime is in Morty’s blood, and I think every time Morty stands up to Rick he sees a small flash of Prime in the kid’s personality, and it scares him to death. It’s a juxtaposition between one grandchild representing his dead wife, and the other representing his mortal enemy.

Finally, I want to talk about why Beth seems to dislike Morty so much, only really showing she cares when he’s in distress—and when she’s right. Beth obviously seeks Rick’s approval, and because of that she has a lot of the same traits. Again, Morty stands up to her, (i forget what the episode is called) but when Summer is turned giant, Morty tells Beth that she is just as arrogant and reckless as Rick, and that being like him isn’t going to make him like her more. Beth wants attention more than anything, and when she and Jerry are going through the divorce in season two, Summer immediately chooses her mother, refusing to talk to Jerry at all. Morty, however, talks to both of his parents. Beth values loyalty and trust over everything, and her abandonment issues are obvious when she appreciates people who stay more. In the Prime dimension, Beth Prime tells Jerry, “a real man stands by his woman,” and in the post credits scene they have this exchange:

Jerry: do you ever wonder what happened to rick and morty?

Beth: sometimes, but i hate to admit that now that they’re gone, im finally happy.

Beth knows that Rick would always abandon her, and on some level i think she believes that morty is betraying her by putting trust in rick, among her disappointment in a lot of Mortys actions in school and socially. This episode really shows that she values Jerry and Summer above Rick and Morty, because Jerry and Summer would always stay.

Beth and Summer both know that Beth had almost aborted Summer, and Beth wants to prove that she’s not like her father; that she wont suddenly abandon or betray her daughter. Choosing Summer over Morty in Morty’s Mind Blowers is Beth’s way of showing her devotion and loyalty to her daughter, saying that she wouldn’t leave. She’s better than Rick. Again, in the GoTron episode, Beth is willing to leave morty behind because she trusts Jerry, summer, and Rick more, because she knows they could leave, and she needs them to stay with her, because they have shown that they’ll stay with her. the only time Beth truly comforts and shows affection to Morty is in the Planetina episode, where she consoles him after the break up. In some way, this reminds me of something Rick would do, and has done. She and Rick had both at one point manipulated a loved ones relationship for their own benefit, or simply to hurt someone else. Rick sabotaged Beth and Jerry’s marriage multiple times, and Beth (even though she was right bc planetina was lowkey weird as hell) sabotaged Morty’s relationship—actually his happiness, and the first time he had felt valued—because she needed to feel valued more, the same way rick wanted to be valued over Jerry.

Idk if this makes sense im just kind of spitballing here but . I think everyone in the family has a distinct reason for disliking and excluding morty, and while they have their moments, i don’t really think they matter compared to the sheer amount of disrespect morty gets. I didn’t put summer here because they both have their own problems, and for the most part they value each other the same amount because they both want to break the cycle their family is stuck in.

If u read all of this thank u :) lmk what u think

#rick and morty #morty smith #rick n morty #morty #rnm #rick sanchez

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lost-between-letters · 1 year

Text

Pet Names

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x vampire!Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @animealways

Warnings: canon typical levels of violent threats/insults

Word Count: 743

Summary: Wednesday was on a call with her family when her girlfriend decided to crash the conversation with her bubbly personality

A/N: that was so much fun to write! Requests for all our favourite Wednesday characters are still very much open :)

"Larissa is still as strict about your free time outside of Nevermore as the last time we visited I trust?" Morticia inquired with a wave of her hand.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at the memory of Prinicpal Weems' pathetic attempts at limiting her in her decision making. It was getting quite repetitive to have those conversations - for thinking of herself that highly, Principal Weems wasn't acting as much as the evil mastermind Wednesday had longed to meet.

"She told me to stay on the grounds for the foreseeable future and should I be caught, I'd be 'facing consequences you won't like Miss Addams'."

There wasn't a need to put up the gesture or air quotations as her voice dropped into the sickly sweet tone Wednesday only ever used when she was forced to talk about her principal.

"Ah my darling!" Gomez exclaimed delighted and clapped his hands, "getting threatened by a teacher? We told you, you'd love the school!"

"It has become-" Wednesday whipped her head around. Someone was in the room with her.

And not one of her summoned spirits.

The mirror on Enid's side reflected an empty room but Wednesday felt the cold presence nonetheless.

"I got you the pig's blood for the ceremony, my sweet angel of death!"

A moment later, Y/N was leaning over Wednesday's desk chair and planted a kiss on her cheek for good measure.

"I told you not to call me that." Wednesday turned and fixed her with her most terrifying glare.

But Y/N just grinned wide enough to show off her pointed teeth and held up the bags of blood. Nothing quite romantic as the idle threat of being mauled to death by your girlfriend. Wednesday knew why she chose her. "And I keep ignoring it."

"You're a menace, bloodsucker."

"Now now, what was that about pet names, ma fleur du mort?"

Someone cleared their throat behind them.

Both of their eyes shot back to the crystal ball where Gomez was clutching Morticia's hand, there faces filled with confusion and - happiness? Ugh.

Pugsley was doing his best to suppress the shit eating grin. "'My sweet angel of death' Wednesday? Really?"

"Make fun of Y/N and I will use your spinal chord as my new bow for my cello."

Y/N damn near choked on her own spit next to her. Not that Wednesday cared particularly - right now, she needed her family to stop being normal about her relationship.

Of course, she still reached for Y/N's hand and hooked her fingers around her wrist to drag her down next to her.

"Pig's blood for a ritual with her girlfriend? Cara mia, our little girl is growing up so fast!" Gomez clutched Morticia's hand between his and pressed it to his chest.

Her mother tilted her head just so and studied Y/N intently. Wednesday resorted to glaring at her in return. She could feel Y/N tense up under Morticia's gaze so Wednesday took the metaphorical bullet and spoke up.

"I am. In fact, we have to leave now or the moon will be too high in the sky for us."

"Very well my dear," her mother had stopped the x-ray stare and was smiling down at their interlocked hands. Then her eyes wandered up to meet Y/N's. "I hope you two are having fun."

"At least as much as your mother and I had when we were your age," Gomez added with a wink.

"We need to go now," Wednesday emphasised again and threw the black fabric across the crystal ball.

The connection cut off almost instantly. Though not fast enough not to hear Gomez delighted chuckling and Morticia's agreeable humming.

"Your parents are quite something else," Y/N remarked as she caught up to her girlfriend who was already halfway across the room to the window.

Wednesday merely opened a panel and looked at her unimpressed. "We really need to get going."

Y/N slipped out and wrapped her arm around Wednesday's shoulders to pull her into her side and brushed a kiss to her temple. The effect was instant - Wednesday ever so lightly relaxed and her lips quirked up just a little bit.

"And you really are a menace," she added but wound her own arm around Y/N's waist.

Unsurprisingly, Y/N wasn’t affected by the accusation in the slightest. Instead she laughed. "You wouldn't want it any other way."

Wednesday sighed. "Let's light those candles already, bloodsucker."

"Whatever you wish ma fleur du mort."

Join a Taglist!

#wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x y/n #wednesday addams #wednesday addams fanfic

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fandomwe1rd0 · 2 months

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Why I think Morty is Rick's favorite person

We get confrimation in season 7, episode 7 "Wet Kaut Summer" and in season 7 episode 6, that Rick spoils Morty, we can also see that only Morty gets spoiled, since Summer expressed jealously at the fact that Morty gets whatever he wants and all he has to do is ask, meanwhile Summer has to do chores for Rick, Rick does say the reason why he has Summer do chores is because he sees her as an equal and respects her, but I still consider it sweet that he spoils Morty.

It's been confrimed that if it came down to it, he would sacifice himself for Morty, we see this most famously in "A Rickle In Time" where he sacifices himself for Morty by giving Morty his time collar and again in "Rest and Ricklaxation" where Toxic Rick basically sacifriced himself for Morty (This one may be more debatable, depending on your viewpoint it is called merging, but considering that toxic Rick would stop being his own person, I would consider that sacifrice) we also get that confrimination from heathly Rick in that episode, he says, and I quote "You've done nothing but complain about me being in charge, but if I ever gave you the wheel, we'd be dead in 5 minutes" (Or something similar to that, I don't remeber the full quote)

He chose Morty over Diane, in "Fear No Mort" Season 7 episode 10, Rick finds out that he could've seen Diane again if he went into the fear hole, so he runs in, looks at the hole, debating wether to go in or not, but just chose to put a picture of Morty (That he had carefully folded in the front pocket of his wallet mind you) and went back to spend the rest of the evening with his grandson. Keep in mind this is Diane, someone he could never replace due to her being erased through every dimension, someone who he made his car sound like, someone who he dedicated years of his life towards avenging her. And he chose Morty over her,

He is more protective over Morty more than he is over anyone else in the family. This may be because he adventures with Morty the most, so we see more scenes of Rick protecting Morty, but we see him protecting Morty a lot wether it's just by putting Morty behind him (As we can see in Morty's Mindblowers season 3, episode 8) threatening people who hurt him (As we can see in M. Night Shaym-Aliens! Season 1, episode 4) telling people to leave Morty out of conflicts they have with him (As we can see in Close Rick Counters with Rick Kind, Season 1, episode 10) or straight up killing people who hurt Morty (As we can see in Meeseeks and Destroy. Season 1, episode 5) using his body to stop bullets from hitting Morty (As we can see in Edge of Tomorty: Rick die Rickpeat season 4 episode 1) or getting angry when people insult Morty (As we can see in Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender, season 3, episode 4) He is consistantly protective of Morty, and he isn't shown to be this protective over anyone else.

He values Morty opinion of him, this may be more due to his ego than anything, but we see in Vindicators 3: The return of Worldender, Rick quickly became incredibly jealous when Morty admired someone more than him, and in season 6 episode 10 Ricktional Mortpoon's Rickmas Mortcation, we can see that he replaced himself with a robot since he was upset with the thought that Morty found him boring, so much so he replaced himself with a robot

Morty is the only family member Rick didn't abandon. Now, I'm not talking about when he refused to abandon his family but then Rick Prime killed them, that obviously wasn't Rick's fault, I'm referring to the world he corenberged in season 1 episode 6, Rick Potion #9, he only brought Morty along when he could've very easily just left Morty there to rot, he could've just gotten a new grandson, there is literally infinite realities, heck after season 1 episode 10 Close Rick counters with Rick kind, we can see that he has a coupon for a new replacement Morty, why doesn't he just use that? He could easily get a more impressionable Morty who would just obey him and not question him, but he doesn't.

Morty is the only thing keeping him stable, while that certainly is not healthy, since Rick shouldn't rely on his 14 year old grandson to keep him stable, I feel like it's proof that again, Morty is his favorite person, while this is most obvious in season 7 episode 6 Rickfending your Mort with Morty pulling Rick out of a slump after he felt empty after defeating Rick Prime, if it wasn't for Morty, Rick would still be in a slump and would still just be drinking in the garage, but we also see this in Rick and Ricklaxation, Season 3, episode 6 as he completely broke down when Morty was gone for 2 weeks, he apparently would just drink and call Jessica, a kid he did not know beforehand, and would cry about how Morty was gone, and tried to get him back. That is why I think Morty is Rick's favorite person. This is why I wanna grab Morty, shake him and yell at him about how much Rick cares about him

#rick and morty #morty smith #rick sanchez #rick c137 #rick #and #morty

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echo-s-land · 8 months

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French queer playlist because why not

Comme ils disent by Charles Aznavour (1972) | about a gay man, he cross-dresses too. Don't really know how to explain that one. It's great, it aged really well (Aznavour was a straight man but he had several queer friends)

Sans Contrefaçon by Mylène Farmer (1987) | wasn't actually written with trans masculinity in mind, but it's a trans masc anthem at this point

Ziggy (un garçon pas comme les autres) by Céline Dion (1991; the original cover/song was in 1978 tho) | girl falls in love with her friend, a gay teen - is sad for herself but doesn't insult him or anything

College boy by Indochine (2013) | a song I found not so long after figuring out my own queerness so it has a special place in my heart. lots of cw for the visual clip (homophobia, bullying, conservatism, police violence, religious hypocrisy, physical assault, crucifixion)

J'ai le droit aussi by Calogero (2014) | gay teenager wants to live like he wants, is scared of other's view/judgement on him (including his parents)

Mohammed je t'aime by Gargäntua (2015) | being gay in the hood is like everywhere else - it may not be a good idea to be public about it. lots of cw for the visual clip (physical assault, homophobia, internalized homophobia, suicide). I hope one day Gargäntua will make a song about Mohammed finding happiness because he clearly deserves it if not for the trauma in this song

comme les autres by keen'v (2015) | gay man (teen?) coming out to his father, father is homophobic

C'est toi qu'elle préfère by Alice et Moi (2017) | sapphic anthem at this point; unrequited love

Normal by Eddy de Pretto (2018) | gay man responding to an homophobe (honestly i find it very satisfying)

Grave by Eddy de Pretto (2018) | the singer is an openly gay man, he talks to a wide range of different gay boys/teens/men and are telling them to not worry when they discover their homosexuality; that it's okay

Séduction by Joanna (2018) | bi woman falls in love with another woman

Ta reine by Angèle (2018) | wlw.

Amour censure by Hoshi (2019) | Hoshi is an openly lesbian singer; the song denounces homophobia

Immoral & Illégal by Gargäntua (2022) | 'Everything I love is immoral and illegal' - if that's not a queer feeling. More seriously, it's more me deciding to interpret the song this way then the song being about queerness. Still, whether you listen to this song and think about addiction, queerness, or any marginalized community, well.. well you can't change my mind about it having (intended or not) queer subtext

La mort avec toi by Gargäntua (2022) | literally 'partners in crimes', I decided it was queer for various reasons but you may not think like me

#some are more interpretation than outright queer songs but like. come on. you can see the potential queer subtext of Immoral & Illégal #- of La mort avec toi and of C'est toi qu'elle préfère #if you have more queer french song pls share them - add to the post #im sure i missed a lot of them #i mostly put song i love or i like - so yes i didnt put some on purpose sorry not sorry #french #french song #chanson française #chansons françaises #upthebaguette #the difference of genres of this playlist.. lol #i got some parody songs too but éh... ig theyre not for everyone (i dont wanna risk it)#queer #lgbt+#lgbtq #lgbt #queerness

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theonevoice · 6 months

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Warning: Ineffable tragedy ahead

I was fidgeting with the possible implication of this post by @aduckwithears and this post by @newfangledfancy because there was something in this sword discussion that hooked my little fanart brain. But as I was mentally sketching ideas I'm afraid I managed to grasp the mental image that was vaguely floating in the back of my mind since the beginning of this sword detail speculation.

It was Gaetano Previati's painting inspired by the episode of Paolo and Francesca in the Canto V of the Divine comedy.

Paolo e Francesca, Gaetano Previati, ca 1887.

If you don't know the episode, it tells the story (an actual historical episode that, at the time, caused such an outcry that some historians compare it to the public reaction that followed Lady Diana's death in the 90s) of a married woman who secretly falls in love with his husband's brother, who secretly loves her back, and for a while they manage to bury their passion, mainly by denying it and not acknowledging it even with themselves. They suppress their feelings so violently that they become dangerously unaware of them, and one day, while they were alone together "without any suspicion" (of their possible fall, so sure they were to have canceled their mutual attraction - but of course it's telling that they chose to spent time together, away from anyone else), they start reading a book about, of all things, the legend of King Arthur, and when they come to the part of Lancelot kissing Guinevere, they are suddenly overwhelmed by their feelings and kiss (here it's were I remind you of the two little figures, one black and one white, kissing in the theater during the title sequence of s2: passion ignited by fiction, be it a novel by Jane Austen or a Richard Curtis movie). And right away they are surprised by her husband, who kills them both with a single stroke of his sword.

This is how Dante tells the story (Francesca is speaking here, and the most relevant part of Dante's retelling is that she and Paolo are depicted as "one character split in two" - I don't need to explain how this is linked to our ineffable husbands) [tentative english translation below]:

"Amor, ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende, prese costui de la bella persona che mi fu tolta; e 'l modo ancor m'offende.

Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona, mi prese del costui piacer sì forte, che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona.

Amor condusse noi ad una morte. Caina attende chi a vita ci spense. [...]

Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse; soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.

Per più fïate li occhi ci sospinse quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso; ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.

Quando leggemmo il disïato riso esser basciato da cotanto amante, questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,

la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante. Galeotto fu ’l libro e chi lo scrisse: quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante."

Love, that quickly seizes the gentle heart, enthralled him with the beautiful person (1) that was taken from me, and the way (2) still insults me.

Love, that forgives no beloved from loving back, enthralled me with his pleasure (3) so strongly, that, as you see, it still doesn't leave me;

Love brought us to one death; ⁠Caïna (4) awaits him who quenched us from life. [...]

We were reading one day, as a pastime, about Lancelot, and how love seized him; we were alone and without any suspicion (5).

Many times that reading made us raise our eyes, and turned us pale, but only one point was able to overcome us.

Whene we read of the desired smile being kissed by such a lover, this one, who never from me shall be divided,

kissed my mouth all trembling. ⁠Galeotto (6) was the book and he who wrote it. ⁠That day we did not read it any farther.

[sorry if it sounds clunky, I tried to translate the words in a way that conveys also the most widly accepted interpretation of certain passages, but it's still an allegorical poem from the XIII century... here's some notes to clarify a couple of points:

(1) "beautiful person": to be intended as both body and soul.

(2) "and the way": meaning the way in which they were murdered.

(3) "his pleasure": meaning the pleasure of being loved by him.

(4) "⁠Caïna": one of the 4 regions that form the deepest circle of hell, where traitors are punished (the Caina is the place where traitors of their own family are held, named after Cain).

(5) "without any suspicion": meaning they were so sure to be able to control their feelings that they did not "suspect" themselves of giving in to their passion.

(6) "Galeotto": the Italian name of Galehaut, a knight of the Table Round who is responsible for arranging the secret meeting of Lancelot and Guinevere.]

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens thoughts #ineffable tragedy #good omens speculations #ineffable lovers

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argisthebulwark · 1 year

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Thinking abt the Miraak x Mara priest TLD where Mara priest is very devoted (catholic undertones) and is sworn to the purest form of love (catholic undertones) and is completely celibate as to appease their lady (catholic undertones) idk how aedra worship works much, but I’m assuming since Erandur gives off heavy priest vibes it works.

They spare Miraak, and are determined redeem him, however uh oh looks like the chosen one is touch starved and uh oh! Looks like Miraak is a very handsome nord under that mask and…uh oh! Looks like they have to share a tent with him! And uh oh! Looks like somebody is well read and charming………….

heya this is the first thing i’ve written in so, so long. sorry it’s a little rough lol.

minors dni, it isn’t explicit but like. it’s almost there. it’s nsfwish. they/them used for the dragonborn because that’s what anon used

Their muscles screamed but they forced one foot in front of the other. The Dragonborn gritted their teeth together and took another tortuous step through the gathering snow. Miraak’s dead weight threatened to drag them down, tempting them to give in to the urge to simply lie down and wait for the elements to finish the job. His arms were locked around their neck and the points of that damned mask were doing a number on their armor.

“Lady Mara, protect me.” The Dragonborn found comfort in the weight of an amulet resting heavily in their pocket. The implications of wearing it were enough to make their cheeks flush - they could not wear it as worshippers of the other Divines were permitted to without drawing unwanted attention. The traditional robes worn by those who cared for her shrines and temple weren’t suited for the Dragonborn’s adventurous lifestyle.

Miraak’s fingers brushed over their solution - the worn thread of Mara’s symbol long ago embroidered onto their cloak by an old friend. The Dragonborn wasn’t sure where his mind was but his body was becoming more restless with each moment. Their trek was almost complete.

It was by pure chance they’d stumbled across the shallow cave. Miraak’s palace was intimidating and they’d made countless circles around it, surveilling it, searching for its weakest point. The former inhabitants of the cave were a small band of werewolves that had unfortunately fallen to the Dragonborn’s blade. Their guilt lingered but some small part of their brain recognized that it had to be a small miracle, somewhere safe to place Miraak while they attempted to heal him. Perhaps Mara had been keeping a close eye on them.

It was unbearable, hauling him across Solstheim’s tundra. His boots dragged and his mask stabbed them with every step. It was the only touch the Dragonborn recalled receiving in years - they shook hands and often placed their hand on a shoulder or forehead during blessings but it had been far longer since they felt the touch of another person. Their love was reserved entirely for Lady Mara, finding her instructions to live soberly and respectfully fit into all aspects of their life. It was easy to keep distance from others when you became the embodiment of an ancient prophecy.

He was warm. The Dragonborn could feel each breath he took, his large chest pressed to their back and somehow it felt like breaking their chastity being so close to him. With his arm around their shoulders and hand bumping against the front of their armor was far too intimate.

That dark, oily power granted by Hermaeus Mora radiated from him. The Dragonborn knew they should’ve left him to Mora. Miraak had been nothing short of an antagonist in their life for months - stealing Dragon Souls they desperately needed to help those still struggling in the wake of the Civil War, enslaving the people of the island for his own selfish purposes, and taking every opportunity to insult them.

But they couldn’t shake the feeling there was something in him worth saving.

Perhaps it was Lady Mara’s light shining through the Dragonborn, she saw something that was far deeper than mortal eyes could see. There was something within Miraak, some scrap of the First Dragonborn that could bring light to Nirn after all of the damage he’d inflicted upon its people. If Lady Mara felt strongly enough about Miraak to guide the Dragonborn they would not refuse.

It was either luck or Mara’s grace that Miraak remained unconscious as long as he did. The Dragonborn dumped his body onto the hard ground once they were safely hidden within Frostmoon Crag, walls of chilly stone serving as their shelter. He grunted once before lapsing back into silence. The Dragonborn kept a careful gaze on him while they set up the tent that had housed them countless times. It was only intended for one person and they still hadn’t decided if letting Miraak out of their sight was a good idea. He could wake at any point of the night and disappear - or do far worse to them.

Once the meager fire was built, they heard him stirring. Miraak’s deep groan rumbled through his chest and the Dragonborn felt something akin to excitement shoot up their spine. A gloved hand rose to his face, easily knocking the mask out of its way before rubbing at his forehead. The Dragonborn watched in silent awe through the shivering flames as Miraak propped his arms up, eyes closed and sucking in a deep breath. Was he unaware of their presence? It felt odd watching him, the vulnerability of seeing his face.

“You’re staring.”

His voice shocked them. The Dragonborn felt a terrible fluttering in their chest when his eyes cracked open, sliding over the little campsite before glowering at them. His lower lip was cut and bloodied but still he smirked at them, his eyes a dark green they’d never seen before. They felt their cheeks heat up and realized what they were doing - who they were looking at and reigned themself in. Clutching at the amulet in their pocket the Dragonborn stared into the fire and forced their thoughts to return to the mental recitation of a familiar prayer.

“Sorry to disappoint.” His voice was just quiet enough to make the Dragonborn wish they could move closer. It was enticing to hear him speak so softly after hearing his booming Shouts for so long.

“Disappoint?” They cleared their throat and shoved away thoughts that threatened to turn indecent when he tossed his cloak aside.

“I’ve been told that people expect some horrid mass of tentacles behind the mask.” Was he joking? “My face has been known to cause disappointment.”

The Dragonborn didn’t have a response that didn’t directly contradict their wholehearted dedication to Lady Mara. They chose to instead gather their knees close to their chest and center themself, remembering the purpose in saving him. They knew some of Mora’s filthy power remained within him and could only pray that Mara’s loving embrace would be enough to save him.

“You are not what I expected.” The Dragonborn finally stated. It was rare for Miraak to be so quiet, so docile. They feared the only chance at a calm conversation was slipping away.

They could feel his gaze. His eyes were on them, sharper than last time. The Dragonborn reminded themself that they were more powerful than him. They had defeated him multiple times. They were going to salvage the part of his soul that remained intact. They could hold a simple conversation with him.

“What did you expect?”

“I expected you to start another fight as soon as you awoke.”

“Is that what you want, Little Dragon?”

His voice was directly in their ear. When had he moved closer? They’d been so focused on staring into the fire and avoiding the impure thoughts about him tickling at the back of their mind, they’d allowed Miraak to get within striking range. They would not tolerate any more distractions. Lady Mara had blessed them with the power to heal and they refused to let it go to waste.

“I do not want to fight you.” Turning their stare on him, the Dragonborn found Miraak’s face within inches of theirs. Heat flashed across their face when they remembered the warmth of his body pressed to theirs, the calming rhythm of his breathing against their back.

“We are good at fighting each other.” Miraak’s sinful lips broke out in a smile, teeth that looked just a bit too sharp reminding the Dragonborn of how dangerous he was. “It was the only contact I got over these past few eons.”

“I do not wish to fight you anymore.” The Dragonborn insisted, the amulet clutched in their clammy hand. Why were they so nervous? They’d done this countless times before. Citizens all over Skyrim had been healed or blessed by their scarred hands. Miraak should be no different. “I am a disciple of Lady Mara. I received her blessings and accepted her into my heart.”

“And you wish for me to do the same?” He leaned closer, that devious smirk still on his face. He knew he was getting under their skin and enjoyed it. A light danced in the depths of his eyes when they refused to back down. “How is it that you perform these blessings, Dovahkiin? Last I heard, Mara’s only purpose these days is when some farmers decide to marry.”

“Lady Mara is the Divine of love. She is not some simple signature on a license of marriage.” Rage burned away any of their nervousness and the Dragonborn found one of their fingers stabbing into Miraak’s unarmored chest. The tunic he wore was torn and stained, though they couldn’t be sure if the blood was his own or from one of his many victims. “How long have you lived without love in your heart? Without being comforted or healed?”

“Will you bless me, then?” Miraak’s voice deepened, a strand of his hair falling into his face. The Dragonborn took a calming breath, reminding themself that Lady Mara had led them to Miraak’s palace and must have a reason for doing so. She must know that his soul was worth saving and their connection was important to his redemption.

“I will.”

Miraak remained quiet while the Dragonborn worked. They spread wrinkled blankets over the floor of the tent, the one pillow squashed from its life at the bottom of their pack would have to work. Ceremonies honoring Mara were usually held within her temple with plenty of pews or near one of her shrines, cushions provided for those performing prayers in her name. The Dragonborn maneuvered Miraak until he sat squarely in the center of their tent, eyes closed and hands resting in his lap. That damned smirk was still on his face as if he doubted they would be able to cleanse him of Mora’s influence.

A couple busted sticks of incense smoldered near the entrance of the tent and their amulet of Mara sat nearby. It was a comforting sight, something to ground them in Miraak’s distracting presence.

“We pray to you, Mara, Mother of Love.” The Dragonborn recited the words Maramal had long ago drilled into their brain. He remained earnest in his belief even after so many years while the Dragonborn had become used to their faith, a quiet companion. “Mother Mara, turn your gaze upon this pure soul. Bless us with your gaze.”

Surprisingly, his only response was a short bark of laughter. No condescending commentary on their faith. The Dragonborn repeated their appeal for Mara’s attention and love while they kneeled before Miraak. Placing the amulet of Mara on him felt strange but he didn’t fight it. His eyes remained shut as if truly absorbing the words the Dragonborn recited over him.

Clasping hands with Miraak, the Dragonborn channeled their faith and love of Mother Mara into the touch as they had so many times before. The soft golden glow of Mara’s restorative magic lit the small tent, unfortunately highlighting his handsome features. His touch was warmer than expected despite the nervous chilliness of the Dragonborn. His thumb ran over the back of their hand, a gesture far too intimate for people who had fought to the death. He must be trying to unnerve them.

“How has Mara blessed you, Little Dragon?” He murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. He somehow knew just how to fluster them. His hands left their grasp, skimming up their shoulders to play with the clasp of their cloak. They had to blame the shivers and goosebumps on the sheer length of time since they’d last felt someone’s touch. Miraak simply could not be affecting them in such a way.

“The Lady has brought light and purpose into my life.” The Dragonborn gulped, ignoring the need pulsing through their body.

“Has she brought you love?”

“I hold love for all children of the Divines.” The answer was automatic, something they’d stated many times before.

“She is the Goddess of Love though, correct? Has she not brought love to a devout follower like you?” His fingers were wandering freely over their armor and the Dragonborn tried to summon the will to tell him to stop. It felt like he left a trail of fire in his wake, leaving their body alight.

“My lifestyle is not compatible with a spouse.”

“I don’t recall mentioning a spouse.” Miraak’s tone was teasing. He knew exactly what he was doing. The Dragonborn cleared their throat and continued with their prayer, hoping that Miraak would fall back into his silence.

“By your grace Mother Mara, allow us to live peaceful and sober lives. To honor our families and homes in your stead.”

“You should’ve been a follower of Dibella instead of Mara.” Miraak’s hands wandered over the Dragonborn’s waist and settled on their hips, drawing them in closer. The stumbled over their words, intending to reprimand him but he felt so fucking good. “This would be much more fun.”

“I honor a pure love in Mother Mara’s honor.”

“And you deny yourself pleasure in her name, too?” Miraak murmured, a thumb tracing their lower lip. The Dragonborn heard themself moaning and was startled that such a wanton sound could come from them. “Surely she wouldn’t want such a pious follower to miss out on pleasure simply because it is impure.”

“I worship Mara because she saved me when I was nothing, she gave my life purpose.”

“I wish you would worship me, Little Dragon.” Miraak’s lips brushed over theirs for a fleeting moment and the Dragonborn felt their control falter. The years spent honoring Mara in all of their actions, shoving down their wants and needs in the name of honor disappeared the moment Miraak’s warm breath tickled the overheated skin of their throat.

It was so wrong to be vulnerable with him like this. It was dangerous and against everything Maramal and Dinya had preached for so many years but it felt right. Miraak’s strong grasp on their waist when they twisted fingers into his unruly hair, his teeth scraping skin sensitive from being untouched for too long.

“I would give you pleasure you can’t even imagine.” He mumbled against their skin and the Dragonborn forgot about the vows they’d made so long ago. His touch was everywhere, mouth leaving kisses in its wake until the Dragonborn couldn’t think about anything other than him. “Or perhaps it is your turn to be worshiped.”

#mdni #minors dni #skyrim #tes #miraak #miraak x dragonborn #writing #asks #anon

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soyouareandrewdobson · 7 months

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TIMBER! The artistic Growth thing...

I apologize for the recent silence almost immediately after I came back. Unfortunately the last weeks were affected by personal and work stuff that I think no one cares about here, so I was unable to write much.

That said, plans are in the making and I thought today I would at the very least bring out one comic that to me is not necessarily wrong in the message Dobson conveys, but does after all not apply much to him

The thing about this comic is, that Dobson is not necessarily entirely wrong. There are people who believe that artistic growth is more or less developing in a progressive line, kinda artificially. Which based on my own experience, is not really the case. At least I have seen artists, writers and such, who, if allowed to grow in a more “organic” manner, will eventually manage to create stuff and tell stories with a more unique flavor than they did before. The “key” however to do so is to also think at least partly outside the box and being “genuine” with what you want to create. Case in point for me: Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.

While I did enjoy a lot of Pratchett’s early novels in the Discworld cycle, I will admit that it wasn’t really until “Mort” and “MacBest” that I think Pratchett started to move away from simply “spoofing” the common tropes in fantasy fiction while telling a story and that it was around that time, he really started to flesh the Discworld out in the manner that many people came to love, while also giving flavor to it with his unique sense of humor. And Moving Pictures in that regard was the true definitive turning point, as from there on we “left” the classical fantasy tropes in favor of a fantasy world more akin to a 19th century fantasy world, entering the industrial revolution and everything that it included. But Pratchett, in order to reach that point in his career as a writer, and in regard of his Discworld mythology, had to start somewhere with novels the like of “The Light Fantastic” and “Colours of Magic” and had to "progressively" improve at least to some degree before reaching the point he could organically breach out.

Which brings me to the following: Dobson claiming that there is no “linear progression” at times is kinda wrong. Particularly when you are familiar with long running manga series such as One Piece or certain webcomics. From a technical aspect, there is “progress” so to speak. Look at One Piece and how chapters are drawn e.g. back during the East Blue or Alabasta Cycle and compare the linework e.g. with how things escalate in the Wano arc. Oda obviously became more comfortable fleshing out panels even more than before.

Drum vs Wano...

Another example: Compare THIS early strip of a certain internet webcomic…

With how it looks nowadays

Yeah, I know sinfest is utter garbage made by a demagogue WAY WORSE than Dobson (honestly, fuck Ishida with a broken bottle), but technically speaking, he “evolved”.

Next, let me just say that I find the assumption of Dobson that “most” people think artistic growth is “only” an artificial linear process, kinda insulting. Mostly because I think that most of us are aware that it is rather a mixture of “organic” growth and linear progress, rather than one extreme or the other. But obviously, Dobson must claim this is the “truth” about most people, cause otherwise, his take isn’t “unique” anymore and he isn’t special. Special for making a whimsical, romanticized and “creative” statement about artistic growth being more like a tree. Free to grow and beautiful to look at. Something we must nurture and care for.

Yeah, about that, in regard of the last line that reads, and I quote: Everyone is different and everyone grows at different speed. Through loving care and constant nurturing, you’ll always improve.

I think we all know Dobson well enough, that what he really is saying is the following:

I am different than others and I grow at my own pace. Please, I will improve if you give me likes and pay for my stuff instead of giving me mean criticism I can not stand. Now let me just phrase it in a manner that sounds like I say something compassionate that can apply to every person, hiding my own insecurities and selfish wishes.

In that regard, let me show you the beauty of Dobson’s artistic growth as of present day.

Okay, snark put aside at least partly, I do agree that yes, people are different and as artists can grow at different speed. Often times other factors, such as personal life experiences, exposure to stuff outside their certain comfort zones or even just having the right tools to work with, can affect a lot the artistic growth of a person.

I even agree, that “loving care and nurturing” (or in other words, positive feedback and support, at times, even financially) can help. But where I draw the line is at “constant nurturing”, because that feels like to Dobson, the only way he or other artists can ever improve is only through praise and nothing more. No. No Dobson, you also need to at least tolerate at times “criticism” and negative feedback. And I don’t mean stuff like “kill yourself, faggot”, I mean when someone tells an artist for example that certain technical aspects of his work, such as linework, positions, storytelling etc. need genuinely to be worked on. Because guess what? Getting your mistakes pointed out, doesn’t necessarily need to be something negative. It can also be something positive, if it genuinely helps you learn from those mistakes and improve your work.

Not that Dobson ever learnt how to deal with “criticism” in a positive manner anyway, as evident by journal posts as followed...

And this piece of “artwork”

Comic with stabbed critics

Not to forget, the person who gives us this “advice” is the same person who did not really live by any of it himself. I mean, Dobson claims that artistic growth is doing best when allowed to grow organically, slowly and steady and that as time goes on, it will also branch out and diverge.

I will say this: Yes, there are content creators who tend to branch out at times also from their “familiar” tone and style, just for the sake of creating art. Gendy Tartakovsky comes to mind, having started off in very cartoonish stuff like Dexter’s Lab and Powerpuff Girls, only to then also give us Samurai Jack, Primal and Unicorn-Warriors Eternal. Not having really betrayed his roots (as evident e.g. also by his involvement with the Hotel Transylvania franchise), but branching out to different degree.

When did Andrew Dobson ever “branch out” or diverge? His original stories such as Formera and Alex the Pirate, which were derivative of humor and pacing issues related to comedic mangas of the late 80s and early 90s as well as newspaper comic strips, were utter failures he abandoned around the late 2000s/early 2010s.

Most of the stuff he ever created was random fanart, and if anything he actually got worse over time. Having perhaps once upon a time created some decent fanart…

And then later providing people more with stuff like that, where he doesn’t even get the original design of the characters right

Even a low effort comic such as SYAC had become lazier and lazier over the years. Mostly because instead of just telling a joke, you had most of the time just Dobbear over the course of four panels stand in a green void and blubber on how he thinks certain artists or fans sucked because of opinions they had.

The most he ever bothered to “branch out” was ironically when he worked for brentalfloss, as the guy forced Dobson essentially to draw more detailed backgrounds at times than he ever did for anything else.

And the deal with Brentalfloss ended by 2012 or even earlier.

The only other noteworthy creations he made in his last years online would be the Adventure Zone comic that no one asked for (essentially turning some podcast into a comic that had severe pacing issues. Something Adventure Zone fans pointed out) and Miraculous Ladybug comics he made, because that shitstain on the magical girl genre became his new favorite.

And the later were just an extension of the dumb, unfunny and meanspirited newspaper level humor he was already famous for when it came to Alex ze Pirate and early SYAC.

Not to forget, he couldn’t even draw the characters remotely close to the show’s style, something he even pointed out himself.

JESUS! She looks like a farting squirrel with mental disorders.

Dobson himself may have hated his younger self and what he drew…

But you just have to look e.g. at his “Inktober” contributions in later years to see, how much within the shortest amount of time he could regress artistically instead of grow.

To clarify: The Dr. Who pic was in his first year of doing inktober. The not on model Gary was on his second, and the Dipper one on his last year of participating in it. And he actively decided out of spite to no longer work with ink the second year forward, because the first time he did it, he felt insulted by people actually paying him positive attention again in years among other things.

Truth be told, Dobson had all the time in the world within the 15+ years he was an online presence. And even with people like me making fun of him and criticizing his work, he still could have done something to improve artistically for the better and grow into a beautiful tree.

Instead he shriveled up to some stinking flora with a lot of pricks and was stomped out by natural forces, leaving me and others behind to further salt the earth on which he grew.

Turning from this...

to this!

With his very last project known as Cabin Rest ending up pretty much like that:

#so you are a cartoonist #adobsonartwork #andrew dobson #artistic growth #comic #webcomic #hypocrisyofandrewdobson

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coffee-in-veins · 4 months

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Give me some ThanZag - misc_Than wings please

hullo hullo, thanks for the ask!

it's so sweet of you to ask something about Hades! <3 then again, i think you've seen everything DD i have already, so... xD

this is the part of one of the future chapters for Chained butterfly which is currently on hiatus due to RRR. in the fic, Than (and any other Incarnation, really) is an eldritch primordal monstrocity and only looks like the hot boy we see in game because they have an outer "shell" which looks like it, to make it easier to deal with Gods.

the premise of the arc was, Than got really injured as he was helping Zag, it all became obvious that he was going behind Hades' back, and everyone got punished. Zag tried his best to stay in the House when he healed, but you know Zag, he has an antsy ass, so he tried to calm Than down and have a run out of the House again.

he fought through the first location with ease, but before the first boss room, he meets a surprised Charon who offers him a suspiciously free advice of not going forward. Zag laughs it off, thinking it's a joke, rushes in and sees the boss room empty. in a moment, he hears a familiar toll, and Than appears, while diligently looking down at his feet. and i had the following dialogue written down:

"Than? What, you got too worried about me? Or have I activated Mort accidentally? Sorry, if I did, there are no enemies here, and I dunno where Meg is"

"There are. She's working"

"Working? Isn't her work to stop me? She must be late, for the first time. I kind of feel insulted"

"She isn't. She has a replacement"

"What do you mean a repla-- No. No. No! No, he wouldn't!"

"Lord was livid for me messing up like I did, and doesn't take kindly to slackers in the House"

"Slackers? You're still injured and didn't have rest for what, past hundred, thousand years? More, even?"

"It matters not when you fail to meet his expectations"

"That sounds like Father alright. How did he even-- Why Nyx wouldn't say anything?"

"Don't talk ill of her. Looking over Thartarus was as soft as Pact of Punishment she could get me"

"Why would you sign something like that?"

"Some of us don't have the luxury to choose whether they sign those or not, Zagreus"

"So... so what now? You're actually going to kill me? Because if so, you're taking your sweet time!"

"Death is inescapable, it can wait. And Mother was most unpleased with my past actions, so as additional condition of my Pact I am forbidden to attack first"

"Oh. I... I need to thank her later"

"You sure do"

"Well I won't attack you!"

"You fought with Meg"

"It's... different. I knew she'd get out of the Pool just fine, and with you I... Can you even...?"

"You can find out"

"Have no intention to, you know!"

"The choice is yours"

"You honestly think I would do something like that? Thanks for vote of confidence in me!"

"You're very welcome. And I never said you would"

"Okay... okay this... this I don't.... ugh! Well. I don't know, I... you say the fight won't start unless I attack you?"

"I'm bound to my contract. And I wouldn't even if I had to, for as long as I could stall myself"

"I.... Thanks, Than. So. Huh. So all we have is time here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, only one of us could leave, and I have to intention to kill you to get out, neither do you, apparently. So all we have now is time. A rare commodity between us, I must admit. Um... I was... how's... how are your wings, Than?"

and it becomes their routine, for a time. i dunno how it could happen, but i wanted Zag to be returned to the House of Hades at least a couple of times my thoughts were either - Styx could've flooded those chambers after some time since the Underground moves around constantly - add dick moves to daddy dearest and add summons to Than's fight after some point in time later (like it's with Meg and Alecto), so Zag either allow himself be killed by wretches, or start the fight proper, but then Than is no longer bound by "you no move first" rule and just... KOs him in one soft touch, probably, so that it won't be "violent death" and Keres won't have any saying in this (yeah, those still exist) so Zag is back in the House, Than is still recovering and has it worse in the House (because of added chaines), and Zag runs off, fighting to the Thartarus boss.... so they could sit and talk, and just spend time together

but of course it wasn't that sweet and easy and had a drama twist in there :D

#my shoebox of letters #ask game #chained butterfly #writer's pain #wip

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dirty-bear-rick-sanchez · 2 years

Text

Aftermath

Guess who’s back with another Rick and Morty centric fic? This season has had a severe lack of Rick and Morty together (and Morty as a whole tbh) so I guess the way to remedy that is fanficfion! Also everyone was so nice and encouraging to me before (thank you all so much again for being so supportive!) so I decided to post it. I also wanted to explore the issues with how Rick treats Morty since it’s an important part of their dynamic that I don’t want to ignore and even though I love some wholesomeness between the two of them, I don’t want to ignore Rick’s shittiness.

Summary: the aftermath of Rick: A Mort Well Lived. Rick knows he’s a shitty grandpa and feels bad, and tries to make things better with Morty, who is struggling a lot. Hurt/comfort, ~2k words. Quick disclaimer that this is entirely platonic, please don’t tag as ship.

Morty is uncharacteristically quiet on the flight home. At first, Rick gladly accepts Morty’s willingness to listen in silence while his sister rambles on excitedly about her Die Hard adventure, since it means he’s less likely to give away any signs that a part of him is missing. However, as more and more time passes, Rick starts to tune out what Summer is saying - despite the grandfatherly pride he feels blooming in his chest as she recaps her adventure - as he becomes increasingly concerned about Morty. It isn’t unheard of for Morty to sit quietly after a particularly intense or traumatic experience, but Morty’s face betrays the hard work he’s doing to puzzle his way through what has just happened to him. Almost like someone who’d been split into 5 billion separate parts trying to put them back together, Rick thinks wryly. He can’t be sure exactly what Morty remembers from his time in Roy, but there is one thing Rick can be sure Morty doesn’t remember, and it makes guilt bubble uncomfortably in his stomach. For once, Rick knows he has to be an adult and take responsibility for the situation.

Snapping back into reality, Rick realises Summer is looking at him expectantly.

“Ha! R-real cool, Sum-Sum!” he replies, reaching across to touch her shoulder and hoping it’s not obvious he hasn’t been paying attention. Summer beams in response, telling Rick that he’s convinced her, but simultaneously making him feel like an even worse grandpa than normal.

“Hey, you know, I think I have the audiobook of Tower Man on here somewhere,” he taps on the dashboard, indicating the ship’s hard drive. “You can finally find out what a Die Hard really is.”

“Psh! I already out-Die Hard-ed those aliens, what’s their shitty book gonna teach me?” Summer snarks back. Rick loves Summer’s attitude and thinks she’s badass, cooler than he can ever dare to let her know, but right now his main concern is the fact that his distraction has failed and they’re still about an hour away from home.

He sees Summer notice his disappointed expression and change her tone. “But, y’know, we could listen to it… just to make fun of it.” she adds, inspecting her nails coolly but betraying her facade with a glance to see his reaction, and Rick knows that she’s seeking his approval. He wonders briefly if she truly wants his validation, or if she’s just trying to make him happy by going along with what she thinks he wants, but either way he’s got his distraction.

He grins and extends a fist out to her. “Hell yes.”

Summer responds with a grin of her own and meets his outstretched hand in a fist bump. Rick puts the audiobook on, the two of them exchanging quips and insults every now and then. Gradually, Rick starts to relax a bit and enjoy the banter, only occasionally letting his eyes flick to the mirror to check on the silent, unresponsive boy in the back.

When they make it home, Space Beth’s ship is parked in the drive, and Summer leaps out excitedly to brag to her as well. With the sole witness finally gone, Rick lets his guard drop just a little as he turns around to speak to Morty.

“H-hey, buddy. Look, since we didn’t get to stay at Blips and Chitz, whaddya say we go get some ice cream?” He offers, making his voice as gentle as his own aversion to vulnerability will allow.

Morty continues to stare vaguely at the floor. “Sure, Rick. Whatever you want.” he replies glumly, as if Rick had proposed a typical unpleasant adventure instead of a frozen dessert.

“Or w-what about pizza? You want pizza?” Rick tries again. Morty merely shrugs, not even responding this time.

“Come on Morty, work with me here. You tell me where you want to go.” Despite his best efforts, Rick hears the frustration he’s feeling spill over into his voice.

“I don’t know, Rick! OK?” Morty shouts, finally looking up at him. Rick’s brow raises in surprise as he sees tears forming in Morty’s eyes, his fists curled into balls at his sides. “You’re in charge, remember? I’m just the sidekick. You tell me what we’re doing.” As he speaks, the volume and emotion in his voice begin to peter out, and he slumps back into his seat. Even though he’s more worried than ever, Rick has to fight the automatic reaction to snap back at Morty in retaliation. Unfortunately, it’s a fight he rarely wins, and this time is no exception.

“Alright, fine! I-I-I was just trying to do something nice for you, but fuck me, I guess! Y-y-y-you wanna be a whiny little piece of shit, Morty? Fine!” Even as the words are spilling out of his mouth, Rick regrets them, wants to take them back, but they just keep coming. Morty just huffs and crosses his arms, curling into himself.

Rick takes off again, and they fly in angry, tense silence for a few minutes before landing at a nearby ice cream parlour of Rick’s choice. Rick is half-surprised when Morty climbs out of the car and follows him, but decides not to call attention to it. When they enter, Rick orders for them both, having a feeling Morty will refuse to speak anyway, but making sure to get a flavour he remembers Morty loving - mainly because he remembers that he spent most of the time making fun of Morty for choosing such a lame and boring option. Great. Yet another way I’m a shitty excuse for a grandpa.

When they sit down with their ice creams, neither of them speak, or even show much interest in their desserts. Morty pokes at his moodily with a spoon, while Rick chokes down a few mouthfuls before giving up altogether. Eventually, when it becomes clear both of them are done, Rick stands and throws some of the local currency down on the table before leaving, hearing Morty follow behind him.

They get back into the car, Morty choosing to sit next to Rick this time. The two sit silently in the parked ship until the building tension starts to become suffocating.

“Morty, look, just, just tell me what’s wrong, OK?” Rick stutters, trying to soften his tone as much as he can.

Morty looks up at him and bursts into tears. “Rick, I’m so confused.” he heaves the words out between sobs. “I-I don’t know what happened to me in that Roy machine but I feel like something’s wrong and I-I-I don’t know what it is but it’s missing and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back and I’m scared!” His face is dripping with tears and snot, and Rick isn’t particularly big on physical affection at the best of times, but his guilt overpowers these factors enough for him to wrap his arms around Morty and pull him into a hug.

At first, Morty stiffens in shock, but quickly buries his head in Rick’s chest, sobbing violently and clinging to Rick like a life preserver. The combination of noise and mess and Morty’s intense emotions and his own guilt threaten to overwhelm Rick, but he swallows and tries his best to push through it. He knows he should comfort Morty, wants to comfort Morty, but he is wildly out of his depth. He brings one hand up to Morty’s head and strokes his hair, muttering gentle ‘sh’ noises to him.

The sensation of Morty’s hair between his fingers helps calm Rick down enough to bring him back to thinking clearly. Unfortunately, with clarity comes an awareness of his responsibility, and with that comes the full weight of his guilt.

“Sh, Morty, it’s OK, I’m here. Grandpa’s here.” he murmurs, then swallows hard and struggles to get the words out. “I love you, Morty.”

At this, Morty pauses and pulls back just enough to look at Rick’s face. He looks so hopeful yet distrustful, as if wanting to believe it but not daring to let himself. Rick can’t blame him for this, but he feels a heavy sinking feeling in his chest and stomach at the realisation that he is to blame for his own grandson feeling this way.

“Do you mean it, Rick?” Morty asks, his voice and bottom lip both wobbling in a manner more suited to a child half his age. Rick nods mutely, feeling as if his throat is too tight to speak. Morty presses again. “Do you promise?”

Rick pulls Morty back to his chest, partly because it’s easier to say it without looking at Morty, partly because he’s worried he’ll start crying too and he doesn’t want Morty to see.

“Yes, Morty. Yes, of course I do. I… I love you, and I respect you, a-and I’m sorry I never said it before.” Rick replies, fighting to keep his voice steady. Morty tightens his grip on Rick.

“I love you too, Grandpa.”

Rick loses his composure at that, just a bit. Thankfully, Morty shows no sign of letting go for the few minutes it takes for Rick to collect himself.

They remain holding each other, silent except for Morty’s occasional sniffles. They hold each other for longer than Rick thinks he’s ever held anyone or been held by anyone in his life. It’s the kind of hug he’s imagined he would give his original Beth and Diane if he could somehow have one more day, one more hour, even one more minute with them again.

Eventually, Morty pulls back, not fully, just enough that the hug is loose instead of tight, and rests his head against Rick’s shoulder. In turn, Rick rests his own head on top of Morty’s.

“Rick?” Morty’s voice is shaky, tentative.

“Mm?”

“Do you think… will I… will I be OK? After all the Roy stuff, I mean.”

“I did my best, Morty. I came in straight after you. I got you back. You should start feeling like yourself again soon.” Rick chooses his words carefully, not quite able to bring himself to outright lie to Morty, but still not prepared to tell him the truth.

“OK, Rick. I trust you.”

Fuck.

Rick tries to ignore the way his stomach drops and churns at that statement.

“H-hey, Rick? You know what you said earlier?”

Rick instantly panics, trying to mentally scan every word he’s said to Morty that day. Has Morty figured it out?

“W-w-what’s that, Morty?” He tries to sound casual.

“A-about pizza?” Morty looks hopeful, innocent, and Rick hates himself for feeling so relieved at getting away with his dishonesty. He forces a smile and ruffles Morty’s hair.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

They fly in silence, again, but it’s more comfortable this time, both of them simply too emotionally and mentally drained to make conversation. Morty is practically falling asleep by the time they arrive, but as soon as their food is ready, he perks up enough to wolf down his pizza. Rick can’t blame him; once he takes his first bite, he barely even pauses for breath until he’s finished. By the time he glances over at Morty, the kid is already asleep, and Rick can’t see a reason to disturb him. In a rare moment of tenderness, he removes his lab coat and drapes it over his grandson’s sleeping body.

Morty stays asleep, dead to the world, for the whole flight back. He stirs, very slightly, when the ship lands with a jolt in their driveway, but only stays awake for the briefest of moments before slipping back into sleep. Rick resigns himself to carrying Morty up to bed and scoops him up. Rick isn’t particularly strong, even with all the cybernetic enhancements, but Morty is small and skinny for his age, so it’s more of an awkward task than a strenuous one. As he places Morty into bed, he’s reminded painfully of doing the same for a much younger Beth, and he feels a paternal instinct rise from dormancy and take over. He tucks Morty in and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“I love you.” he mumbles, almost under his breath, figuring he might as well get used to saying it. Morty doesn’t respond, and he adds, “I-I’ll get you all back, Morty. All of you.”

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