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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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I assure you, an AI didn’t write a terrible “George Carlin” routine

There are only TWO MORE DAYS left in the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

On Hallowe'en 1974, Ronald Clark O'Bryan murdered his son with poisoned candy. He needed the insurance money, and he knew that Halloween poisonings were rampant, so he figured he'd get away with it. He was wrong:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Clark_O%27Bryan

The stories of Hallowe'en poisonings were just that – stories. No one was poisoning kids on Hallowe'en – except this monstrous murderer, who mistook rampant scare stories for truth and assumed (incorrectly) that his murder would blend in with the crowd.

Last week, the dudes behind the "comedy" podcast Dudesy released a "George Carlin" comedy special that they claimed had been created, holus bolus, by an AI trained on the comedian's routines. This was a lie. After the Carlin estate sued, the dudes admitted that they had written the (remarkably unfunny) "comedy" special:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/01/george-carlins-heirs-sue-comedy-podcast-over-ai-generated-impression/

As I've written, we're nowhere near the point where an AI can do your job, but we're well past the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

AI systems can do some remarkable party tricks, but there's a huge difference between producing a plausible sentence and a good one. After the initial rush of astonishment, the stench of botshit becomes unmistakable:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

Some of this botshit comes from people who are sold a bill of goods: they're convinced that they can make a George Carlin special without any human intervention and when the bot fails, they manufacture their own botshit, assuming they must be bad at prompting the AI.

This is an old technology story: I had a friend who was contracted to livestream a Canadian awards show in the earliest days of the web. They booked in multiple ISDN lines from Bell Canada and set up an impressive Mbone encoding station on the wings of the stage. Only one problem: the ISDNs flaked (this was a common problem with ISDNs!). There was no way to livecast the show.

Nevertheless, my friend's boss's ordered him to go on pretending to livestream the show. They made a big deal of it, with all kinds of cool visualizers showing the progress of this futuristic marvel, which the cameras frequently lingered on, accompanied by overheated narration from the show's hosts.

The weirdest part? The next day, my friend – and many others – heard from satisfied viewers who boasted about how amazing it had been to watch this show on their computers, rather than their TVs. Remember: there had been no stream. These people had just assumed that the problem was on their end – that they had failed to correctly install and configure the multiple browser plugins required. Not wanting to admit their technical incompetence, they instead boasted about how great the show had been. It was the Emperor's New Livestream.

Perhaps that's what happened to the Dudesy bros. But there's another possibility: maybe they were captured by their own imaginations. In "Genesis," an essay in the 2007 collection The Creationists, EL Doctorow (no relation) describes how the ancient Babylonians were so poleaxed by the strange wonder of the story they made up about the origin of the universe that they assumed that it must be true. They themselves weren't nearly imaginative enough to have come up with this super-cool tale, so God must have put it in their minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/29/gedankenexperimentwahn/#high-on-your-own-supply

That seems to have been what happened to the Air Force colonel who falsely claimed that a "rogue AI-powered drone" had spontaneously evolved the strategy of killing its operator as a way of clearing the obstacle to its main objective, which was killing the enemy:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/04/ayyyyyy-eyeeeee/

This never happened. It was – in the chagrined colonel's words – a "thought experiment." In other words, this guy – who is the USAF's Chief of AI Test and Operations – was so excited about his own made up story that he forgot it wasn't true and told a whole conference-room full of people that it had actually happened.

Maybe that's what happened with the George Carlinbot 3000: the Dudesy dudes fell in love with their own vision for a fully automated luxury Carlinbot and forgot that they had made it up, so they just cheated, assuming they would eventually be able to make a fully operational Battle Carlinbot.

That's basically the Theranos story: a teenaged "entrepreneur" was convinced that she was just about to produce a seemingly impossible, revolutionary diagnostic machine, so she faked its results, abetted by investors, customers and others who wanted to believe:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theranos

The thing about stories of AI miracles is that they are peddled by both AI's boosters and its critics. For boosters, the value of these tall tales is obvious: if normies can be convinced that AI is capable of performing miracles, they'll invest in it. They'll even integrate it into their product offerings and then quietly hire legions of humans to pick up the botshit it leaves behind. These abettors can be relied upon to keep the defects in these products a secret, because they'll assume that they've committed an operator error. After all, everyone knows that AI can do anything, so if it's not performing for them, the problem must exist between the keyboard and the chair.

But this would only take AI so far. It's one thing to hear implausible stories of AI's triumph from the people invested in it – but what about when AI's critics repeat those stories? If your boss thinks an AI can do your job, and AI critics are all running around with their hair on fire, shouting about the coming AI jobpocalypse, then maybe the AI really can do your job?

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

There's a name for this kind of criticism: "criti-hype," coined by Lee Vinsel, who points to many reasons for its persistence, including the fact that it constitutes an "academic business-model":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

That's four reasons for AI hype:

to win investors and customers;

to cover customers' and users' embarrassment when the AI doesn't perform;

AI dreamers so high on their own supply that they can't tell truth from fantasy;

A business-model for doomsayers who form an unholy alliance with AI companies by parroting their silliest hype in warning form.

But there's a fifth motivation for criti-hype: to simplify otherwise tedious and complex situations. As Jamie Zawinski writes, this is the motivation behind the obvious lie that the "autonomous cars" on the streets of San Francisco have no driver:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/driverless-cars-always-have-a-driver/

GM's Cruise division was forced to shutter its SF operations after one of its "self-driving" cars dragged an injured pedestrian for 20 feet:

https://www.wired.com/story/cruise-robotaxi-self-driving-permit-revoked-california/

One of the widely discussed revelations in the wake of the incident was that Cruise employed 1.5 skilled technical remote overseers for every one of its "self-driving" cars. In other words, they had replaced a single low-waged cab driver with 1.5 higher-paid remote operators.

As Zawinski writes, SFPD is well aware that there's a human being (or more than one human being) responsible for every one of these cars – someone who is formally at fault when the cars injure people or damage property. Nevertheless, SFPD and SFMTA maintain that these cars can't be cited for moving violations because "no one is driving them."

But figuring out who which person is responsible for a moving violation is "complicated and annoying to deal with," so the fiction persists.

(Zawinski notes that even when these people are held responsible, they're a "moral crumple zone" for the company that decided to enroll whole cities in nonconsensual murderbot experiments.)

Automation hype has always involved hidden humans. The most famous of these was the "mechanical Turk" hoax: a supposed chess-playing robot that was just a puppet operated by a concealed human operator wedged awkwardly into its carapace.

This pattern repeats itself through the ages. Thomas Jefferson "replaced his slaves" with dumbwaiters – but of course, dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, they hide slaves:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

The modern Mechanical Turk – a division of Amazon that employs low-waged "clickworkers," many of them overseas – modernizes the dumbwaiter by hiding low-waged workforces behind a veneer of automation. The MTurk is an abstract "cloud" of human intelligence (the tasks MTurks perform are called "HITs," which stands for "Human Intelligence Tasks").

This is such a truism that techies in India joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians." Or, to use Jathan Sadowski's wonderful term: "Potemkin AI":

https://reallifemag.com/potemkin-ai/

This Potemkin AI is everywhere you look. When Tesla unveiled its humanoid robot Optimus, they made a big flashy show of it, promising a $20,000 automaton was just on the horizon. They failed to mention that Optimus was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Likewise with the famous demo of a "full self-driving" Tesla, which turned out to be a canned fake:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

The most shocking and terrifying and enraging AI demos keep turning out to be "Just A Guy" (in Molly White's excellent parlance):

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1751670561606971895

And yet, we keep falling for it. It's no wonder, really: criti-hype rewards so many different people in so many different ways that it truly offers something for everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Ross Breadmore (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/rossbreadmore/5169298162/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #ai #absent indians #mechanical turks #scams #george carlin #comedy #body-snatchers #fraud #theranos #guys in robot suits #criti-hype #machine learning #fake it til you make it #too good to fact-check #mturk #deepfakes

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greenorangevioletgrass · 4 months

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fever pitch (b.b.) - part one

previous part | series masterlist | next part

soundtrack: bewitched - laufeypairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!readersynopsis: you and Bradley find a secret garden and get acquainted... or maybe you already have?warnings: language, tension, fluff, angst but hypothetical?? idk, bradley is a dreamboat but what else is newnotes: the saga continues! i had a whole outline planned out, but then as i wrote it, it turned into a beast of its own and honestly, im just an employee here 🤷‍♀️ happy reading, and please let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks! i would love love loveeee to hear it from you <3

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

“Are we even allowed in here?”

You and Bradley turn a corner from the club area into a narrow hallway. There’s a door that leads outside, thanks to the little glass pane, you can see a little terrace situation outside. Bradley tries the doorknob… and it opens.

“I mean, there’s no sign that says we can’t…” Bradley shrugs, offering his hand to guide you in.

Like Alice in Wonderland, you step into a formal English garden in the heart of this complex of townhouses-turned-clubhouse. In the middle of the bricks and noises of the city, there are beds of roses and manicured hedges and ravines over a stone arch. It’s small, but very intentional even with the mosses growing on the edges of the fountain in the middle. A Dionysus statue sits atop the fountain, as if pouring wine instead of water. A nice touch to celebrate festivities.

“Wow. This is straight out of the old movies we talked about.” You marvel at your surroundings. “Like… The Sound of Music or something.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, exactly.”

Bradley starts humming My Favorite Things as you stroll your separate ways around the garden, marveling at the evergreen shrubs and colorful perennials. You eventually meet each other again right in front of the Dionysus statue. It feels like a sign from the universe for him, so he asks,

“May I have this dance?"

He can't be real, can he? "Like a 'dance' dance?"

"Absolutely." He says it with such conviction that it's easy to forget that the deafening, thumping electronic music from the club is completely shut out from your little pocket of a park. And the only semblance of music you can hear is the rustling of leaves, the trickling of water, and the fluttering memories of Bradley's velvety tone.

So you take his hand. He pulls you in and leads you into a slow dance. You were expecting to just sway, this is surreal enough as it is, but as you dance around the fountain, you slowly notice… the slow and simple rhythm, the unmistakable one-two-three, one-two-three count… This is a waltz step.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try my best.” In a swift movement, he twirls you away and reels you back in with a spin. He just prays to God or whoever is listening that you can’t actually feel his racing heart as he holds your back flush against his chest.

(You can’t. You’re too busy calming your own.)

“So… you and your friends celebrating the success at Wembley?”

His voice tickles the back of your neck, and this sudden closeness is too much for you to bear. You strategically turn around so you’re facing him again. “Oh, no. This is just my night off. I still have… three shows left here.”

“So how long will you be in town for?”

“Another week.”

“And after that…?”

“Paris.”

“Right…” he nods. “And home is in… Los Angeles?”

The question catches you off-guard for some reason. You know he’s probably just asking where you live, but something about the way he asks it makes it sound like he’s asking about… ‘home’ home. “Technically, yes.”

He makes a face. That’s a strange answer… “What do you mean, technically? I’m sure you must have at least one home base somewhere, right?”

“I do, yeah.” You smile sheepishly. “LA is my home base. But… it’s not like I have any emotional attachment to the city or anything.”

“Where’s that, then, if not LA?”

You give it a good thought… but you got nothing. “I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.” Maybe it’s the romance of the setting—although his warm hazel eyes play a crucial role too— it makes you feel more inclined to be more honest than you usually do.

Bradley smiles. He’s so fascinated by you, but at the same time, he has an inkling that he might need to solve a few puzzles himself before you let him in. And he would gladly take his time to get there.

At the same time, slow-dancing to a hummed classic with this man away from a modern-day nightclub… It makes you wonder what kind of person he is. “And you? You’re an American in London. Where’s home for you?”

“Well, I think Virginia will always be home, but this place has really grown on me. I’ve been here for most of my adult life, and this city, the team, the people… I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Virginia, huh?” you smirk—imagining him growing up near the water, a sunkissed teenage boy shooting the shit with his friends.

“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised.”

It’s only at this moment that Bradley is so much like this garden. Seemingly out of place, frozen in time while the world moves all too fast around it. But at the same time, perfectly placed, a calm in the eye of the storm. Just for this little pocket of a park.

Just for you.

“Are you normally this… Southern gentlemanly? With the suit and the sweet disposition and the waltz…”

“Honestly? Not really.” He admits bashfully. “But, I don’t know. I feel like I’m in another era with you right now.”

“Oh?”

Bradley doesn’t elaborate right away. Instead, he asks you, "Do you believe in past lives?"

Your face lights up, and he knows he just asked the right question. "I don’t know. Do you?”

"A little…" he nods, thoughtful. "Maybe not in a religious sense where you die, you get judged, and then come back as a... worm or whatever. But.. I kinda like the idea that... no one is ever really a stranger, you know? That our paths have crossed at some point."

"And you're saying we've met before?"

"Oh, yeah." Again with the conviction, this motherfucker.

“Really?” You step away from him, entering a more cerebral dance than the one that you just swayed into. Your fingers barely touch the surface of the water on the fountain, and ripples it over as you walk by. "Where do you suppose we have met before?"

He looks up at the sky, moving clouds and all, pondering his answer. "I was thinking the 40’s and 50's—you know, the Golden Age. But I think it's a little earlier than that, don't you think?"

"Like... the Roaring Twenties?"

“Yes!”

His enthusiasm amuses and fascinates you endlessly, and you never needed much to fuel your active imagination anyway. "I like that. I can see you as... a former pilot who fought in World War I. And then went on to become a poet. Or a pianist."

"I think I'm better off as a pianist.” He’s not very good with words—he’s much better plunking the ivories to get the party going.

"Fair, fair. A jazz… pianist, maybe?"

"Ooh, interesting." Bradley smiles, picturing it in his head. "And what would you be?”

"I don't know. You tell me." You lean back against the stone arch, looking at him expectantly. His answer will determine how he sees you and thus, how you feel about him. And you want him desperately to have a good answer.

"I wanna say... the starlet, or the mysterious singer—"

"Oh, come on. Even in my past life, I'm still a singer? Can't I be something else?” You groan in protest.

He chuckles, settling right across from you. "Okay, okay..." he looks at you deeply, pensively for a moment. "You're one of those socialites, who drank martinis and danced the Charleston until morning."

"Makes sense. I do love martini... and the Charleston."

"Right? You'd be one of those girls who rebelled against daddy dearest and partied all night, maybe broke a few hearts along the way."

"Including yours?"

“I don't know. You tell me."

Now it's your turn to pause and take a good look at him. You try to picture it; how boisterous and bright he must be, getting the party going by playing ragtime or samba. And you try to picture toying with his feelings; those irresistible hazel eyes watching you longingly across the room as you give some random man time of day for no other reason but to spark his jealousy...

"Nah. I think yours is the only one I didn't break. Not on purpose, at least,” you conclude definitively. The thought of leaning over the piano, sipping on cocktails while he croons out some love ditty—or sitting on his lap while he teaches you a Christmas tune at a holiday party seems way more appealing.

"What do you mean?”

"Well, you said so yourself about daddy dearest. He wanted me to marry one of his business associates, an heir to a shipping company or something.” You cheekily stroll past him, down the little path towards the fountain again.

Bradley smiles knowingly, just a step behind you. "Ah. And I'm just a lowly little pianist. What chance did we have, huh?"

You halt your steps and turn around to face him, a mischievous smirk on your face. "Would you have fought for me?"

To your surprise, he meets your gaze with a soft, unwavering look. "Without a doubt. I would have stood up to your father and told him that we were meant to be together, come hell or high water."

The phrase echoes in your head. Come hell or high water. It’s so loud, it sends you reeling and you had to sit down on the edge of the fountain. Suddenly the image of a screaming match flashes so clearly in your mind. Bradley's hand gripping years for dear life. The shallow sobs under the suffocating constrict of your dress. The tears blurring the sight of him leaving…

“But it didn't work, did it…”

He doesn't hear a question in your words —it sounds like a statement. And Bradley, ever the hopeless romantic, wants to say no. Of course it worked out, it had to. Maybe you ran away with him and lived a life of simple means. But it wouldn't have mattered, because it would've been full of music and dancing and love.

But the heartbreak in your eyes is so palpable, so...real. For a moment, it felt like the two of you actually lived it. You were just retracing the forgotten steps now.

"No.” He shakes his head softly, sitting next to you. "We tried. We fought, but... we lost.”

You know that, but it hurts to hear it anyway. Still, you can't help but continue the story. "I think I ended up marrying the businessman, do the right thing for my family. And let you go... play your music in Paris or something. Chase your dreams."

The life he imagined. Of simple means and abundant music... just no you. "I would have written so many songs about you..." he chuckles wistfully. As painful as it would've been to keep picking at old wounds, at least he would still have you in his life.

"I think I would've found your record eventually,” You pipe up, partly in self-consolation. Sure, it might be a stretch, but you're way beyond caring. You needed a piece of him, too. "And I would put it on every time I missed you. Which was every night."

The night is so still, even the leaves seem to give you a moment of privacy. Your little fingers barely touch on the edge of the bench as you sit and grieve for a tragic love story that never happened.

Eventually, though, you take a deep breath and break the silence. "Fuck. I could write a whole album based on that."

Bradley laughs at your sudden interruption, glad that you snapped him out of his reverie and brought him back to reality. "Yeah? I would be happy to help you brainstorm."

You throw him a look. It feels weird to return to this point of acquaintance after feeling like you’ve gone through lifetimes with him. But you’re glad to start anew in this life. "Is that your roundabout way of saying you wanna keep seeing me?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"I don't know. I don’t do maybe’s. You should ask me for real.”

Holy fuck. He closes his eyes for a moment as his heart skips. You always seem to keep him on his toes, do you? "Alright. Can I see you again? Maybe take you out to dinner?"

"I would like that. Does tomorrow night work for you?"

"Perfect." he beams at you. Fuck playing it cool, he just won himself a date with you.

"We should swap numbers so we can figure out the details.” You reach into your purse to grab your phone. And then, something dawns on you, making you smirk devilishly at him, "You wanna put your number in, or would you rather give me that friendship bracelet I heard you made for me?"

Bradley stops dead in his tracks. Of course that public declaration was gonna bite him in the ass. He was doing so well, dancing and talking and making an actual connection with you...gosh, he must've looked stupid right now. "You knew about that?" He grimaces.

"Of course. I have eyes and ears everywhere, " you sling coyly, letting him punch his numbers into your phone with great embarrassment. "That, and Natasha might have sent me a post on Instagram.”

He sighs in defeat as he hands your phone back. "Goddamn it, Natasha…"

#oooo wonder how their real first date is gonna be like!#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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jayden-killer · 5 months

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TVA LOKI AS YOUR BF PT.2

thank you so much for the support on the previous part of my Loki bf headcanons!! I didn't expect at all to be that liked. Here is the second part of my headcanons.

wanings: it may be a little sad :((

Be certain he will travel the multiverse if something happened to you. He doesn't want another close person of his to be hurt, or even worst, dead. He's had enough of it.

He's a decent cook! Since Mobius has kids, he'll probably teach Loki how to cook, so he can surprise you with great homemade waffles!

Spoiler: he cooked them very well, but he almost burnt the kitchen...

Are you cold? No problem. As the gentleman he is, he'll place his brown coat on your shoulders. "Better, little one?" *smiles*

He will probably break some TVA rules and take you out on dates in different realities. Your most recent one was in a 80's disco, situated in New York.

Loki gives the most reassuring hugs someone could ask for. Marvel probably forgot he is a Frost Giant, so his body is technically cold; but, to you, they're the warmest hugs in the world. His arms will cling you to his chest, nuzzling his nose into your hair. Leaving little kisses all over your scalp.

Both of you share emerald green rings that have in the inner part of them an engraved phrase: "Sun is shining on us for the enternity".

After he made the decision to sacrifice himself and become the God of Stories, he had to leave you. Not because he wanted it, he had to. It's different. Don't worry. He's watching over you, in every universe, making sure you are living the life you deserve. Leaving you was the hardest decision he has made in his life.

Yet, he'll always cherish those heartful moments in his heart.

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #loki series #loki laufesyon x reader #loki odinson #loki season 2 #loki headcanons #fluff #sfw #hints of angst #marvel one shot #marvel headcanons #loki odinson x reader #loki x y/n

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bridgetotheskyyy · 1 year

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godly hither

series masterlist

chapter summary: gojo has a fetish

chapter warnings: smut, 18+ content, fingering, pwp absolutely NO plot, gojo is a tease, gojo's also an ass

word count: i have no fucking idea i wrote this so long ago wait *checks ao3* 1.1k

a/n: very excited to share this series on tumblr as well I hope you all enjoy! based on this thirst post I made ages ago

read on ao3 here

“Go — Gojo!”

He couldn’t deny it; he had a certain preoccupation.

Gojo laughed as your spine arched at the command of his finger — his thumb feathered against your clit as his index teased the spongy space within you. You moaned at the touch and he rolled the universe that lived in his eyes, your leg brushing against his obvious erection as you squirmed.

“That’s right,” he said, his head falling back, relishing in the warm wet of your cunt, “squeeze me, love.”

He honestly enjoyed it more than fucking you. How victimized you became at the slightest touch. Despite how his cock strained against his boxers, begging to be buried inside of you. He retrained eyes on you, on your naked, shameless form, begging and whining — and all at the single, paltry touch of his fingers. He smirked, marveling at the sight. Gojo wagged his thumb on your clit, delighting in the way your hands went to cup your breasts in response, your legs imprisoning his wrist as they squeezed against them.

Gojo had done this for so long, tortured you so. He knew your end was near, knew he held your climax in his hands, so close he could hold it, fit it in his palm. He loved it. To have the power to make you cum, your release at his literal fingertips.

With a wicked grin, he knocked against your g-spot. Gojo laughed at the shuddered gasp you rewarded him with, his mirth carrying into the cold, quiet space that was the storage closet, dispersing into a series of echoes. You whined before clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the cry. Gojo licked his lips, an idea propelling him forward —

He offered his other hand to your mouth.

“Use this, darling,”

You happily took it, biting into his hand. He grunted at the feel of your teeth, his cock twitching, aching for release. He thrust his finger deeper. It was a simple, horrible tease of what could really feel you up, what you truly wanted. Your hips rocked into his other hand, growing impatient for your end, biting down on the one he offered with stuttered gasps. The boxes behind you squeaked against their cardboard, threatening to fall as a consequence of your rutting. Gojo felt his own heavy breathing, your midsection brushing endlessly against his erection.

He swooped down, moving his abused hand to inch closer to your lips, yet another part of you he owned, and licked them.

“Perfect,” he managed, meeting your eyes. He maintained composure for just a second, but only a second.

Gojo bucked against you. He lived for your agonized moan, descending into a whine. He allowed you to suppress your voice with his thumb before bucking into you again.

You trembled, mewled, and all at the curl of one tiny little finger.

Well, technically two — he remembered his thumb at your heat and pressed it into the tender, singing nub — but who was counting?

Oh, that’s right … he was.

The smirk that painted Gojo's face had to have been sickly; he would make you whine and mewl and beg for another one.

“Say it,” he bucked, almost as though he were truly fucking you. The boxes above slipped farther apart, farther forward, inclining for the floor.

“Please!” you shuddered, no patience for playing coy. “Please, gods, yes, Gojo — please, give me another! Another!”

You had played this game before and knew the rules. Victory.

Who was he to deny you?

He slipped a second finger in, then a third, the moist of your cunt sending saliva to his mouth.

“Yes —! Mmph! …” you hissed, because you wanted to scream and because you couldn’t scream.

Gojo forced two fingers into your disobedient mouth, muting your senseless appraisals as you squeezed your eyes shut.

So wonderful. It was he could to do to resist releasing into his boxers, fighting to keep his tongue from falling out of his mouth like a fucking dog as you hooked a leg around his waist, burying your face in his neck, clinging to him in such a delicious, damsel-like fashion. He maneuvered his other hand, wet with your saliva, to your ass to push you up, your arms around his neck as he fed you his fingers.

“Yes …” he said as his fingers thrusted, as you offered him your sweet honey. His fingers curled, pace torturously slow as he asked your climax to come forth and coat him with your sinful juices.

You moaned, squirmed in his embrace, and he could only want more. You were going to cum, cum, and it would be because of him. All because he commanded it —

He covered your mouth with his as your climax came, your insides clenching down on his eager fingers as they brought you to your end. Gojo was delirious with his own pleasure, his orgasm supplied by the endless rutting of his hips against yours. You would both be filthy and dripping in one another’s cum.

He couldn’t wait to lick your wet off his fingers, couldn’t wait to savor your taste, but he preferred to let you finish. Your orgasm sent your head lolling backward, pushing a box at its edge back against its brothers just in the nick of time.

He touched your orgasm from you. Once the final grasps of your insides waned along with your pleasure, he pulled his fingers away. He fed them to his mouth, one by one, licking off the cream as though it were frosting from a delectable pastry.

“Mm,” he sang.

You peaked an eye out to watch him, your gaze heavy-lidded. Your breath was shallow as he eased gently to the floor. He did not let go; your legs were weak from the play and he did not want you falling.

You were the one to push him away as he began to work on the second finger, sucking vigorously. You checked your clothes and grumbled, annoyed, at the wet spot circling your jeans.

“Mmmm,” he sang still, ignoring the mess he’d made on you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” You said. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

You gestured to the stain at your jeans.

“Say you dropped your popsicle.”

“Popsicles don’t smell like this, Satoru. And you could’ve gotten us caught!”

“Wouldn’t that have just made it more fun?”

“Maybe for you.” You fought back, but your breath was still noticeably labored and it only made him feel triumphant. “Pervert …”

You passed him, aiming for the door.

Heh, you’re right, (Y/n).

He let you go, beginning on the third finger, licking off the orgasm he had won from you.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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ellecdc · 2 months

Note

hello loveeee 🩷

can i request cbbh universe jily take harry to diagon alley and shop for school supplies before he goes off to hogwarts for the first time 🥹 i cant stop thinking of their reactions when harry gets matched with a wand (+ jily getting emo remembering their first time at ollivanders too 🥲) and james hyping his boy up as they get him his broom 🥹

this is totally not me tryna heal from canon trauma ha ha…

I fucking loved this - thank you for requesting! May we all heal from the trauma that was the canon HP universe.

CBBH James Potter x Lily Evans Potter // Sirius black x Vixen

The boys were practically vibrating with excitement as the group of six made their way to Diagon Alley. And by boys, Lily meant Draco, Harry, Sirius, and James.

“Okay, so we’ve got to go to Ollivander’s for your wands, Flourish and Blott’s for your books, Madame Malkin’s for your robes, and the Apothecary for potions ingredients. We’ll also stop to get you your own cauldrons...” Lily read from her list methodically.

“And we’ll go to the Pet Emporium and then we’ll get you brooms!” James cheered like a kid at Christmas. Lily wanted to chide him, but she was (nearly) just as excited as her husband and son.

“Okay,” Y/N said as she patiently patted her husband’s shoulder, urging him away from his best friend (and thus, a source of trouble). “why don’t you go with your mum and dad Harry, and Sirius and I will take Draco.”

“Wait.” Sirius barked dramatically. “Can we do the fun parts together?”

“It’s all fun, Pad’s.” She chided.

Sirius grumbled but continued. “I mean the brooms and the pets. I bought my godson’s first broom – I’d like to buy him his first school broom too.” He stated with pride.

“And I’ve always wanted to carry on the tradition with my godson!” James said excitedly.

Draco laughed. “Aren’t mum and dad technically my godparents already?”

This earned him a gentle pat up the back of the head from Sirius. “Don’t talk back to your godfather.”

“Yes sir.” Draco said good humouredly and shared a fond eyeroll with Harry.

“Okay. Why don’t we complete our checklists and then meet at Florean’s for ice cream before we do the fun stuff.” Lily relented.

Sirius and James cheered while Draco and Harry shared a high-five.

“Onwards!” James declared.

It was very important to Lily to get this experience with Harry, as well as for Draco to get this experience with Sirius and Y/N.

Draco already lost the opportunity to experience this with his birth parents; he deserved this chance to make happy memories with his parents like Lily and James did at his age.

And she couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that had the war gone differently, she may have never gotten the chance to do this with her son.

Remus and Regulus agreed to spend the day with Jasmine (Potter), Aurora (Black), Posie (Potter), Lyra (Black), and Leo & Stella (Black) at home for both sets of parents while they were off with the boys. Regulus grumbled and complained but also showed up to the playroom with an astronomical amount of craft supplies, while Remus was out-and-out giddy at the prospect of spending the day with his nieces and youngest nephew.

Lily and James decided to let Harry choose which order they did their shopping in.

They began by getting him a cauldron and his potions supplies. James moaned and groaned the entire time, muttering about “Slytherin’s this” and “Snivellus that”, but Harry (the good lad he is) just assured his dad he wanted to get the boring bits out of the way first.

Then they went to get his books, which Lily was most excited about though James continued to whine.

“Next year we should let Uncle Moony bring you to get your books, he’d be in heaven.” James said.

“Okay but only if mum can come too!” Lily called from somewhere else deep within the store.

After they left the shop, Lily started trying to redistribute the bags so that they weighed roughly an even amount as they got heavy. She suddenly realised her son and husband were laughing at her.

“What?” She spat in faux irritation.

“It’s like you forget you’re a witch.” James said as he looked at his wife’s confused face with unconditional love.

James quickly cast a weightless charm on the shopping bags and shrunk them down to fit inside Lily’s tote bag.

“There ya go, love.” He said with a smack of a kiss on her cheek.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the heat moving to her cheeks. Some habits were hard to break, she supposed.

They then continued to Madame Malkin’s to purchase Harry some uniform robes. They bumped into Sirius, Y/N, and Draco whilst they were there, and James and Sirius spent the entire time pretending to be strangers to one another exchanging pleasantries.

“Ah, nice to meet you, good sir. First time?” Sirius asked in a deep register.

“Yes, yes. This is my first born, Harold Jameson Potter the Seventh. And you?” James responded in like.

“Naw, this ain’t ma first rodeo.” Sirius said, transitioning to a (terrible) Southern American accent.

“Yippee ki-yay.” James returned.

The boys were giggling from their platforms as they were being fitted, causing Mrs. Malkin to shush them as Harry received a stray pin to the shoulder.

Finally, the part everyone had been most excited about, was Ollivander’s. Lily couldn’t help but remember her poor muggle parent’s – dragging a petulant Petunia behind them – trying to be supportive of Lily even though they had no idea what anything meant.

When a witch or wizard get their wand – the hope is that the wand will remain with them throughout their life. The wand chooses it’s wix, and throughout the user’s life, they learn from the wand and the wand learns from them.

A wand is nearly synonymous with a marriage: perhaps more.

Lily chose James and James chose Lily – but both could function without the other. If they fell out of love tomorrow, they’d both find ways to move on.

But Lily’s relationship with her wand is her longest relationship of her entire life, and without it – she would feel naked. The wand provides her with protection, strength, knowledge, and power. Without it, she’s just a girl.

And today, she gets to watch her son as he finds the wand that will provide him protection, strength, knowledge, and power throughout his whole life. She felt her sinuses sting as the bell rung above the door.

“You okay, love?” James whispered into her ear as Harry eyed the rows and rows of boxes lining every wall.

Lily didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded and offered him a watery smile.

“Oh, my flower.” James said as he rubbed his wife’s back, but Lily didn’t miss the wetness of his own voice. She knew he was probably thinking about coming here with Effie and Monty at Harry’s age (and his near doppelgänger) to choose his own wand. His parents would have understood the significance of finding his first wand - how momentous this moment would be – just as Lily and James did now.

“My, my, do we have another firs- oh!” Mr. Ollivander started as he poked his head out from the back room, interrupted by the scene in front him.

“Why...it can’t be...but, wow!” He cheered as he came around the register.

“Introduce yourself, Haz.” Lily encouraged her son.

“I’m Harry P-”

“Potter, yes." Ollivander completed for Harry. "Of James Fleamont Potter who was matched with an 11-inch mahogany wand with a dragon heartstring around this time about twenty years ago. And Fleamont Hari Potter some thirty-eight years before that. My...”

“I never forget a customer, you see.” He clarified when Harry turned to his parents somewhat concernedly at this stranger’s familiarity.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Ollivander.” Lily said with a smile.

“Ah, and you, Miss Evan’s, or, Mrs. Potter, I suppose.”

Without further ado, Ollivander started pulling boxes from the stacks, trying Harry on for size.

The first one nearly singed everyone’s eyebrows off and was quickly returned to its box.

“Temperamental, that was is. Hm,” Ollivander said mostly to himself as he carried on.

The second set off the sprinkler system above them and got sent back to its home as well.

Finally, a wand was handed to Harry (the wand) from the stack. An 11-inch holly wand with a phoenix feather core. Harry picked it up, and (quite beautiful, in Lily’s opinion) fireworks sprouted from its tip.

“An odd combination of wood and core – I’ve not seen many like it myself.” Ollivander admitted.

“Well, Haz is a bit of an odd guy.” James said as he ruffled his son’s hair.

“Dad!” Harry screeched as the two began to roughhouse.

“Okay, oi, this store is not big enough. Boys!” Lily reprimanded.

The trio finished up their shopping and headed towards Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream parlour. Sirius, Y/N, and Draco were already seated, which Sirius was very smug about.

“Must be hard being second best at everything, Potter.” He called out to James. This resulted in James leaping over the barrier of the parlour’s patio seating area and landing on Sirius. Y/N had her face in her hands and Draco was (unsuccessfully) trying to smother his laughter.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Lily grumbled as she shot an auguamenti at the two boys men.

The two men shot apart like cats in an alleyway after someone threw something at them for howling in the middle of the night.

“Go get your wives and sons ice cream.” Lily barked at them.

“Yes ma’am.” Sirius and James responded, each bringing their first two finger to their forehead and offering a salute before walking marching inside.

After their quick treat, where Draco and Harry compared their wands and showed each other all that they had bought, they carried on to the ‘fun stuff’.

“Have you thought at all about what kind of pet you’d like, Draco?” Y/N asked the boy.

Draco appeared to consider something before a blush permeated his cheekbones.

“I think...I think I’d like a cat; like my mum had.” He admitted quietly.

Sirius offered a sad but delighted sigh at his son and Y/N pulled him into an embrace.

Narcissa Malfoy attended her first year with the company of a regal white long-haired half kneazle. That cat (monstrosity, if you asked Sirius) was her most prized possession for years to come after that.

“That sounds like a beautiful choice, my love.” Y/N offered as they made their way to Magical Menagerie.

There was a pure white long-haired kneazle cross available that Sirius was positive Draco would beeline for.

However, surprising everyone, Draco found a small tortoiseshell kitten with a missing eye. “This one!” He proclaimed.

And so, it was.

He named her Larissa – after one of Neptune’s moons, and in the same vein as his mum’s name Narcissa.

Harry insisted on getting an owl so he could “race them with his new broom.” He landed on a beautiful snowy owl with piercing yellow eyes. Lily found her a little off-putting; “no owl should look like they know so much” she had said.

To name her, Harry decided to flip open to a random page of one of his textbooks. Harry named her Hedwig, which he found on page 158 in Bathilda Bagshot’s book “A History of Magic”.

Y/N and Lily found a bench near Broomstix and watched as the four boys walked (skipped) into the store, speaking over top of one another in their excitement.

“God we’re so lucky.” Y/N said quietly.

Lily felt like her heart was a well that was just overflowing with love.

“We really are.” She agreed.

@ttulipwritezz

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #marauders come back be here #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #sirius black x reader #Sirius black x you #Jily #james potter x lily evans #James Potter x lily evans #marauders fix it #diagon alley #ask elle

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hollybell51 · 10 months

Text

It's ok - two

Navigation

Part one

Adam Warlock x AFAB!Reader

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3 (outside canon)

Word count: 7.5K

Summary: you and Adam deal with the aftermath of the pollen debacle

Content: referenced sex pollen and associated dubcon, SMUT, agan maybe a bit of perviness, Adam being down bad, reader being down bad, blowjobs, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Adam's not technically a virgin any more but still kinda is, reader definitely isn't, bit of angst, with a happy ending, getting together, fluff, light dirty talk, praise kink, light body worship, subby Adam, again potential ooc

Notes: this is part 2 so you gotta read part 1 for it to make sense. I hope I fixed the numerous moral issues with part 1's ending lmao also before you come at me for the shower stuff; I'm so white I'm practically reflective, so I do apologise to all my textured-hair girlies for my crimes against you with that... I hope praise kink Adam who loves tits makes up for it. enjoy.

Oh yeah, this is also on my AO3

You woke slowly, swimming up against the gravity of sleep as though it were mud. Your whole body was tingling with a pleasant warmth and heaviness, underpinned by something that wasn’t quite unease, or discomfort, but close enough. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pulled the blanket closer around your neck. Hold on. Blanket?

You shot upright, cursing as the cool air of the ship’s interior hit your bare skin. Of course. You vaguely remembered the sudden flush of heat that had overcome you, your suit constricting like it was being shrink wrapped to your skin, the incessant throbbing low in your stomach and then between your legs. Everything after that was foggy, as though you were watching a film with a hazy filter, shot through a curtain of water. But you could definitely see Adam’s concerned face close to your own, feel the echo of his hand on your back and on your forehead. And, well, everywhere else.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he’d asked, as if you hadn’t been dreaming about that for months. Hell, you’d been imagining that exact eventuality as you’d frantically gotten yourself off on the floor of the shower.

Now, you wondered if he was ever going to look at you the same way. It had been quick, hard and rough and you felt bad now for how little thought you’d spared him. You weren’t even really thinking at all, your mind offered. He seemed ok. He came, didn’t he? You felt your cheeks heat at the memory, fuzzy as it was, of his face buried in the crook of your neck, hips jutting up against yours, strong arms wrapped around your waist and your name on his lips. It was better than anything your imagination had ever cooked up, and you were probably racking up some truly awful karma by stowing it away.

You sighed, pushing yourself off the bed and running a hand through your (mostly) dry hair, fingers catching in the mess of tangles. You were never going to skim information on anything ever again. Actually, screw that, you were never going to go outside again. At least without a full suit and helmet, oxygen tank and air filter included.

The blanket trailed behind you like a grotesque bridal train as you headed for the bridge, bare feet slapping faintly on the cool floors. It had felt nice earlier, but now you wished you’d kept track of your clothes. You’d left your underwear in the shower, hadn’t you? What had happened to your suit?

The ship was eerily quiet, the bridge deserted but for a pile you didn’t remember leaving on what had been your seat – still swivelled around to face Adam’s for the sole purpose of being able to watch him read the briefing and notes as you packed.

The pile, as it turned out, was a fresh suit and your underwear, bearing no traces of the frankly ridiculous amount of wetness that had made the walk back so uncomfortable, or shower water. Had he washed them for you? Then dried them, too? Your heart gave a pathetic little jump and twist at the thought. Adam didn’t deserve something like this. Maybe if it had been anyone else you’d have been able to live it down, laugh it off and thank them for the good times, but him? No way in hell.

You’d felt something towards the newest citizen of Knowhere almost as soon as you’d started really talking to him. He was funny once you’d gotten him to lighten up, and had practically jumped at the opportunity to help repair the damage to the planetoid, even if he’d been the one who caused a lot of it. There was so much genuine curiosity and wonder in him, the painfully obvious desire to do well – which you supposed came from the High Evolutionary and the whole Perfect Man thing – and the fact that he seemed to hang on your every word like it was the gospel… Well, you hadn’t stood a chance. It had only gone downhill from there, and before long you’d been wondering what it would be like to see what constituted the perfect man up close and personal. What would the hands that destroyed so much of your home, and then rebuilt it beside you, feel like on your bare skin? Would your arms fit around those broad shoulders as perfectly as you imagined? Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

You supposed you knew some of that now. You fit against him perfectly, like you were made for each other. His hands were painfully gentle, and much softer than you’d thought they’d be. You regretted that you hadn’t kissed him more, and done a better job of it. You cringed at the memory of your teeth clashing against his, not an ounce of coordination or forethought.

He’d been better at it when he’d kissed over your chest, sucked gently at the skin of your breasts. You could see a few faint marks as you did up your suit, far too ill-defined to be called hickeys. Guiltily, you wished you’d gotten him to leave more.

You were jerked out of that line of thought by something rustling onto the floor. A note, scrawled hastily.

“Dear (Y/N),” crossed out, then “To (Y/N),” crossed out again, finally just “(Y/N).”

You smiled stupidly. Who knew indecisiveness could be so endearing?

“I hope you’re ok.”

“Yep,” you whispered in return. “All fine here.”

“Sorry I left. I hope you’re not cold. I didn’t want to wake you up so I didn’t dry your hair.”

God, this man.

“I washed your clothes for you, but I incinerated the other suit. Sorry. It had pollen on it. Don’t worry, I made sure it’s all gone.”

You sighed. “Thank you, Adam.”

“I’ve gone out, but I’ll be back in no more than three hours.” There was time here, too, underlined and in parenthesis. He had about half an hour left. Shit, had you been out that long? Seriously?

The next line started with “I h” but the rest was so heavily crossed out you couldn’t even begin to guess what it said. It was followed by “I hope you’re ok” again, then another bout of heavy censorship before his name. You wondered how he’d originally signed it, but quickly squashed that. Nope.

“Alright,” you said to the note. You felt a bit stupid checking your surroundings as you folded it and placed it in your pocket, but hey, it might come in handy. For reports or future references or… something.

How was he being so goddamn nice? A heavy stone of guilt settled in your stomach, along with the distinct sense that he was doing this because he didn’t know better. He was so eager to please, to do good, that he’d probably just assumed fucking you – letting you fuck him was probably a more apt description, actually – was the natural solution to the pollen problem. And yeah, you’d heard the part about dying if you didn’t (which you thought was ridiculous, frankly, and probably said something about humans and their suitability for anywhere outside Earth) but it still didn’t sit right with you. Not even a little.

Something beeped on the console, the light for the door flashing cheerfully. “He’s back!” it seemed to be saying. “He’s back, he’s back, he’s back!”

“Yeah, alright,” you muttered, flicking it off. “Think of the devil.”

“What devil?”

You jumped. Actually genuinely jumped before you turned towards the voice. “Figure of speech.”

“Oh,” said Adam, boots thudding dully on the floor as he crossed the space. “Did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks for… this.” You didn’t know what to do with your hands. Fuck, why were your hands so sweaty? And since when had he looked good good in that damn suit? It was ugly on everyone, no matter how pretty they happened to be without it.

Oblivious to the mini meltdown in your head, as he should be, Adam pulled off his gloves and set them down on his seat with a soft thwump noise. “That’s ok. Sorry I didn’t stay, I didn’t want to disturb you, and then I figured you’d be out for a while, then I thought maybe I should just get it over with since I can…” A pause, a breath, then, “Go out there.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “it’s fine. I’d have done the same.” Should you mention the note? No, you decided. It was staying tucked away in your pocket forever.

He shrugged, then held up his arms. “I didn’t get any on me, by the way.”

Right, yeah, the pollen. The pollen that had turned you into a goddamn nymphomaniac. You supposed it was going to come up, and better to just bite the bullet, right?

“Adam,” you started, stepping around your chair to face him.

His eyes followed every movement, as if he was memorising the way a person walked. Up close, you could make out a faint bronze tinge to his golden face, most likely from the heat outside. You could have studied it for hours.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. It came out quieter than you’d have liked, huskier and less sure of yourself. You forged on. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything, and I just… I…” Deep breath, look him in the eyes. “Thank you. For helping me. I know it’s how the whole ‘saving people’ gig usually goes but… you did. So, uh, thanks.”

Maybe it was trite. Maybe it was a poor choice of words, but Adam didn’t seem to think so. Very carefully, as though he were afraid of somehow hurting you, he reached out and took your hand. His skin was warm and smooth to the touch as it had been before (after all, why should it have changed?), and just like it had in the shower, his thumb moved in little circles over the back of your hand.

“It’s alright,” he said, sincere as anyone and only just tinged with something that might have been regret’s cousin. “You didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Yeah, I… yeah.” You couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped you. You didn’t have much of a choice? Carefully, you lifted your gaze from the hypnotic movement of his thumb. It was odd how such a tiny gesture, such a light touch, could suffuse your entire being with such warmth. It wasn’t like the heat from earlier, it was gentle and soft and the fact that you clung so desperately to it probably said more about you than him, but still… “I’m glad it was you, Adam.”

You could have sworn he stood straighter, and that the lines of his shoulders became less harsh. Maybe it was just the smile he was giving you, genuine and sweet, and wow you’d never felt so undeserving of a damn facial expression.

He nodded. “I didn’t realise it could feel like that.” Then, at your frown, “Sex, I mean. I didn’t understand why people liked it so much, but now I think I do.”

Oh. Oh. Right. That bit. Of course you were going to have to talk about that bit too. Looking back, you were pretty sure that you’d have thought absolutely anything was top-notch in the state you were in, and from what you remembered, the actual mechanics of it had been very one-sided. You had, if you were honest, simply fucked yourself on top of him.

But you were not going to say that. Instead, you snorted and let your hand fall from his. “You’ve been having sex with the wrong people, then.” Not that I’m the right one, or anything. But maybe I could have been.

Adam eyed your hand, then shrugged and turned towards the panel. “I hadn’t had sex with anyone before you,” he said as he unclipped his radio and dropped it onto one of the few free spaces.

Woah. Woah, hold on, rewind. He what? That was the first time for him? That? The guilt-stone had become a bloody guilt-boulder, and were you being dramatic or had the ship just wobbled?

“What?”

He turned back towards you, frowning. “I hadn’t done it before. Are you ok?”

“Oh God.”

“What? Is something wrong?” He was back in front of you, hands ghosting over your shoulders and arms as your mind raced. You hadn’t even considered that. Well yeah, you had, in various imagined scenarios and fantasies none of which involved the prospect of your death if you did not have sex with him.

“Yeah, I–” You took a breath, forcing yourself to look at him. How the hell were you going to explain this? Should you? Would it just make it worse? But no, you owed him this at least. “Adam,” you said as gently as you could, “your first time should be with someone you want, because you want to do it with them. It shouldn’t be to save someone’s life, let alone someone who… Fuck, Adam, I’m sorry.”

He had a firm grip on your shoulders now, and that damned thumb was giving you the comfort treatment there, too. You wondered if he realised he was doing it. “Don’t be,” he said. “I still liked it. And I did want to do it with you. I know it was only me because there’s no one else here, but I still… I still wanted you.” He paused, then, “I just wish it had been you you.”

Yeah, so did you. But that wasn’t what stuck with you. He’d wanted you. He’d liked it, shit as it had probably been from his end. “You…” You stopped, swallowed. “You wanted me, too?”

He just nodded, searching your face. The tinge of bronze had deepened to copper.

“Oh.”

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I think about you a lot. I wondered– wondered what it would be like to kiss you. Touch you, feel you like… like that.”

Again, all you could manage was a soft “oh,” acutely aware of his closeness, how he filled your vision, the temperature of the ship (which seemed to have risen), and his hands through your clothes. “And?”

His breath hitched in his chest, and his voice was low when he answered. “I’d have liked to kiss you, stay with you afterwards. Tell you… Tell you that you’re important to me, and I don’t ever want to see you in pain again.”

You drew your own breath. How could this be happening? This didn’t exist outside your mind. It really shouldn’t even exist in your mind. But you heard yourself speak all the same. “You could. Kiss me, I mean. If you still want to.”

His thumb stilled. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, moving a fraction of a step closer. “I’d like you to.”

You did not like cliches. You did not like to be trite or banal, but you could have sworn you were living in slow motion as Adam leaned down the few inches between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it was almost chaste.

You tilted your face towards his before he could pull away, parting your lips ever so slightly, leaning into the warmth at your shoulders. He seemed to get the idea, his hands sliding effortlessly up your neck to cradle your face, fingers caressing your jaw and cheeks, your own hands settling on his wrists. Your heart thudded wildly, and you felt for all the world like a schoolgirl playing truth or dare at a sleepover, a teenager spinning the bottle with the boy you liked sitting across from you, a Guardian of the goddamn Galaxy being touched so gently by the guy you’d ridden six ways into next week not three hours ago.

You pulled back first, but barely. “I didn’t do a very good job of this before, did I?”

“It wasn’t too bad. Not what I expected.” You could feel the words on your skin, your face so close to his that his features were slightly blurred. His breath was warm against your lips.

“Mm,” you sighed, “that’s not usually how it goes.”

“Oh. Ok then.” He dipped back down momentarily, pulling away just as fast. “I like this a lot better.”

“Me too,” you smiled, stretching up to kiss him again. This was firmer, more direct. This time his lips were parted too, and he gave a pleased little hum when you moved against him. You let go of his wrists, mourning the loss of his hands on your face for a moment before you mimicked the position, pulling him closer to you. He was good at this, and you vaguely wondered if it was just the sex part that was new to him. His hands had settled at your waist, holding you steady and he hummed into your mouth, a sound that you could have listened to forever.

“I wanted this for so long, Adam,” you murmured between kisses. “I thought about you too, you know.”

“(Y/N)...” Adam paused, raising a hand to press against your forehead.

You just smiled, pressing into his touch. “It’s all me, don’t worry.”

He nodded, following your lead as your tongue slipped along his lip, a tiny moan caught between his mouth and yours when you slid it alongside his. He tasted like the falsely sweet nutritious bars you never seemed to run out of, warm and smooth and so soft. How could a person’s mouth be that soft? Now you really felt bad for the borderline assault you’d launched on it earlier.

You’d ended up with your hands on his shoulders, half bracing yourself and half mapping out the contours of his upper arms, neck, collar and chest. Your fingers slid easily through his hair where it brushed his neck, dipping occasionally under the high collar. You needed to get someone onto redesigning those.

He was holding you so close you wondered if he was trying to somehow pull you into him, his grip firm and decisive on your hips. Carefully, experimentally, you pushed your pelvis against his, a bolt of heat shooting through you at the hardness already growing there. He cursed, muffled by the fact that his tongue was in your mouth, welcome as anything he was giving you.

“Is this–?” you started, but he cut you off.

“Yes,” he breathed, drawing back enough to look at you. He was really flushed now, lips swollen and so, so pretty, eyes bright with want. “Yes, (Y/N).”

“Are you sure? No lives on the line here.”

He smiled, stroking your hip gently. “I’m sure.”

“Ok.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before taking his hand and leading him towards the bed you’d woken in, your steps sure and determined. He sat, as he had before, watching you expectantly. You considered simply shedding your clothes and letting him take the lead. Maybe you could sit on his lap and jerk him off, show him how to touch you. Maybe.

“Can I?” you asked as you stood between his legs, fingers toying with the fastenings of his clothes.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Would you like me to?”

Again, “yes.”

You smiled, running your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta help me out.”

“Mhm.” He nodded, kissing your palm before reaching up to peel off the suit, rolling the material smoothly down his arms, his chest, letting it bunch at his hips.

This was not the first time you’d seen him without a shirt. There’d been the aftermath of the face-off with the High Evolutionary, for one, and you definitely remembered stripping him before. A few moments where he or you had entered the other’s space as he’d been pulling a shirt on or a suit up, nothing more than a glimpse of midasian shoulders, the ripple of a smooth back, the hint of a belt of muscle. You’d carefully stowed every inch of gleaming gold in the deepest recesses of your mind.

Now you could touch, too. You bent to kiss him as your fingers curled around the ball of his shoulder, revelling in the little sigh he gave when you dragged your hand down to his sternum. His heart thudded under your palm, and you swore you could feel the warm rush of his blood beneath his skin as you slid your touch sideways, your hand now splayed over his ribs.

He whispered your name as you moved your kisses to his jaw, still soft, gradually trailing down his neck. Goosebumps prickled under your hand when your tongue brushed his skin, the sharp rush of his breath stirring your hair when you sucked ever so lightly at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Lower, over his heart, tiny bronze marks standing out against the smooth gold. You felt the skin of his stomach twitch as your fingers met the waistband of his underwear, and you paused.

“Is this alright?” you asked, craning your neck to look at him.

“Yes.” His eyes were closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

“This?” You slipped your hand under the material, tracing the deep v of his pelvis.

“(Y/N), please–”

Oh wow. The too-tight, too-hot feeling was back, only this time its cause wasn’t sprinkled all over you. He was looking at you like you were an oxygen tank and he was drowning, and how could you ever have said no to that?

“I can’t do it all by myself,” you smiled, pulling at the bunched and folded material circling his waist, “you gonna help out?”

He assured you he was, lifting his hips and kicking his pants down to his ankles. It was then that you both realised he still had his boots on. He cursed softly, apologised, bent to unlace them before your hands on his stopped him. You knew what you were doing now, and exactly where you were going.

“Let me?” you said as you knelt between his legs, your fingers already at work.

“Oh,” he whispered as he watched you. “(Y/N), you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you replied simply. “I wanna take care of you, Adam. Can I?”

“Yes.” It was a sigh, and his eyes when you met them were so full of what could only be described as awe that you wondered if he’d actually heard you. You ran your hands up his muscular thighs, wriggling closer to the edge of the bed, forcing his legs further apart. You bent, laying a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses across his stomach, marvelling at the smoothness and warmth of his skin, the faint tang of sweat and something else that was distinctly Adam.

“You took care of me,” you whispered as you pulled off his underwear. “I wanna return the favour.”

He was hard, you’d felt – and seen – that much already. What you hadn’t seen, and had failed to even consider in any detail, was that his dick would be – that any dick could be – so damn pretty. It was metallic as the rest of him, ample as you’d felt earlier, flushed copper and fuck you wanted to put it in your mouth right now.

“Is…” He paused, breathing hard. “Is that ok?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Yeah, Adam, you’re perfect. You’re just… You’re perfect.”

He sighed again, this time with something close to relief. “Oh. Ok. That’s… That’s good. Thank you.”

“Can I touch you?” You’d already touched him practically everywhere else, and had done a little earlier, so you didn’t expect that moan that slipped from him.

“Yes, please,” he breathed. “Please, (Y/N), go ahead.”

Go ahead, whispered into your neck before you’d sunk down on that dick. So of course, you spat into your hand and wrapped your fingers around him, moving your hand gently to coat the whole thing in moisture. Adam’s thigh tensed under your free hand, his breath catching in his chest. You watched his face carefully as you found a rhythm, mapping every vein and curve, the swell of the head, the wet slit which you slid your thumb over – making his hips jerk ever so slightly into your grip.

“So beautiful,” you whispered as his hand came to rest on your shoulder. “You’re so perfect, Adam. How’d I get so lucky? What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

Your name was little more than a sharp intake of breath, and you smiled as you continued your movements. His hand slid up to your hair, around the back of your neck, fingers dipping under the collar of your suit. “Your clothes,” he said softly.

“Off?” You paused, relishing in the feel of his hand on you. It had been magnified thousand-fold earlier, every brush of his skin lighting you on fire. This was less severe, though not by much.

“Mhm.”

“Ok.” You turned your head, kissing his hand before it slipped from you as you stood. You were less graceful than Adam was in undressing, and you knew you were no stripper, but his eyes still followed every movement raptly, as though he were memorising every inch of skin you revealed. You kicked your suit aside, stepping back into place between his legs as you cast off your bra.

Adam’s hands were quick to settle on your hips, dipping under the waistband of your underwear. “Do you want help with this, too?”

“Yes,” you smiled as you brought your hands to his hair. You’d vaguely noticed that it was softer than you’d expected, and didn’t catch easily between your fingers, but that he’d seemed to like it when you’d pulled it a little. You could explore that more later, you supposed, too focussed on the way he slid the garment down over your thighs to pool at your feet. He hummed quietly as you continued to card through his hair, fingers stroking his scalp gently.

You followed his movement as he ducked lower, sucking a harsh breath through your teeth when you felt him kiss your hip bone, his tongue warm and silken. He did again, his moan soft moan when your fingers involuntarily tightened in his hair stifled by your pelvis. He was copying you, you realised, giving you a belt of kisses just like you’d done to him. Except he was moving lower now, becoming sloppier, gently sucking every now and then.

“What’re you doing?” you asked softly, frowning down at him.

“I want to taste you,” he murmured, not raising his head. “Want to make you feel good.”

Oh God. This man, you thought for the second time and certainly not the last. You laughed, the growing heat in your gut throbbing indignantly as you pulled him gently away. He pressed his cheek into your hand again as you let it fall from his hair, his brow pinched in confusion.

“Next time,” you told him, “ok?” Then, “And you already made me feel good. You fucked me so good it saved my life. Now it’s my turn, hm?”

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then the confusion cleared and he nodded, turning his head to kiss your wrist. He didn’t break eye contact as you knelt once more, rubbing your hands over his thighs again, up to his hips where you caressed the little belt of copper marks. You matched now. How cute.

You leaned forwards, kissing the spot where his leg met his body. If you turned your head just an inch, your mouth would be on his cock. It was hot to the touch, still wet with your makeshitft lube, still flushed deep bronze, now beaded with precum at the tip.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. “You tell me if you wanna stop, ok?”

“Ok.”

That was all you needed. You licked up the shaft, ignoring the twitch of his hips and the sharp gasp it conjured. He moaned – really moaned – when your lips closed over the head, then again, louder, as you relaxed your mouth and sank down on him. What didn’t fit in your mouth was taken care of by the hand that wasn’t holding his hips down, not that you’d be able to do much if he decided to face fuck you.

“(Y/N),” he panted, “oh my– (Y/N).”

“Good?” you mumbled, though it sounded nothing like the word. He seemed to get the idea.

“Yes, yes it’s– you’re– Oh!”

You’d sucked, hard, hollowing your cheeks and sliding your head down as far as you could. You drew back, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before you did again. And again, and again.

He groaned your name as you sped up, hand moving in tandem with your mouth, hot and heavy against your tongue. His hand had found its way to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just resting on the back of your head as you practically swallowed his dick.

You’d never had a problem giving head. Liked it, sure, if the guy was nice, but you hadn’t loved it, and had never understood people who did. Now, as Adam cursed and whispered your name, all of it liberally punctuated by stilted moans and the occasional whine or grunt, you thought you got it. The idea that it was you doing that to him, you and you alone teasing forth those heady noises and making his body twitch and jerk like that… You could happily get on your knees for him every day of the rest of your life if this was what it was like every time.

You breathed deeply through your nose, the warm, sweet and very Adam smell of him managing somehow to overpower the ever growing mess of spit and a little sweat your hand was sliding through. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but here it only forced your own soft moan before trickling to join the wetness growing between your legs. Earlier, as your mind had cleared, right as Adam had been lifting you off his lap, you’d decided that you never wanted to be aroused ever again. You were very happy that wish hadn’t come true as you squeezed your thighs together, eager for any friction you could get.

You could taste the saltiness of his precum at the back of your throat, feel the throb of his cock on your tongue as you relaxed even further, taking him deeper than you’d tried before. You prayed you weren’t about to make yourself throw up on him.

“(Y/N),” he choked, thumb rubbing tiny circles where it rested in your hair. That was going to be a bitch to untangle.

“Hm?”

“You’re so–” He broke off as you sucked hard, the muscles of his thighs and stomach tensing. “Ah, you’re so beautiful. So soft, you’re so… Oh, (Y/N)--”

You’d sped up at the praise, fuelled by the tiny, restrained thrusts into your mouth and the tightening of his hand in your hair. He was close, you could feel it, and you wanted nothing more than to make him cum in your mouth.

“So much,” he groaned. “It’s so… so much, I–”

You squeezed gently at his thigh, a silent reassurance. He’d cum before – in you, no less – but maybe you should have started with something that you could talk to him through. You could have used your hand and told him that it was ok, that he was doing well, while you kissed him and he made all those beautiful noises against your lips. Hell, you could have gone straight to the ninth yard and let him fill you up again, given him control.

Too late now, you supposed. His cock twitched, hips stuttering, whole body tensing. You squeezed his thigh again, I’ve got you, it’s alright, as he groaned deeply. His chest heaved, head tipped back as he came down your throat, hot and thick and salty. You didn’t stop your movements, hand and mouth working him through his high until there was no more. You pulled back and, after a moment’s hesitation, gently licked away the mess of your own spit coating him.

You sat back on your heels, hand still resting on his shaking leg, and took him in. He shone with more than his usual iridescence, a sheen of sweat clinging to his torso, some pieces of hair sticking to his forehead, face and neck flushed so prettily, breath still coming hard and fast. You’d done that. You’d made him look like that. You were responsible for the pure, raw pleasure painted in every line of his being.

“That was…” He broke off, swallowing hard before opening his eyes. He blinked, looked down at you on the floor, smiled. “That was incredible.”

You smiled back, taking his hands in both your own. “You taste fucking divine,” you whispered as you kissed his knuckles. “And you did so well.”

You couldn’t tell past the orgasm-glow, but you thought he might have blushed. “You’re so… so beautiful, (Y/N),” he repeated. “And so warm, and soft, I–”

Now you were blushing, heat rolling up your neck, over your cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” you said softly as you stood, leaning down to press your lips against his. They immediately parted, tongue sliding beside your own, eager and exploratory. You shivered as his hands came to rest on your hips once more, pulling you closer as he shuffled backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Adam,” you murmured, still bent over him.

He tried to pull you closer still, gently, but still insistent. “What?”

You tried not to laugh at the hint of frustration in his voice. “Bed’s in the way. I can’t get any closer.”

“Yes you can.” He broke away, frowning. “Just sit on me.”

“Sit on you?” You glanced at his lap, back up again, raising your eyebrows. Did you hear that right?

“Yes. Sit on me.” He pulled again, and you were struck suddenly by the realisation that he really didn’t have to ask – or tell – you to do anything. If he wanted you on top of him that badly, he could easily pick you up and place you there without breaking a sweat. Hell, he could throw you across the room if he really got the urge. But he wasn’t forcing you. Even the pressure on your hips was gentle enough that you could have pulled away any time you wanted.

“Ok,” you smiled, steadying yourself on his shoulders as you knelt over his thighs.

“You can relax,” he urged, his hands running down over your hips to your thighs, back up again and over your waist, around to your back. His arms circled you, head bent as he mouthed at your neck. “Don’t have to hold yourself up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” You relaxed your legs, sinking down to rest atop his. He hadn’t stopped the attention he was giving to your neck, nosing your hair aside to kiss under your ear, along the hollow of your jaw, over your jugular, right across the tendons at the base of your throat. You tipped your head back for him, sighing in satisfaction as you ran your hand through his hair. His palms were warm where they pressed into your back, his chest and stomach smooth against your own.

“Closer,” he whispered under your ear, pushing you further up his legs.

You shifted, your stomach backflipping as your pelvis met his. He hummed into your skin, pressing you harder against himself, his cock hard again and hot where it lay between your bodies. His mouth had moved lower, to your breasts, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin just as gently as he’d done to your neck.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” you breathed, rocking your hips.

“Hm, I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smiled at that. “You won’t, I promise. I wanna see this tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and maybe even the day after that, too.”

You felt him nod, and then moaned because yes he was really using his mouth now. His teeth grazed your skin as he sucked a dark mark just below your collar bone, soothing it quickly with his tongue. He looked up at you momentarily for approval, and at your smile, bent again to repeat it. Yep, you were going to be seeing those for a while.

“Adam,” you gasped as he stooped lower, leaving a trail of wet hickeys down the centre of your chest.

“Hm?”

“I know I was kind of – oh – in control last time,” you started, biting your lip as he turned his attention to your breast. “Do you want – fuck, yes – to try being in charge?”

“No,” he said after a pause. He looked up, hand ghosting up your side to stroke a particularly large and dark hickey. “I liked it.”

That wasn’t what you’d been expecting. He was always so happy to go along with whatever everyone else was doing, which you supposed was another side effect of Sovereign upbringing, you’d assumed he might like to take the lead. He seemed to be having an excellent time exploring your body at his leisure.

“Ok then,” you smiled as you ground against him. “Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes.” His breathing was heavy as he nodded. “Please, (Y/N).”

“Ok.” You reached down, taking his cock in your hand. “Ready?”

He broke away from your chest, looking up at you like you’d hung the bloody stars. His hand joined yours as he closed the distance, kissing you softly at first, then with less coordination as you lined him up and sank down, sighing against his lips. His fingers gripped your thigh, tight enough that you wondered if they were leaving marks, a deep groan echoing through the space between you.

“Alright?” you murmured, your voice not half as steady as you’d have liked.

“Alright,” he echoed. He stroked up your leg, under the back of your thigh, squeezing gently at the soft flesh of your ass and lifting you. You wondered if he was trying to get you off him for a second, then he was lowering you back onto himself and it clicked.

“Like this?” you asked, rocking your hips over his. God, he fit so perfectly, it was like he’d been made for you, the way his cock stroked every inch of your insides, sliding smoothly with how wet you were. How had you glossed over that the first time?

“Yes, yes,” he sighed. “(Y/N), you’re– yes, like that.”

You wondered if he knew what he was doing to you as you practically whined, steadying yourself against his shoulders just as you had before. His arm was around your waist, holding you close as you lifted and lowered your hips, your chest brushing his with every movement.

His lips had returned to your neck, warm and soft. “Is this good?” he asked as he sucked at the as yet unmarked skin there. “For you?”

Wow, you were ruined for anyone else. “So good, Adam,” you whispered, running your hands over his shoulders, the back of his neck. “You feel so fucking good.”

He groaned deep in his chest, his hips jerking up into yours. And oh if that didn’t turn you on more than you already were. Just your words could have that effect on him. Eight little words and your touch, and he did that. The power was intoxicating.

“What you do to me,” he was saying, guiding your movements. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Yeah?” You slid one hand down, trailing over his chest and stomach before finding the mess of heat and slick and sweat where your body met his. Your fingers danced over your clit, a sharp hiss of air between your teeth.

“No idea,” he repeated, the words gliding over your skin like water.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “fuck, Adam. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You felt him smile. “Hm?”

“You feel fucking amazing,” you hissed past the steady pleasure-ache of his cock hitting that place deep inside you, your fingers on your clit. It was building with every slap of your hips against his, hot and tight.

“Oh, (Y/N)--”

“Love feeling you fill me up,” you continued. “Dreamed about what it’d be like.”

“What is it like?”

“Like – fuck, Adam – it’s like fucking Heaven, I swear–”

He groaned your name again, desperate and God, you were so close.

“You look like Heaven,” you panted, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head back. You searched his face past the pleasure-haze already clouding your vision, dipping down to kiss him hard. It was as messy as the first not-quite-kiss had been, all tongue and breath and your whispered “so fucking pretty” as you licked into his mouth.

“So are you,” he managed, hands kneading at the soft skin of your waist and hips, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“Love hearing you say my name,” you went on, your fingers working harder and faster. “All those sounds you make, so perfect–”

“(Y/N).” He said it like a prayer, like an incantation, and if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever heard, you didn’t know what was.

“Gonna make me cum, Adam holy shit–”

He thrust harder up into you, lips fastened to the hollow under your jaw, moving you hard and fast against himself. “Yes, do it, cum on me,” he babbled. “Let me make you feel good.”

That did it. The bomb of pleasure inside you exploded, fizzing out though your legs as you spasmed around him, a desperate cry of his name torn from you. You held him tight, fingers twisting in his hair, half conscious of his own litany of curses and praises and your name repeated throughout as he continued to move your boneless body. He spilled hot inside you, and when you finally regained control of your mind, he was breathing hard against your chest and shoulder.

“Are you alright?” you asked, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Yes,” he nodded. His grip on you had loosened considerably, his hands roaming soothingly up and down your back. “Are you?”

You sighed, then laughed as you drew back. His brow furrowed as you held his face between your hands. “Am I alright?” you echoed incredulously. “Adam, you are amazing.”

The frown deepened. “So… yes?”

“Yes.” You leaned down, pressing your lips to his. This kiss was gentle, slow and thorough, and he smiled at you when you parted. “Will you stay this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” Then, “Can I clean you up again?”

“Yes.” You sighed as he effortlessly shifted you off himself, setting you gently on the bed. You could feel his cum leaking slowly out of you, the air cool against your sweat, his spit still on your skin, and the mess of arousal around your crotch. He wasn’t in any better shape, really, but still he moved with ease and grace towards the doorway, returning in record time with a damp cloth.

Something inside you ached with how gentle he was. Thorough, but he drew away at the slightest hint of discomfort. He’d done this before, you supposed, when you’d been asleep. You remembered him telling you he was going to clean you up, had heard his footsteps retreating, but had dozed off before he’d returned. Still, you’d woken up relatively clean, and there’d been the blanket, too. If it had been anyone else the thought would have made you feel violated, perhaps, but not with him. With him it made your heart melt.

“Let me,” you said softly when he’d finished, taking the cloth and wiping at the mess around his crotch with a clean portion. You tossed the cloth aside when you were done, shuffling backwards, pulling him to lie with you. It took some wriggling, but eventually you settled face to face under the blanket, his arm draped over your ribs, fingers toying with the hair at the back of your head, your own hand splayed over his heart.

“I meant it,” he said softly. “What I said before.”

“Hm?”

“You’re important to me.” Although the bronze had faded from his face, leaving it the shining gold you were used to, his lips were still slightly swollen, his eyes bright. In the dimness of the corner of the room, with the light behind him, he seemed to glow.

“Oh,” you smiled, then sighed as you shifted barely an inch closer “You’re important to me too, Adam.”

He leaned forward over the tiny gap, kissing your lips ever so gently. “Can we… do this again? When we’re back?”

“Yeah. I’d like to.” You paused, taking your turn to kiss him. “I like being with you,” you whispered as you pulled away.

Adam smiled. His hand flattening against your shoulder blades, he pulled you in against his chest. His skin was so warm, and you could hear his heart beating, feel his breathing.

“I like being with you, too.”

Note: I feel like this wasn't quite up to par with what I've written in the past, and I'm genuinely not sure why or how I can fix it. I've re-read both of these like five times now (after finishing them) and have edited them endlessly, but I just can't seem to make them feel right. Anyone else every get that? Either way, hope you guys enjoyed these x

#adam warlock #adam warlock smut #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #mcu #marvel #gotg3 #gotg vol 3 #fanfiction #fanfic #shameless smut #smut

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 6 months

Text

No Spoilers Epilogue (Avengers X Reader)

Characters: Avengers X Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Mention of injuries, drugs/strong medication, pain

Request: No Spoilers Pt 5 Epilogue.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The last few days had been a bit of a blur for you, partially because of Bruce ensuring (and the rest of the team’s insistence at any sign of discomfort) that you were on some good painkillers while recovering from your stunt that you pulled, and partially because you hadn’t been allowed to leave your temporary accommodation at Stark tower, which other than the one wall of pure windows that let you look over New York, kept you locked away from the rest of the world. You had tried to leave and walk around, but the entire team had been watching you like a hawk since you got back, and they always pushed you back into bed to rest.

So when you had managed to make it one floor down to the living area, the place where the team had been hanging out when Ultron attacked, you considered that a new record, and awarded yourself by limping hunched over to one of the couches and collapsing onto it with a deep sigh. You ran your hands over the fabric, remember that it had been over a year since you felt it, over a year since you had last been in the tower. Over a year since you had said yes to going back home without realising it. Despite the aching and soreness that still resonated with you, you were happy to be back.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.” The voice of Rogers made you groan, shutting your eyes and pouting. You heard his footsteps and others stop in front of you, but you didn’t open your eyes to see who else was there. “You need to rest, Y/N. You’re still recovering.”

“Can I not recover in another room?” You commented in response. “I walked all the way down here by myself, and I’m fine. A change of scenery is nice. I’m going stir crazy.” You grumbled, finally peeking your eyes open, seeing Natasha, arms crossed, and Wanda.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still absorbed the power of almost every infinity stone, as well as took the power of Wanda, Vision, Stark, Danvers and Thor, and like it or not, all that and the explosion itself damanged your body. How many broken ribs was that again?” Natasha asked, turning to Wanda.

“3.” She responded shortly.

“The powers Stan-Lee gave me means I just absorbed that stuff like a sponge. The broken ribs, cuts and bruises was technically from the rocks that fell on me after killing Thanos.” You pointed out.

“Doesn’t make it better, Y/N.” The voice of Bruce spoke up, and you sighed as he, Stark and Barton came into view now, and not long after, Thor, Pietro and Vision.

“This feels like Deja Vu” You commented with a grin, looking up at them as they stood over you, seeing some of them look confused at your commented. “Remember how we met? You guys surrounding me after I fell out my portal?” You reminded, and you saw recognition in the face of the original members.

“Stop trying to distract us- you’re due another dose.” Bruce reminded.

“Noooo. I’m fine. I don’t want anything else. Not yet.” You begged, crossing your arms.

“Y/N.” Stark said your name, sounding like a disappointed parent.

“No drugs. Not for a while. Please.” You insisted. “They knock me on my ass and make it hard for me to focus on anything. They make me sleep.”

“Which is what you need.” Clint pointed out.

“No.” You insisted, this time a lot sterner. “I just got back. I’ve barely been able to process it since I’m constantly drowsy or just asleep… From the day I said yes to Lee to send me back, I was told by everyone around me that this-” You insisted, waving your hand at them, and then poking the couch “Wasn’t real. I told them all about you guys, what I experience, felt both physically and emotionally, and they told me I just had an extremely long manic episode. Friends, family, medical professionals, everyone told me none of this is real, and after a year of that, I was genuinely starting to believe them. Now I’m back, and… I just… let me feel this. I want to be able to feel the fabric on the couch, to be able to hear you guys say my name when I’m resting… I need to feel this-” You said, now placing your fingers roughly against your bandaged side, making yourself wince at the pain “To know this is real, okay? That they were wrong- that I’m not having another so-called episode, that I’m actually here with you.” You insisted. The group remained silent, but their faces were solemn, processing your words, and your experience away from them. “No drugs.” You said, looking at Bruce.

“Alright… but we don’t want you in pain… so how about something a lot weaker and in smaller doses? It’ll make it bearable but… you’ll still be aware, conscious and in some pain, but able to walk around as long as you rest frequently.” Bruce bargained.

“I’ll take that.” You agreed. “Now can I please do something that doesn’t involve me being locked away in my room?” You asked.

“You mentioned a movie.” Wanda said, coming and sitting on the couch beside you. “You didn’t go into the details- just that you wanted the new movie about us, about what happened in Wakanda. You didn’t have much time to go over what happened. Will you tell us?” She asked. The team found their own seating, some pulling pieces closer, Steve and Tony sitting on the coffee table in front of you, Pietro sitting on the floor at your feet, Natasha seeing on the arm of the couch beside you, the others littered around, other than Vision and Thor who stood.

“...Actually there was more than one… there was one on Thor… though it seems with Bruce not going to space after Ultron, things happened different for him as well, but he was still able to reconnect with Loki, and another plus was Loki living… not sure how that happened, though.” You admitted, seeing Thor frown.

“You didn’t mention that part.” He commented quietly to himself.

“Then there’s the Guardians of the Galaxy movies- those were the aliens that helped us and the one human guy. For them, The green girl- Gamora, is Thanos’ adopted daughter and he was supposed to kill her to get the Soul Stone, but that didn’t happen either, so they’re happy.”

“What about the girl that you somehow knew Fury knew how to contact? Danvers?” Clint asked.

“She didn’t show up in this movie- but at the very end of it in the after credits, when everyone was turning to dust- including fury, he called her right before, and it showed her emblem, hinting at a movie with her soon.” You explained. “Thought it couldn’t hurt to have him all her before- throw everything at Thanos for the best possible outcome, y’know?” You shrugged.

“I have a question.” Tony spoke up. “When you came back- you told Peter he got ‘dusted’ as you put it, and that his senses realised something happened… who else? Out of the team?” Tony asked. You tensed a little at the question. You looked at everyone in front of you, your mind flashing to the images you saw on the big screen, how each one made your heart ache…

“Well… excluding those who were supposed to be dead already- looking at you, speedy… Peter, most of the Guardians other than Rocket and Gamora’s sister- her and Tony are the only ones who come back from the space travel adventure I stopped you going on- Dr Strange, T’Challa, Fury, Hill, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, the entirety of Clint’s family… and those who are supposed to die in the actual movie… Loki, Gamora, and Vision, all at the hands of Thanos.” You listed, your voice monotone, sounding tired. The room was awfully silent.

“Was that why you insisted on me not being involved at all in the fight?” Vision spoke up, and you nodded.

“You watched that? On a giant screen, you saw me, and the other turned to dust?” Wanda asked. Another nod. “And you came back to help us? Knowing if things went wrong, you’d have to see it all again?”

“Of course I did.” You smiled sadly at her. “Despite the year of everyone telling me this was all fake, that you didn’t exist… when I saw what happened to you all, I… I mourned. I mourned all the way home, and when I got there, Stan was right there waiting for me. Everything was raw in my mind, so when he gave me the chance to stop this happening to you, even at the expense of never seeing my family or old friends again or living a relatively safe life… It was worth it. A billion times over. And hey, by doing that, I also saved my world, even if they’ll never know it.” You smiled sadly.

“Well.” Tony sniffed, running his hand over his face to hide any sign of being teary eyed. “In that case, we owe you a massive thank you… and how better than a giant party? Give it another week of course so you can actually dance a little.” Tony decided, making you chuckle.

“We’re not at risk of another Ultron thing though, right?” Clint jokes.

“Sorry guys, I’m no longer a prophet- this timeline is officially deviating from the original plot, and we just went through the latest movie for me- I have no idea what the future holds for us- but at least I’m not completely useless and have these cool new powers.” You joked.

“How’s ‘Rechargeable battery’ as a nickname?” Pietro asked as he stood up, heaving you up to your feet, wrapping your arm around his shoulder for support, making you laugh, even if you winced a little at the movement.

“We’ll discuss our new Avenger member’s superhero name while we organise a new medication plan in the lab.” Bruce said, pointing the way, the entire group going along with you, discussing the new party, who will be going, you and Thor vouching for Loki, Wanda and Pietro making song suggestions, the noise of bickering, laughing, and playful teasing within the group something you missed dearly, and so happy to have back.

You made the right decision, and you didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby-blog @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog@mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

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2smolbeans · 9 months

Text

There's Always A Loop To Something

Yandere Miguel O'Hara x Amateur Scientific Researcher Reader [TEASER]

Note: This takes place before Miles shows up, and the reader goes by He/Him pronouns. I'm thinking that there might be at least 20 chapters/parts for this whole story!

So for now this is kind of just a sneak peek of what scenes or important parts I have in mind for the future story! PLEASE KEEP THAT IN MIND! THE STORY ISN'T BEING FULLY WRITTEN YET!

Tags: implied imprisonment, betrayal, lost friendship, reader is a sucker for their in-universe Miguel, Miguel's jealousy of his other self, heavily implicated self loathing

*Btw this is unedited, so forgive me if some stuff is weird

_________________________

You weren't anyone special, really, just some regular citizen. You weren't truly smart, athletic, or exceedingly attractive compared to those around you. You barely scraped by high school with those god-awful grades, your averages being around the low 50s, and your highest mark being a 72.

There was nothing you were really good at that made you stand out in any field or path in life. If anything, you were below average when it came to anything.

But your dear friend, Miguel O'Hara, well, he was a different story. He was more than you could've ever been in your entire 26 years of living.

That man was a genius beyond your comprehension, worked for the most renound worldwide research organization, engineered new innovative technology you didn't even know could exist!

You didn't know where to start with that man, but with someone so marvelous, and with you being the bottom of the barrel as a failure, you found it funny how the two of you became friends.

He was a scientist, a man of brilliance working in Alchemax- discovering ways to improve society and mankind! You were just a lowly janitor who managed to get the job through persuasion and sweet talking.

_________________________

You even loved him through his flaws and insecurities. You loved that Miguel for his slight chubby exterior that he seemed to despise, sympthazied with his uncontrollable anger that would explode whenever work had tortured him cruelly, his cowardly shyness that made it hard for him to socialize with other people. You loved him for that. You adored him for what he was, followed him with puppy dog eyes wherever he walked.

Why couldn't he have that?

He was better than that Miguel, more ways than he could ever list out. But still, no matter what, you always looked at their direction and not his. Even after that 'incident' with your Miguel, you were still so attached to him - hoping to see him and make amends. You always bombarded Miguel, begging and pleading with him to open up that screen and watch your bestfriend from a distance. He couldn't say no to you, of course, not when you were leaning onto his chest with those pleading eyes.

He hated it, though. He hated seeing you long for someone other than him - even though that other someone was technically him. It irked him. He was a better version of your bestfriend, you even admitted it yourself!

He found it so strange how you would stare at him with an expression he couldn't explain, the question that was bottling up for those months finally coming to the surface.

"[Name], how do you feel about him?"

Your eyes whipped towards Miguel, your neck scolding you as you felt the whiplash hit you. You were taken aback, stepping away from Miguel, who only took a few steps closer whenever you backed away.

"Uh- oh..Mhnn..Why do you ask?"

"Well, it doesn't hurt to know what another person thinks of me from another dimension, right?"

You relaxed as Miguel looked at you softly, laughing in the midst of his words as he shrugged his shoulders.

"True.. I mean if the roles were reversed, I'd probably ask the same thing."

Alone in that dark room with only those orange luminescent lights glowing. You smiled while you fidgeted with the long sleeves of your sweater. Biting your lip, you let out a small laugh as you shook your head, in disbelief of what you were about to tell Miguel.

"Even though he hurt me, I still.. miss him. It's took me a while to realise but, he's my partner! He's been there through my ups and downs. We've had each other's backs."

Your hands were now covering your face. You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you averted your eyes away from Miguel. Not noticing his increasing grip on the desk that seemed to bruise from his claws etched into the screens.

"It's weird saying this since I'm technically confessing to him right now, but I love him, Miguel. He's really all I have,"

Miguel, on the other hand, begged to differ with your statement..

"But you have me, right?"

___________________________

"You know what? Maybe I'll figure out the gadget or whatever the fuck it's called by myself."

"Hah! As if you'd ever be able to amount to MY work. You know you need me, your fucking stupid when it comes to anything- even the simplest of tasks! Trust me, I don't think I'll miss working with you one bit."

And there it was.

You felt your throat tighten painfully, the tears starting to form in your eyes as you jerked yourself away from his attention, barely wanting to look at his face. You could tell how he regretted his words immediately, you could feel how quick the guilt settled in him as his voice cracked.

"Wait- no I'm sorry that was--"

You could feel yourself growing more bitter as Miguel started to ramble, trying so pathetically to apologize to you. How long have you endured his aggravated insults? All for what? Because you cared for him? You always catered to his anger, to his expections, to his rules- and you never really minded.

But this was the final straw.

Storming out of the empty space, you didn’t even glance back at him. Ignoring his final plea for you to stay.

"Maybe finding a better Miguel that wouldn't treat his own friend like shit would be worth trying."

_____________________________

Something was wrong, very wrong. You couldn’t find a way back home. You felt yourself panicking as you scavanged for materials in your room, trying to work out every variable that could be your solutuon to getting home.

Maybe if you just- what if you put that formula over there and add some biometerics or whatever the fuck- oh what the hell, you didn’t know anything about physics, let alone fucking inventing mechanisms for multiverse travel on the spot!

If only you were smart, if only you were fucking competent at ONE thing. You could hear his footsteps, he could open up that very door right now.

Quick- think of something, use that dumb head of yours to finally do something useful for once in your life!

Knock knock

Oh shit.

"[Name]? Can we talk-"

Quickly before he could enter the room, you were quick to tear off any clothes that were easy to remove.

"Don't come in! I'm changing!"

"Oh shoot- Sorry!"

There. You had only a few seconds to think of something off the spot. The shelves? Not there. Closet? Nothing. Maybe under the bed?

"Listen, I know it's hard for you to take it all in. But trust me, it is for the best..."

You could hear him pause for a moment, trying to think of something to say. Finally for what seemed like forever he spoke from the other side of the door with that soft gentle voice. It would've been comforting, if it weren't considered the fact that he was keeping you hostage in this godforsaken dimension.

"Its happened to me, I've seen it with my own eyes. My daug-- she..She dissapeared in my arms [Name]. I know it hurts, but theres nothing we can do."

You didn’t say anything as you knew talking back would be fruitless. You've tried so hard to reason with him, to tell him that there's always a loophole to everything. That you didn’t care if the risks were too high, that it was worth dying to save the ones that you loved in that universe.

That you were at least willing to die alongside your only friend and family, your Miguel.

So biting back your thoughts, you only gritted your teeth and lied sweetly as you fed him what he wanted to hear.

"I know..Its just, why can't I be with them when it happens? Wouldn’t it be unfair if I were the only survivor from that universe?"

Screw driver? No. Wire? No. Where the hell were your things?! Where the fuck did you put that stupid blueprint for making the goddamn gadget?!

"Well..It's what I would've wanted, what he would've wanted. To keep you safe honey.."

"I know, I guess your right..Its just so hard to process it you know?"

"I know..Thats why I'm coming in."

What? Wait why? What's he doing? Before you could even process and save grace, Miguel opened the door, closing it behind him before locking it shut. The sound of the lock clicking echoing in the room, signaling your fate.

"I'm not stupid, I knew you would've tried to do something like this. You're stuborn, stupidly stuborn. Just like me.."

He saw how frozen in place you were. Catching you red handed trying to search the room for your toolbox and tools. Eyeing you up and down, taking in your form, he chuckled as he saw your half naked body. Finding it funny that you tried so hard to lie to him, assuming he wasn’t a few steps ahead of you.

You do know as the leader of the Spider society, he does have eyes everywhere, Right?

It's really simple.

Espically when all it takes is a hole the size of a needle to spy on someone without them knowing. Miguel wanted to be extra cautious with you afterall, he didn’t care if he had to peek in your room with those cameras here and there - invading your personal space and time by all unethical means.

If it meant keeping the one that supposedly loved him in check, then so be it. Letting out a low laugh, Miguel made his way onto your bed, sitting at the edge of it as he then patted to the spot right next to him.

"It's why I got rid of everything. Now, honey, get on the bed. Now. And let's just talk it out, okay?"

_________________________

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere atsv #teaser writing #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #i didn't edit anything asdanfjs #Will add a masterlist or an organized thing for the parts in chronological order I promise!!!#f's in the chat for y/n lol

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helpinghanikan · 5 months

Text

Wanna talk about it?

Carol Danvers x reader

for @mxqdii

AN: Wrote this super quick because I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Hopefully this was what you were looking for.

It’s amazing how quickly everything tends to stick together or pile up throughout the day. One little thing in the morning, before you even got dressed, and it just goes down hill from there. By the time you’re finally able to head come there’s a weight on your being too heavy to be carried alone.

The drive back home was made in relative silence. Sometimes, when the day kicks your ass, it’s too much effort to even turn the radio on. This quiet made it that much more impactful when your phone dings in the cup holder.

‘Im making din see you soon’ You dared to read, although this is not recommended to do while driving.

You didn’t need to see the name to know it was Carol. Not only from her inability to text properly, but from how suddenly she announces her arrival. The only time your phone’s connected was when she was within the Earth’s atmosphere. Any other time you want to talk to her, and some massive amount of tech is needed.

It’s nice to know Carol is near, it’s not enough to help with today’s burden. You do start driving just a bit faster, though.

Music could be heard through your house’s front door. Had it been anyone else you would have grumbled about the volume pumping through the door. Dad rock was great and all, but not after a long shift and before a warm meal.

“Carol?” You asked before the door is open all the way.

Instead of Carol you are greeted by orange hair and a bad attitude. Goose stretched and blinked slowly as you entered fully. Giving you a look as if to wonder why you were here, in your own home, and interrupting his nap.

He seems pleased when you give him some scratches. Although not technically a cat he sure did purr like one.

“Carol?” You called again, shoes off and coat gone by the time you reach the kitchen.

In another universe Carol would be a wonderful wife to always come home to. Dad rock playing from the counter, oven steaming from cooking noodles and tomato sauce, and the promise of a warm night in.

Carol smiles at you through the steam. Her smile is too powerful to be stopped by something so weak as boiling water. Although it faulters as you get closer, and she can start to see the fatigue in your eyes, she’s still waiting for you.

Without thinking, almost as if under possession, you step up behind her. Around Carol’s stomach, cheek against her back, and a tight squeeze that will never be enough.

“Hey, Babe,” She says, leaning her weight back just a bit to give a semblance of a hug back.

Her voice is warm and welcoming like hot chocolate. Her smell is slightly mechanical and earthy that one could get drunk on. Although her muscles are pronounced and something to be proud of, this doesn’t stop you from squeezing her close. Hugging like she may disappear into beautiful light you let go for even a second.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asks, stirring a pot as if you weren’t using her as a stuffed animal.

A dark part of your mind tells you to keep quiet. That it wouldn’t be fair to complain to Carol, to THE Captain Marvel, about the shitty day you were having. Not when this woman had traveled several thousands of miles to make you spaghetti. Especially not when whatever small problem Carol could be having was twelve time bigger than yours.

Carol has a heat to her like a furnace on fire. Sometimes, if Carol weren’t careful, she could actually burn the people around her. Although this has never happened to you the threat was still there. So you stay as close as you can, nuzzling into her back sighing as the heat relaxes your muscles like a warm shower after a long walk.

“Not right now,” You mumble into her back, “I missed you too much.”

You could have fallen asleep like this. Standing up and everything, but it was the clicking of the stove the ruined your serene moment. Granted, this was to replace with an even better moment as Carol turns around to hold you properly in a hug.

Every bit of chill or cold that might have lived inside of you was now gone. It was replaced with warm love you’d never forget the feeling of.

#reader insert #marvel cinematic universe #marvel reader insert #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel imagine #mxqdii

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halfdead-halfskeleton · 10 months

Text

Notes:

Lilia x You. Reader knows how to sew clothing(while author does not)

Based off Suitors suit vignette. Technically it's a continuation of the story, so make sure to read the vignette before this fic

A lot of background characters, but I'm not tagging all of them

A bit non-linear storytelling?

The suit was made of magic, meaning it will disappear after a certain amount of time. The fact that such a beautiful sight is not going to stay here for long made your heart ache. And yet, you continued to smile and tried your best to memorize every tiny detail of the tuxedo. You had a plan, after all.

"Feast your eyes while you still can!" said Lilia. The tuxedo Malleus created for him was just marvelous! You and Sebek competed in who's going to complement Lilia more while his face was shining with a smile. Your face did too, it even hurt a bit to smile so much.

The next couple of months casually went by in your room, as you hunched over your secret project. If only your school life wasn't so busy and sometimes downright chaotic, you might have finished it sooner... And if the cruel thing that is perfectionism wouldn't criticize your every move.

After a few not-so-successful, to put it lightly, attempts, you finally finished recreation the suit Malleus made for Lilia back when ghosts that invaded the school for a marriage ceremony left.

Your first attempt failed because you were so obsessed with the idea of recreating the outfit you forgot to take Lilia's measurements. While the final product turned out to be quite nice, it wouldn't fit Lilia at all. Also you didn't have some accessories the original outfit had, which you noticed only at the end.

And so, you began anew, but now without the fabric you intended to use. The end result turned out too different from the tuxedo you remembered. The shade of green? Too vibrant. The pattern on the ribbon? Wrong. The pants? Actually quite nice, but that's the only part of the outfit you liked. And after your sewing machine unexpectedly broke you lost all the crumbs of motivation there were left...

Thankfully, you became a good friends with some students at NRC. While you were earning money for a new sewing machine, Vil and Kalim searched for the fabric and accessories that matched Lilia's suitor suit. Vil didn't get to witness the tuxedo, so you and Kalim had to explain how it looked like. You even showed him all the sketches you made and the first attempt suit as an example.

"Wow, your skill is really shinning here!" Kalim carefully examined the suit from all angles together with Vil. "It's really unfortunate your sewing machine broke... Are you sure you don't want me to get you a new one? It's going to be way faster than working in Mostro Lounge for a whole month."

"That's right, but I'm already asking you for help, you know. It won't be so fair if you do everything for me!" you answered and looked at Vil, who's also visibly impressed by your skills.

"The stitching is quite nice, you clearly took your time to make it the best suit it could be. I'm glad to see you actually listened to the advice I gave you during previous projects. Alright, I'll lend you a hand as well. Just remember that my schedule is tight, so it will take a while to find everything you need."

"Thank you both so, so much!" As you said that, Kalim came closer to give you a big hug. He was super excited to see how it will turn out!

After mountains and mountains of work, you left out a sign. Not out of exhaustion or frustration, but out of relief. You did it. You DID it! Finally, even when it seemed like the whole universe itself didn't want you to complete the suit, you did it!

"Good job." A sudden pat on your back woke you up from all the thoughts. It was Vil who just entered the room. After a minute or so, Kalim came here too.

"Sorry for making you wait!" He panted and leaned on the closest wall. "Oh, I got so scared when I couldn't find the Albert chain I had to call Jamil and a couple of other Scarabia students for help. We found it! It's the same one I gave Lilia that night."

"Wait, if that's the same one... Is it really okay for me to take it? You could get something similar, but..."

"But? I thought you wanted to make 1:1 recreation. Why are you backing up now?" Vil asked with a frown on the face. You pulled him closer and whispered:

"Because it costs 10 million thaumarks!" Such shocking information left Vil speechless for a minute.

"Well, I thought the original one would suit him better! So here it is." As Kalim said that, he placed the Albert chain with a bat on the outfit. You looked at your creation, the exact copy of the tuxedo Malleus has created with magic. Even though some tears appeared on your eyes, your face radiated joy. You finally did it.

It was an after-school evening when you decide to gift Lilia the suit you've been working so hard on. As you roamed around Diasomnia dorm, something poked your back. Strangely, when you looked back there was nothing and no-one. So you turned your head forward and immediately got spooked by upside-down Lilia!

"Ehehe." He smiled mischievously, yet still helped you to get back up. "It's rare to see non-Diasomnia students here at such time. Could it be that you're looking for someone?" Lilia's eyes were set on the box you carried, it was wrapped nicely, like a birthday present.

When your heartbeat calmed down, you remembered the words you prepared in your head. "Yes, there is... But I'm not sure if they'll actually like the present I made. Could you take a look?"

"Oh? A skilled dressmaker like you wishes to hear my opinion? I would be more than glad to assist you." Your heart skipped a beat. Did someone tell him about your secret project? Who could that- oh, probably Kalim, since they're in the same club. And even if Kalim didn't tell it exactly to him, but Cater instead, Lilia would still find out. But maybe Lilia doesn't actually know and said it just because?.. You're kind of known for your great sewing skills. Or... "Let's do it in my room, I was right on my way there." You brushed off the haunting thoughts away and headed to Lilia's room, trying to calm down.

His face beamed with happiness when you let him unwrap the present. Although at first he wondered if it was really okay. "It would be rather troublesome to wrap it back up when you're going to gift it to that person."

"Don't worry, I won't have to do it." A surprised gasp echoed in the room. Lilia carefully picked up the tuxedo, examining every detail. He couldn't believe his eyes. "So, what do you think?"

After a minute of silence, he smiled. "I still remember this tuxedo. I'm really proud of Malleus for coming up with such an elaborate design. And I'm really proud of you for recreating it up to every single detail." As Lilia said that, his eyes began to tear up a bit. "That night I wore a tuxedo for the first time in my life. It's hard to believe I can re-experience that moment again."

"Do you wish to wear it right now?" While you did take Lilia's and some other students'(to make it less suspicious) measurements long time ago, anxiety kept telling you you might have made a mistake at some point.

"I'm eager to wear it!" You smiled unknowingly when Lilia's gentle laugh reached your ears. In a couple of minutes you re-entered the room to see him happily dancing in the suit you made. The moment he saw you he reached for your hand. "Would you mind to dance with me for a moment? Such a delightful gift deserves a special thank-you!"

Blush painted your cheeks red, and heart began to beat faster with joy and excitement. You happily accepted Lilia's offer, taking his hand in yours. And so, you danced around the room. At one point Lilia began to hum a sweet melody. You joined him, and you both hummed in unison while dancing across the room.

You knew this moment, no matter how joyous and bright, would end eventually. So you made sure to enjoy every last bit of it, engraving it in your memory for eternity. And so did he.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #vil schoenheit #kalim al asim #lilia vanrouge #lilia twst #twst lilia #lilia x you #lilia x reader #twst ghost marriage #twst ghost bride #hdhs writing

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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Beyond the Hills intro (College AU)

Ok so I had a lot of Signed Away part 14 written, but then I realized I needed to change it, so it's going to take me a little longer than I thought to get it posted.

Instead, I thought I would post the first part of the intro to Beyond the Hills to see if you guys like it because this is literally all i have to offer you at the moment 😅

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Technically, you and Jake Seresin have known each other for twelve years. All throughout your childhood education, you and Jake shared classes, lunch periods, homeroom teachers. It seemed if the opportunity for you to be in the same space arose, the universe made it happen. But you were not friends. Not enemies, either. Not much of anything to one another outside of the occasional class project partners. When high school ended you assumed that would change, but then you find yourselves at the same college, and once again, forced together. It seems no matter where you go, Jake Seresin is there. But you are not the shy girl you were in your youth. You want to try things now; party, have fun, do things you’ve never done before, and suddenly, for reasons you don’t understand, Jake seems to take issue with your new choices.

Part 1 (intro)

You were quiet, shy, always had been, Jake remembered. From the very first second he saw you shuffle your way into Mrs. Paulson's first grade class, hidden behind your mother's leg and gripping the hem of her skirt for dear life, Jake knew the type of girl you were. Boring. Lame. No fun and not worth the time. But that didn't stop him from watching you when he thought no one else was looking.

He'd stare curiously at the girl who colored alone, ate lunch alone, parted from the group at recess to go play with the flowers and insects at the perimeter of the playground, again, alone. He could see your lips move, forming words for a one-sided conversation with the plants and tiny bugs who would never respond. He'd notice how you smiled anyway.

Weird---that was the word. You were completely weird. And yet he watched you still. He watched you grow, as he had grown. He watched you turn into a woman, as he had become a man. For twelve years he had tried to keep his eyes from searching for you, from seeking out the odd girl he'd found annoyingly intriguing, and he failed miserably. So when you walked into lecture hall C for the freshman English class, choosing to sit three rows in front of him, just two seats to the left, Jake knew he was fucked. If you were around, an uncontrollable part of him would always be tempted to find you. He supposed he could fight with himself to stay away, but that wasn't a battle he was sure he could win. After all, he'd never won before.

---

*Let me know if you want on the Beyond the Hills taglist*

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @wkndwlff @rileyloves5 @gigisimsonmars @hangmanbrainrot @withakindheartx @teacupsandtopgun @himbos-on-ice @xoxabs88xox @happypopcornprincess @violyn20 @jordanturpen @buckymcu12 @jerseybagel @nagygreta @rintheemolion @coldmuffinbanditshoe @avengersgirllorianna @oliviah-25 @talkfastromance4 @ysl-bby @chibijusstuff @kmsryles343 @sky1004 @sometimesicryintheshower @cookielovesbook-akie @yanna-banana @taylahk109 @buxkybarnez @elijahmikaelsonbitch @ravenhood2792

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thestargayzingetherian · 3 months

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She-Ra In He-Man Revelations/Revolution

So it's been a few days and I wanted to put this post out there to basically publicly give my thoughts on some... recent developments concerning He-Man Revolution. Before I go into this, MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE SHOW!

And also, and this is probably MORE important than the spoiler warning. Do not, and I repeat, do not take whatever speculation I put in this post as gospel or something that is GOING to happen. I may be a bit more knowledgeable than a lot of people about this stuff, but I don't wanna consider myself an expert. This is just me speculating and giving my thoughts and I don't want to get anyone's hopes up because there's a good chance, that what I'm saying turns out to be completely wrong and I don't wanna be responsible for that, so please, take all of this with the smallest grain of salt possible.

With that out of the way...

So the new season of He-Man ends with the reveal of this lady, Despara. For those who don't know... she is Adora. As in She-Ra Adora. In the DC He-man comics, Despara was the name Adora was known as when she was raised as Hordak's daughter. Her name is often used by Catradora fan artists and fic writers who really wanna just make Adora a hot evil lesbian, usually with a hot butch hairdo. It is likely that if/when another season of this show comes, Despara will be the main focus.

Now this raises the obvious question... how are they going to handle the She-Ra stuff. As I have made posts about before, the She-Ra rights and He-Man rights have been separate for a very long time and apparently, the last thing I heard, Mattel themselves can't use any of the She-Ra characters in animated form due to Dreamworks owning them now.

So naturally, you might be thinking that Despara here is just a placeholder because they can't use She-Ra. Except... there are a LOT of She-Ra references in this season that are way too numerous to be just references.

For example:

They recreate the exact scene from the 80s She-Ra movie where Adora is taken as a baby by Hordak in a flashback scene. They also mention Horde Prime existing as well and they EVEN imply that Shadow Weaver exists in this universe as well and Hordak's new robot second-in-command, Motherboard is a replacement for her.

So yeah, all signs SEEMINGLY point to some sort of She-Ra-inspired adaption being the next part of this show. Now, considering the very complex rights issues... I can see this going one of two ways.

Mattel and Dreamworks did a deal like the one Sony and Marvel did with Spiderman to temporarily get the She-Ra rights back for JUST this next season. Despara is revealed to be Adora and her arc will be her learning her true family AND eventually becoming She-Ra to fight Horde Prime with her brother and possibly all the other She-Ra cast are there too. This I feel like it would be the ideal solution to all of this.

2. Despara is revealed to be someone else OTHER than Adora under her helmet because her face is obviously not seen in her brief scene when she takes her helmet off. Technically, Mattel would own Despara outright and not Dreamworks and they could easily make Despara her own character. This was also how they planned to include her in the second season of CGI He-Man. HOWEVER, considering all the foreshadowing and knowing how many people working on these shows loved SPOP... I feel like it'd be really unsatisfying if it wasn't Adora under the mask, both as a fan and from a creative standpoint.

As for my personal theory of what Despara's whole deal is, I think she's ruling Etheria on the other side of the galaxy with Catra and serving personally under Horde Prime. Basically SPOP but a bad ending. The plot will be He-Man and his friends finding out about Etheria and going there to free the planet and Despara will redeem herself and she and Catra and whoever will join team good guy.

But that's just my personal theory. I really don't know what the hell is going to happen here or even IF more episodes will even be coming and I don't want to get people's hopes up. There's a reason I myself have been working on my own She-Ra and He-Man crossover extended universe stuff for the last while so, at the very least, there'd be a fanfic that would satisfy my hopes. I am prepared to be very wrong here.

But even if none of this speculation pans out, I still highly recommend this show to She-Ra fans. The second season definitely fixed the few issues I had with the first one and I hope more comes out of this version of He-Man... then again, it wouldn't be the first time a He-Man series was cancelled.

Hope you find this post informative!

#Catradora #She-Ra #He-Man #motu #motu revolution #Despara #Adora #anaylsis #spoilers

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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Disney’s writer wage theft, a year on.

In November 2020, SFWA came forward with a stunning accusation: Disney had told the beloved writer Alan Dean Foster (author of the original, bestselling Star Wars novelization) that they would not ever pay him the royalties he was owed.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/19/disneymustpay/#disneymustpay

Disney argued that Foster’s contract — where he was guaranteed wages for his creative labor on the Star Wars book, which was written before the film was complete and formed the basis for many elements of the final movie — was with Lucasfilm, not Disney. Disney said that when it acquired Lucasfilm, it only acquired its assets (including the right to continue publishing Foster’s book), but not its liabilities (including the obligation to pay royalties to Foster).

The contract lawyer’s technical term for this is tu stupri cognati mihi (“are you fucking kidding me”) (I made that up, but it really should be true). In truth, this “we only acquire assets, not liabilities” argument is grounded in the idea that the workers Disney stole from couldn’t afford to fight them.

That’s where SFWA came in: as an association, it had resources that Foster himself — elderly, sick with cancer, caring for a a sick wife — couldn’t marshal. The org kicked off #DisneyMustPay, a shaming campaign that called on Disney to honor its obligations to the creative workers who made the company its billions.

The campaign rapidly picked up many supporters, especially among creative workers, who understood that if Disney’s theory about acquiring assets and not liabilities was true, then no one was safe. Any royalty-based arrangement — with a label, studio or publisher — could be upended by incorporating a numbered LLC in a corporate crime haven like Delaware or Nevada or South Dakota, and transfering the assets to it. The liabilities, meanwhile, would be owed by another numbered company that could be discarded.

As the campaign picked up steam and more writers came forward, the full scope of Disney’s wage-theft was revealed. The Alan Dean Foster heist wasn’t an isolated incident: it was part of a systematic program of theft from a whole cohort of writers, stemming from Disney’s orgy of acquisitions that saw it merge with Lucas, Fox, Pixar, and other media companies. Disney took the position that all of these corporate mergers only transfered the literary assets — the right to publish — but not the obligations — the requirement to pay authors.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#pay-the-writer

It’s been a year since SFWA published its followup report, revealing the widespread practice of wage theft. On the eve of that anniversary, the group has published a followup:

https://www.writersmustbepaid.org/

They note that Disney has paid the highest-profile writers what it owed them, but that the company has refused to engage in the systematic accounting and negotiations that SFWA demanded, and that many lower-profile writers are still waiting for justice.

“You still refuse to recognize your obligations to lesser-known authors who wrote media tie-in works for Marvel, for Star Wars, for Aliens, for Predator, for Buffy: TVS, and more, universes that you’ve bought the rights to, along with the obligations to those creators.”

The SFWA #DisneyMustPay task force (@Neil_Gaiman, Tess Gerritsen, Lee Goldberg, Mary Robinette Kowal and Chuck Wendig) note that Disney continues to reprint and reissue works by these unpaid authors, all under the pretense that they are not owed a penny, nor the courtesy of an accounting or even notification that their work is reissued.

This is shameful, and it points to the hollowness of Disney’s long-running holy war to get us all to “respect copyright.” Disney respects copyright only to the extent that it serves as a charter for corporate abuse of creators, or a means by which Disney can reach beyond its corporate walls and dictate the conduct of its competitors or other industries. When it comes to copyright as a tool for securing the rightful wages of creative workers, Disney exhibits contempt far beyond they taunts of The Pirate Bay or the insouciance of bootleg DVD hawkers in a night market.

Copyright’s power to create worker power has always been oversold, mostly by giant entertainment companies who correctly understood that the more copyright creators got, the more copyright they could expropriate through non-negotiable contracts. Copyright isn’t useless to creators, but it is also no substitute for fair contracting laws, labor organizing, and antitrust enforcement.

This coming September, Beacon Press will publish “Chokepoint Capitalism: How Big Tech and Big Content Captured Creative Labor Markets and How We’ll Win Them Back,” in which Rebecca Giblin and I explain how the creative labor market was rigged, and how to think beyond copyright as a tool for unrigging them:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/710957/chokepoint-capitalism-by-cory-doctorow-and-rebecca-giblin/

In the book, we talk about Disney’s theft from Foster and other writers, and analyze the legal, economic and political structures that led to that situation — the “monopolistic flywheel” that let corporate robber barons go from strength to strength, so they could shift more dollars from their workers to their shareholders. But even more importantly, we present a whole basket of shovel-ready policy prescriptions — for creators, creators’ rights organizations, regulators and lawmakers — to reverse the flywheel.

We delve into the parts of copyright that Disney objects to: for example, the “termination right” in US copyright law that lets creators take back their copyrights after 30 years and resell their work, or reissue it themselves. It’s a subject we were well-poised to write about, because Rebecca’s one of the world’s leading authorities on the subject and co-authored the most comprehensive study to date on termination:

https://doctorow.medium.com/take-it-back-e3689628f4f0

Disney is fighting hard against termination right now, as the heirs of the creators who Marvel’s superheroes (including Stan Lee’s heirs) seek to terminate their assignments of copyright to Marvel and take back the characters:

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/marvel-suing-avengers-copyright-termination-1235020110/

Termination isn’t limited to heirs. It can be a huge boon to living creators, particularly those whose desperation caused them to sign grotesque, lopsided contracts at the start of their careers. We can make termination an even stronger force for workers’ rights by shortening the term and streamlining the process.

Some of our most beloved living creators are already benefiting from termination: writers like Stephen King and George RR Martin have clawed back their early books and resold them on more favorable terms. But they’re doing retail termination: Francine Pascal (Sweet Valley High) and Ann Martin (Babysitters’ Club) have terminated wholesale, and taken back hundreds of books.

Termination isn’t just for books! George Clinton spent years chasing his crooked ex-manager in the courts, claiming that he’d stolen the copyrights to Clinton’s catalog. Clinton definitively settled the matter by terminating the copyright assignments to 1,413 of his works.

For too long, creators’ rights groups have focused on copyright as the main tool for ensuring fair compensation — and not even all of copyright, rather, the parts of copyright that present the biggest upside to the entertainment monopolies who profit from our works but do everything they can to avoid their obligations to us.

Today, artists’ groups are becoming more involved in antitrust and other non-copyright policies that shape outcomes for creators. Remember: Disney’s wage theft started with a string of nakedly anticompetitive mergers — mergers that a prudent competition regulator would have blocked on sight.

We didn’t have prudent competition regulators back then. For 40 years, corporations benefited from the Reagan-era doctrine of “consumer welfare,” an antitrust theory that embraces monopoly as “efficient” and explicitly excludes the effect of monopoly on worker pay from consideration.

At long last, that idiotic doctrine is being upended. A revolution in antitrust is underway, led by hard-fighting, brilliant regulators like Lina Khan, Tim Wu and Jonathan Kantor. Unlike the Copyright Office, the DoJ and FTC are forums where creators can win victories without strengthening the whip-hand that entertainment monopolists wield over them.

What’s more, when creators fight corporate power, they don’t fight alone. The struggle for workers’ rights is universal, from Starbucks baristas to long-haul truckers, from Amazon warehouse workers to NYT tech workers. Work is work, wage theft is wage theft, and we’re all in this fight together.

[Image ID: The Disney Must Pay banner, depicting a human figure overshadowed by the silhouette of a giant, fanged mutant mouse. It's captioned '#DearMickey, a contract is a contract. #DisneyMustPay.']

#pluralistic #disney must pay #pay the writer #dear mickey

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lazerswordweilder · 2 months

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What, those aren’t in the same universe- yes they are. <<<the thoughts running through my head when I made a crossover of Marvel, Star Wars, Danny Phantom (Dannys stays in Amity and never leaves though, he literally just happens to become a halfa) and DC.

(Its important to note this was written in 2024)

A fact known to Anakin and Anakin alone is that Obi-Wan was reincarnated to take part in Star Wars. He was born in the year 1849 on earth, it was the earth we exist on today, only the future differs. His name was John Kyle, an archeologist who is a retired medic from a long forgotten war but also had unofficial diplomatic and fighting training from various tight spots. Years ago John found a child lying in the desert.

Anakin however has simple been alive all those years. He was born in a desert to a human mother captured by scientists ahead of their times, the experimented on her, and he was born from it. He lay on the desert dying for years, his unwelcome powers keeping him alive and suffering, this sparked his hatred, of the desert, of the sand, of the scientists. The only thing he remembered were his mother’s dying words “Anakin, you’ll- you’ll be so great, you’ll walk the skies.” as she succumbed to her wounds after giving birth, at least he remembers his name Anakin.

Anakin grew up under John, John becoming the father he never had. By the time he was 20 the war had ended but it scarred him, he never forgot the screams. By the time he was 25 he had stopped aging, blaming the scientists and not explaining his past to John out of fear of rejection. By the time he was 34 and John was 52 John thought he had connected the dots, his apprentice had stolen an artifact they’d both been hunting for and it had carried an ancient plage or power that slowed him down from aging! One day while exploring a volcano it turned active, John saw his chance and pushed the boy in and ran.

Anakin burnt alive, his anger roaring up inside of him the same time a natural portal to the ghost zone opened up in the volcano. Anakins eyes turned fire red, the blood in his veins turned to lava, his rage burnt hotter than the lava ever could. Anakin becomes an oxymoron, even beyond the fact he’s half alive half dead, he died in lava yet his weakness is water (guy never learnt how to swim, after being held underwater and nearly drowned he never really got over it), all ghosts hate what killed them and have weaknesses to it, Anakins death is his power. He takes on an apparence which is basically what he looks like normally but with fangs, sometimes his eyes reflect light or glow though, and when he gets mad his skin heats up, turning charred and what should be exposed flesh turns into lava below the charred skin, also his hair starts to turn to flame. Anakins obsession is revenge and his core is permanently stained with rage.

By the time Anakin gets out a grip on his powers World War 1 starts drafting with the year being 1914, Anakin (despite technically being dead) immediately decides that’s a good idea for blowing off steam and also a way to get actually military experience to murder John with. He hacks a comuptor and signs himself up, putting in his photo, his medical stuff, experience, and everything else on the form, then as he stares at the name box he remembers he’s meant to be dead, he choses a fitting name, Achilles. Achilles wrath matched Anakins rage, Achilles heel matched Anakins weakness to water, and hopefully Anakin will be able to bring the name Achilles some more modern glory.

He gets his dog tag and as sits in a cart heading to war with the rest of his team, Anakin runs his finger over the ingraving in it, careful not to melt it, Achilles. As bordom sets in he remembered other stories of ancient greek, more specifically Aphrodite Areia, Areia was an epithet meaning war like and it seperated Aphrodite Areia from her more commenly known version Aphrodite. He supposes he needs one to if there are to be two great Achilles, in his head he starts referring to himself as Anakin Achilles.

After 4 years at war and another year spent wandering the contry Anakin comes back to where he knows John is just to find out he died of old age around the time the war ended at 68, despite this being quite impressive despite modern medican Anakin promptly decides to go jump into another volcano. It is like a warm bath. But it cheered Anakin up- seriously, who knew volcanos were so nice when you weren’t burning alive?

After this he grabs the blackest clothes he can find and knows will be easy to move in, some fabric which he wraps around his face from nose to chin, tucks his dog tag safely into his clothes, and walked into the nearest bar he knew had shady dealing going on. He promptly intoduced himself as an assasin looking for training and gets pointed to a table full of tough looking people.

Two years later he’s been an assasin apprentice for years, under someone he thinks is called Ra Ah Ghoul. Anakin serves the guy for another 4 years despite thinking he’s kind of an asshole, then runs away. He’s learnt enough to avoid most of Ghouls traps and makes it out with a minor stab wound, he doesn’t really have organs anymore so he’s not worried.

He does take a moment to sit on someones roof top and stare at the stars, he thinks back to his first memories and remembers with a small laugh, the one you give when you’re shocked and in awe and a little breathless but happy, he knows his full name now, his birth name, Anakin Skywalker. He thinks fondly about it and feels like a child for the first time in years, staring up the the stars with the last thing his mother gave him, his name, just for a moment Anakins rage is fully forgotten.

Suddenly he feels to small, he looks down a sees the chubby hands of a baby, he actually physically blinks at that. He can work with this, his life is over due for a bit of normal anyways, he stores his dog tag (the only thing he has attachment to) inside his rib cage using a helpful bit of intangibility and floats down to the door step. He can hear a young, kind, childless couple inside.

Anakin- now named William, danced with his wife, Julia Lotis. He was so truely smitten with her and for the first time in so long he loved the domestic life style, Julia had finally quited the rage always simmering in his core, she was his Angel. He brought Julia in for a kiss and admired her, her long chocolate hair, her warm brown eyes that seemed like cozy fires during the winter rather then his uncontrolled rage. He swung her around in a circle and reached out to catch her when her eyes went wide, he caught her lifeless- pulseless- breathless- body and stared.

He stared at her for a long time, trying to hold back the cracks in his core, but it was like reading a book when the ending was so obvious. He conculded he was going to kill everyone within the city once he got out of shock, Anakin dropped his Angel to the floor, moving to the cupboard on autopilot, he grabbed his darkest clothes and put them on, the knifes he had hidden away just in case were quickly hidden in the folds of his outfit, he pulled out his dog tag, letting it’s reasuring weight lay heavy on his chest.

He walked all the way to Gotham, he didn’t even move as it hailed and stormed, as the ground shook and trees collapses. He walked to Metropolis, it was 1975, anyone who knew anything knew the Justice League was looking for new hires, he wasn’t looking for a job but if he could get to one of the interviews then he’d be immediately be recognised as a threat and subdued.

He stormed into the daily planet building where he knew at least Superman was holding interviews, he scared everyone out of the elevator with a death glare and walked straight into the room he could hear Superman talking in, he pushed open the door “Uh, interviews are over.” Superman abruptly paused, probably taking in Anakins disheveled and disassociating self, Anakin ignored the knife that dropped to the ground “Are you- here for an interview?” Superman asked. Anakin glared at him and jumped Superman as red over took his vision.

Anakin woke up in a cell, a wary Superman stood in front of him dripping his lava “If- you could’ve just said you had fire powers.” Superman said, Anakin sagged down into the chains and Superman looked at him for a second before realisation hit him “You weren’t here to show us your powers, you’re here so we could stop you.” Superman was suddenly no longer hesitant “Sounds like a hero to me, I think we’ve got your powers down, but if you want a spot in the League I only need your name.” It doesn’t take him a second to answer “Achilles.”

By 2002 it was doomsday, for the third time this month. The hero thing certainly wasn’t boring, and various other heros had helped Anakin gain an appreciation for technology, he was a technopath. Any

This is getting way too long, also I accidentally queued it so I’ll just reblog with more.

#crossover #lazerswordweilder writes #danny phantom #dp #dpxdc #dc #marvel #Star Wars

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